Where Shall Wisdom Be Found?

The work week is complete prematurely for me, thanks to the absence of a co-worker, which meant I began and also ceased working earlier in the day. Before arriving at home, I stopped over at Shopper's Drug Mart to pick up a new Mach-3 razor blade, new Nivea shaving cream and new Aqua Velva aftershave, staying true to my promise, that I would shave my unkempt, hirsute face Friday night. I have, in the mean time, been reading Harold Bloom's Where Shall Wisdom Be Found? over the past few nights and days, and feeling especially, silently nostalgic and yet crestfallen because I used to devote extraordinary time to reading classic writers, wholeheartedly believing strongly in literature's uplift. Obviously, I haven't given up on literature, merely by changing my genre direction, but my present experience reading is starting to feel more like (to adopt a phrase from 2 Chronicles 24:5) "travelling out into the cities" of books and gathering from all literature something to strengthen the house of my mind and experience as an adult. But then again I'm just thinking out-loud. The temptation is to put Bloom's book down to read something with more pulp, almost belligerent to the psyche, like Peter Straub's Hellfire Club, or Richard Laymon's raunchy magical horror Body Rides.