Paper and Ink

April 1, 2010
A book.
Paper is all it is.
Paper and ink.
So many trees sacrificed for our entertainment.
So many of you have cast away the stories.
So many of you ignore them.
You prefer shiny, flashy light-box.
This angers me.
So many of you are idiots.
How many authors slave away at the writing desk for years,
Suffer a thousand cramps in the hands and fingers,
To give you a look into their secret worlds.
Now, none of you care.
And this angers me.

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