my love affair with traditional print

Posted: April 12, 2012 in transliteration

I was sad when porn shops became mall warehouses in an attempt to compete with internet sales, disappointed when used CD and DVD corner stores went out of business, indifferent to Borders going belly up, but I’ll be absolutely devastated when I can’t find a second hand book anymore. If you like, it’s baseless sentimentality.

The spines don’t make fun of me for staying in my room naked with them all day with the lights out until dusk. They don’t care that I don’t talk much, and they don’t feel the need to comfort themselves by judging me aloud the way my housemates do. They care nothing about the soundness of my mind, and if we violently disagree with one another, I can simply set them aside where they will wait, unchanging, for me to come around again. They don’t even draw attention to my failing eye sight the way that my addiction to the internet does. I can curl up with them outside without having to concern myself with battery life or rare earth elements, and my family does not have to worry much about this penchant of mine to spend stray change on paper rather than food. Almost all of my books were previously purchased and abandoned. Some were rescued from garbage water and broken glass in the bottom of industrial dumpsters.

They’re a fire hazard and a storage burden. They recoil in disgust if I get them wet. People make fun of me. If I just stopped buying books for a few months, I could get half of what I read for free with an ereader. I could borrow electronic best sellers from the library with a simple time sensitive download, no wait list, no pick up, and no late fee. I’m clinging, they tell me; clinging to the wrong side of history. People “lightheartedly” joke with me for reading at all.

That’s okay. You just keep misreporting via the Twitter feed. “Multitask” however you like. I don’t bother you, and you shouldn’t bother me.


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