a writing exercise I found from 2003.
The natural way to press books is of course to do it with flowers. The fresher the better, for dried flowers are bad feng shui. try to ignore the paradox of the pressed book turning into dry leaves that will themselfes be bad fend gui.
A bressed book however contains words, many many two-dimensional words. These words, pressed, become more intense and preserved forever between the petals of a large flower. A very large flower. I gasp as I realise there will be no fragrance no colour and no difference. It is neither art nor craft, but merely the revenge of the faded petals that crumble as we turn over new leaves. Every page reveals a new cadaver. There is nothing natural about this, finding death this way. Bury your flowers and read your books.