Another day-and-night addiction with Kindle. After Proust's Swann's Way, I dived right into Charles Bukowski's Women––a much easier and straight-forward read than Swann's Way. I feel safe when I am reading on my bed, leaning on a big cushion against the headboard as the clock hit 2 am. I don't have to worry about my body gesture, my dress code, my symbolic behavior. I prefer to read on kindle because it is light-weighted than the actual paperback. It felt much better with a light-weighted reader than a light-headed brain as you went tipsy.
Scanning through rows of words and living vicariously through textual reminiscence is much more reliable and fantastical than dealing with human caprice. Maybe it is the fear of human contact, maybe it is a sign of weakness, maybe it is an indication of character flaws. All I know is that I'd rather spend a saturday night alone on an Asian-colonized library with an e-ink page-turner than going out on Mill Avenue watching young college boys and girls get wasted. For one thing, I feel unrestrained to share the afterthoughts of a (e)-book for reading is a socially sanctioned activity. Unlike carnal activities, reading and writing are vintage skills––they get better and better with more practice and indulgence.
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