Of words on paper, a life in the pages,
A book, outside it all; its shell, bustling.
Beneath, a world so flat, wages,
The life, in all it's flat splendor rages.
So free, yet confined,
So opinionated, yet submissive,
Multi-dimensional, yet living in just two.
When you start spending too much time with books, you know it. You just get to know it. How, you ask? When your jokes start to sound like a physicist on drugs, you know you're in way too deep. Broadly classifying people from this perspective, we can define the distinction of the clique that DO things, and then there are those who DO books. Yes, i hate books. Books. In all their "knowledge" and "views", somehow bring about a whole new idea of an end. Of being limited while promising the limitless. Nah, i don't hate books. Books are just a means to distract us from OUR life, OUR problems. No better than RGV movies screening in halls are a cheap excuse for sly couples making-out in the dark corners. No, books are not bad. Their idea though, is a whole different issue! I just don't enjoy the concept of there being an end to something so boundless. Putting a period on the world that the last 400 odd pages bulit.
If an escape is the search, O' voracious one,
Why, does one lead to the other,
Forever in look, words come, pages go,
Yet elude doth, still looking are you?
Books can make you laugh, cry, sick, and lost. Books evoke, you fuel. What more solace can 400 odd pages offer you that you cannot yourself? What excitement or entertainment can those words provide that watching a fat kid fall off a sofa cannot? Bah.. I hate books, i really do. They are long, boring, have too many words, big words, and more often than not, they END. Those two words that ever evoke more emotion than any of the other 10 thousand in the book, THE END. Everything you were in the last dozen hours snaps, as you face that ugly bunch of homework/office-work that was slyly tucked away behind the puppy-eyed jacket that you hold. A book is not your escape, you are. It's what you percieve. Perception is your escape. One man's bore is what another adores.
Spill forth the lines, break the confines,
Beyond any end, limits that never expend.
Burst forth from the page, life's firey rage,
This, friend; is your creation,
... devoid of an end and it's stagnation.
I just hate books, sorry.
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That's a rather interesting point of view, but then, isn't everyone's idea of fun different? I mean, everything from watching a movie to reading a book to watching a kid fall, all of it serves the same purposes, it provides you with entertainment. So does writing for that matter. :) But yes, i'll agree, one must not get so attached to books (or movies) so as to lose touch with reality.
ReplyDeleteLol! Your hatred for books, accepted. Your reasons for the hatred, unacceptable, rude, unreasonable, baseless. :|
ReplyDeleteyes books take you to unreal world..........but cannot do without reading them...........if one can connect/ or unconnect suiting the need.
ReplyDeleteComment no. 1 is constructive
comment no.2........commenting for the same of commenting ????