A book can't crash, originally uploaded by Thorsten Becker.
I stare into the void. It is a strange and peculiar void, one that is a perfect flat surface, radiating brilliantly with millions of colors, assaulting my senses, overwhelming my eyes, burning deep into my retina. I am transfixed but I cannot connect, I cannot feel, cannot touch. My fingers run like figures in a video game over little bouncy platforms. Words appear in the void, perfectly formed, symmetrical, smooth, liberated from sloppiness and lazy loops. They are my words but they are not mine, not truly fully part of me. I sit in front of the void like a prisoner sits in front of the glass separating him from a visitor on the other side. I reach out. I want to touch the words but I am afraid I may break the void. So I keep my distance while my senses try to comprehend the texture of the void, of this virtual ink and paper.
What does virtual ink feel like? I close my eyes, just for a moment, I imagine, I wonder. And as I open my eyes again the void has, as so many times before, abducted my words and thrown them into the abyss. My heart is racing and in my mind I form razer sharp one and two syllable darts and knifes which I throw at the void. But the void does not care, does not repent of its action, does not bring my words back. I hunch over, I tilt my head, I lean to the left and speak soundless phrases of lamentation. And as I do so, as I try to negotiate with the void, try to plead to have my words back I see a book, a book I've recently placed next to the void so that I may show it to the void and have the void teach me about it. It is an old book full of yellowed and soiled pages, tattered and beaten yet beautifully so. I touch the cover, I flip it over and my senses spark. I feel. I look at the now open book as if I've opened a treasure chest. I glance upon those pages filled with deep dark ink. I touch the paper, I run my fingers over the words. They call out to me and I, I answer. I read, I feel, I listen to the stories that rise from the pages like butterflies, tenderly fluttering around my head, caressing my mind, echoing in my soul. I think and feel and contemplate.
Time passes, carrying me like a passenger on a train to lands far beyond the horizon. Now there is no void, there is no light that burns my eyes. No wondering about meaning, ulterior goals, questioning the truth, no double entendre, no ruse, no phrase abused, misused. Just the beauty of flowing words, the romance of letters, of paragraphs singing like birds. “I listen, I listen,” I repeat as if in trance. In perfect harmony they dance. My eyes go forth and they embrace their every rhyme and reason, oh what grace. And as I emerge from literary waters deep I feel alive, liberated of that void, that wretched place.
Tis here my friend that I ask you to listen
Don't be rash
Do take time for reminiscing
For a book can't crash
© Thorsten Becker
As much as I enjoy and appreciate computers and the ease of writing and reading they offer there is one fact that will always remain true: a book can't crash. Unlike that fantastical virtual library a book will not suddenly corrupt and lose all its content. I will always cherish my library of real books. So here is my ABC – A Book can't Crash. If you haven't done so in a while I recommend no, I urge you to step away from "the void" and read a book (paper, not Kindle) or sit down and write into a paper journal.
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There is nothing like the smell of a real book (old or new) and the feel of the pages between your fingers.
Computers will never be able to touch that.
Great piece!
Well said Selina, really enjoyed your comment. I especially liked your remark that “Computers will never be able to touch that” — what a cleverly phrased, undeniable statement! Thank you.
“What does virtual ink feel like? I close my eyes, just for a moment, I imagine, I wonder. And as I open my eyes again the void has, as so many times before, abducted my words and thrown them into the abyss.”
What a beautiful post. I wrote about this topic recently, but was not able to articulate my thoughts correctly — you have perfectly captured how I feel about this void! It’s as if my voice gets lost in translation when exported into the virtual world.
I’m in graduate school and doing a lot of research and writing. My peers utilize computers for absolutely everything even though we have a library (less than a minute walk from the building) with millions of books!
People think I’m crazy that I can’t write anything on a computer. I write everything on paper first. There is something about those moments when you’ve been writing for an hour and your hand starts to hurt so you take a few deep breaths and are flooded with new ideas. It’s these moments of reflection that are so difficult to obtain in another medium.
Thank you for the great though provoking post!
Carolyn´s last blog post..just a little note
Thank you Carolyn, you make a really good point here about convenience and how people often perceive more “traditional” approaches. I find that I retain what I read and learn much better when I pick up an actual paper book and take notes in a notebook rather than reading something on the computer and copying and pasting. Of course, there is the convenience factor with the computer, I don’t have to get up and move around, flip through books and go through all the effort. But I learned that if something is too effortless it just doesn’t have the same value and doesn’t stay with me the same than something that requeires a certain amount of effort. It’s exactly those moments of reflection resulting from such effort that are so valuable. Thanks again for sharing your observation!