How Do E-Books Change the Reading Experience? – NYTimes.com


The advantages of e-books are clear. E-books are immediate. Sitting at home in Pakistan, I can read an intriguing review of a book, one not yet in stores here, and with the click of a button be reading that book in an instant. E-books are also incorporeal. While traveling, which I do frequently, I can bring along several volumes, weightless and indeed without volume, thereby enabling me to pack only a carry-on bag.

And yet the experience of reading e-books is not always satisfactory. Yes, it is possible to vary the size of the font, newly important to me at age 42, as I begin to perceive my eye muscles weakening. Yes, e-books can be read in the dark, self-illuminated, a reassuring feature when my wife is asleep and I am too lazy to leave our bed, or when electricity outages in Lahore have persisted for so long that our backup batteries are depleted. And yes, they offer more frequent indicators of progress, their click-forwards arriving at a rapidity that far exceeds that of paper-flipping, because pixelated screens tend to hold less data than printed pages and furthermore advance singly, not in two-sided pairs.

Nonetheless, often I prefer reading to e-reading. Or rather, given that the dominance of paper can no longer be assumed, p-reading to e-.

I think my reasons are related to the fact that I have disabled the browser on my mobile phone. I haven’t deleted it. Instead, I’ve used the restrictions feature in my phone’s operating system to hide the browser, requiring me to enter a code to expose and enable it. I can use the browser when I find it necessary to browse. But, for the most part, this setting serves as a reminder to question manufactured desires, to resist unless I have good cause.

Similarly, I have switched my email account from the attention- and battery-consuming “push” setting to the less frenzied manual one. Emails are fetched when I want them to be, which is not all that often. And the browser on my slender fruit-knife of a laptop now contains a readout that reminds (or is it warns?) me how much time I have spent online.

Time is our most precious currency. So it’s significant that we are being encouraged, wherever possible, to think of our attention not as expenditure but as consumption. This blurring of labor and entertainment forms the basis, for example, of the financial alchemy that conjures deca-billion-dollar valuations for social-networking companies.

I crave technology, connectivity. But I crave solitude too. As we enter the cyborg era, as we begin the physical shift to human-machine hybrid, there will be those who embrace this epochal change, happily swapping cranial space for built-in processors. There will be others who reject the new ways entirely, perhaps even waging holy war against them, with little chance — in the face of drones that operate autonomously while unconcerned shareholding populations post selfies and status updates — of success. And there will be people like me, with our powered exoskeletons left often in the closet, able to leap over buildings when the mood strikes us, but also prone to wandering naked and feeling the sand of a beach between our puny toes.

via How Do E-Books Change the Reading Experience? – NYTimes.com.

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Family Snapshot


English: Looking northwest at Collyer brothers...

English: Looking northwest at Collyer brothers Park on a cloudy late afternoon. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She had gone to the park out of curiosity.  Here in her city, was something of legend, a mental and emotional thing that captivated people across the lines of time and here also was a place that sat in monument to that. The events were not great, they were in fact quite monstrous, but the powers that be felt that they should catalog and memorialize this thing. So she went to the little pocket park out of curiosity. Or that is what she told herself at the time.

It was collier’s park. It was the site of the infamous and famous Collyer brothers and the first massive and publicized case of extreme hoarding. The phenomena now seems to be part of everyday life for some people, spawning TV shows and jokes but then , at the first part of last century it was an oddity. People barely had enough, less on more than enough to the point of extreme excess. But here in her city was a monument to the most extreme.

She sat in the pocket park, thinking of what could have made these two men, college educated yet shiftless and unemployed, stay in this home, amassing tons of garbage and although having the money to do so, not ever paying for the simplest of “luxuries” like electricity or food. She sat there until she was roused from her reverie by a cat. He was scarred in some long ago cat battle for food to territory, having a squashed pan flat face and dirty bedraggled tail the creature was not of the cuddly kitty variety. Something about the knowing way that it looked at her gave her the creeps and she suddenly realized that she was, in fact, on the site of not just one bad death but two.  Suddenly she was in the need of hasty retreat, and a bath.

That first night she dreamed of the cat. She dreamed of it looking at her, marking her and watching. Following her all over the city, this largest of all cities, her and one cat in a battle of wills. She awoke feeling sick and scared.

