I’m getting bookish-er. I’m really enjoying Moby Dick, because of the poem-ish-ness of the words. I doubt I would have recognized this quality before I took a poetry class. Yay college.

I was only alive to the condensed
confidential
comfortableness
of sharing a pipe and a blanket
with a friend.

It’s on page 57 on my Nook, from Project Gutenberg, broken up to show the way I’m hearing this writing. And then later, at the beginning of Chapter 12;

Queequeg was a native of Kokovoko, an island far away to the West and South. It is not down on any map; true places never are.

I ran across some learned discussion about whether it’s a story, a myth, or an allegory. I vote for poetry.

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