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Books.

Wednesday, 29 July, 2009

I miss books. I just can’t properly read any more.

I blame this confounded contraption, but the fact of the matter is that my mind no longer works even as well as it once did. That is, my brain is becoming somewhat rigid and I don’t care for that. I’ve recently attempted to read again and it just isn’t working.

The mind wanders. When I get to around 3000 words, I’m in trouble. I become desperate for the Google and Wikipedia experience of having any particular question or point of clarification addressed immediately. Nonetheless, I can sit and study one topic or another for hours, occasionally days. The companionship of a cat is critical to prevent blood clots, general numbness, starvation and other unpleasantness.

These habits are why I require all the clocks in the house to display time in a twenty-four hour format. Sometimes I emerge from a pseudo-intellectual haze and have no idea of the time, date and so forth. It could be 1982 for all I know.

Nonetheless, my observations of “The Media” and these very habits, lead me to believe I am sufficiently alienated from Western society to produce a best-selling non-fiction book. I have outlines and a smattering of material for two potential volumes.

Finally, Learn How to Drive: Reject automotive mayhem.

Nobody Cares What You Think: When you think you have something to say, you don’t. (alternate title, STFU: Nobody cares what you think.)

Only the last volume may become sarcastic*. There’s a reason I rant away when I can be bothered in a particularly obscure corner of the internet. Of course, I probably could not be bothered to do this either.

* I do not and shall not use the word ironic. That word opens doors I don’t ever want to go through.

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