“Where were you, yesterday” Emilie asked when she came to work the next day

“Collyer’s park”

After an odd little beat of time that rendered the throw away tone useless she asked “Oh, why did you go there?”

“Curious I guess”

Curiosity killed the cat, you know”

“But satisfaction brought him back,” She replied

“Yeah, pretty sure that part is bullshit” Emilie said matter of factly.

“So I guess you do not like Collyer’s?” She asked

“No, I don’t” Emilie said, though not unkindly

Still she was taken aback by the bluntness of the statement towards such an innocuous subject. “Why?

“There was something wrong with those men, something very wrong and eccentricity does not cover it. They were wealthy enough to pay off a mortgage with one check, but they lived without heat and electricity. That is not normal in any sense, and understand that this was in New York City, this wasn’t some brushy little back water where they weren’t exposed to things. These were college educated New Yorkers and they … it is just creepy. Something is just very very off on this.”

“They were just hoarders,” She protested

“That’s another thing, “Just Hoarders” is not a normal sentence either but you see, there was something very wrong with those men and I don’t know, it seems to be catching. Hell it seems to be catching fire these days. “Emilie went silent, “How much do you know about the story?”.

 

What is Sexy


I am in the beginning stages of my novel . I am enjoying the writing and it is moving forward but I have found that the first chapter is almost lurid with the detailed sexual scences and I am gaining fear that it may send the wrong message, or it may be seen as titillating for the sake of titillation.   I have decided to allow an except of the text to be viewed with the hopes that people will critique it. I am going to do a larger piece in the company of writers but since those who read this blog are my first readers I thought that I should begin here, with the people that I hope to touch in future

 

He had loved her in white. Her body in the taut fabric stretching across her body threatening to expose her naked flesh beneath. He loved her in white. She was so sexy in white, her tanned skin shone against it so well. She was wearing white everyone she came to him, she was in white when she died. The next time he saw her they had become the ruined grey of funeral vestments.

She liked to tease him, he knew that. He would watch her at the bus stop, stretching unnecessarily. He tried not to let her know that he was watching, she was in white then too, a tee shirt, with blue jeans and a bra visible through the light cotton of the shirt. The bra was the soft pink that he had come to most associate with the color of her nipples. He had seen those nipple. She had seen him passing in the backyard of her house and she had looked at him then removed her bra, she looked at him, she wanted him to see

She wanted him, she had finally told him as much one day when he was working at the store. She had entered with the gaggle of her friends, all giggling and loud girlish voices. It was odd to him that they always seemed to be yelling or giggling, or both. She had stayed behind, having manufactured some pretext or another, forgotten soda, or incorrect change.  She had come into the aisle and looked at him. She had gotten close and in her breathy little girl voice she had asked if he thought she was “hot”

He hadn’t answered, he wasn’t sure why she was doing this but he was sure that she was playing some game. Then she leaned in and said “I think you are smoking hot, I always have,” She gave him a smile of infinite slyness and sweet sexy desire and said “I want you, I don’t know why but I just do”.

She ran from the store after that, taking her place among the giggling swarm and more than likely covering for her friends having seen her talking to him by expressing that she thought he was “weird”. She had tossed her hair and walked with her friends but she had spared one glance over her shoulder, giving the store and him inside a slow, sly, sexy smile. That smile was genuine. It was all want. A week later, she had shown him her naked breasts and her nipples, the soft bubblegum Pink color of them.

 

This book is not going to be for the faint of heart or the prudish of nature but I would like to not be associated with porn.  I mean , there is definitely an aspect of this that will be fully sexual and it is about a serial killer ( did I ever say that before , not sure) but I don’t want it gore for gore sake or sex for fuck sake .

#TBT: These People Recreated Their Childhood Photos And The Results Are Epic | Elite Daily


#TBT: These People Recreated Their Childhood Photos And The Results Are Epic | Elite Daily.

 

Everyday I’m hustling…


Flickr friends

Flickr friends (Photo credit: Meer)

 

I’m carving a very strange little life for myself. I am living extremely nomadic. I have no roots at the moment and the lack there of is getting to me. I have more Friends then I have had in two decades but have less care in my life then in those two decades. I guess the thing that upsets me is that I am used to being slightly princess… Cared for… I don’t feel cared for.

 

Stronger…


Stronger (Kelly Clarkson album)

Stronger (Kelly Clarkson album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

What doesn’t kill me might make me kill someone else!