In the Poetics of Space Bachelard talks about the cellar and the attic in some Jungian terms. As it relates to memories, I think he’s got a point. You always remember going down into the cellar, never really up. What scene do you think about when I say Evil Dead? Ash looking down into the darkness or him running up?

In the same way I remember going to the bookshelf. What I picked up never matters as such, because who cares what fruit that tree has as long as one gets away with the hands full? It’s juice from the mind grapes. Everything’s in the approach.