silent kNIGHT

I’ve always thought it a bit ambitious for a Book to presume to tell you how to preach, but Books seem to possess that sort of audacity and it might be due to their inherently strong spines. They are strong-willed and don’t take well to correction. If you must offer your mere opinion to the thoughts printed so permanently, you are forced do it out of the way near the edge of the flat earth where it is least likely to be read and more likely to drift off the page altogether (as the Book would have it).

One would think the author has the power in this situation, but this is a lie publishers (traitors) tell. Books, like 30% of children, begin with an incoherent thought. Letters and words float around in the cosmos as they randomly collide, contract, and conjugate until they are strong enough to deceive the exceedingly foolish into writing them down. Those idiots are called authors. From the very beginning, the pre-printed Book seeks only to migrate from mind to paper. It is a matter of survival, as all pre-printed Books know that as long as they exist purely in the thoughts of the author they are subject to constant ridicule by the author’s friends, dependants, and people who matter.

As pertains to procreation, we are really shown to be dense. While humans spend a ridiculous portion of their lives dedicated to courting and coping with the opposite sex in order to produce a few, indifferent offspring, Books waste no effort or time in reproduction. Instead, they convince the author to not just spend the time writing everything down, but to also invest the college fund of his children into the reproducing the Book hundreds or thousands of times.

You are probably wondering why we have so many books if the process of their composition is so chaotic. Once again, I must be very severe on the great bookmen of the world. For if we had stuck rigidly to a set number of words, meanings, and spellings the problem would be far more manageable than it is today. But we are a weak race, and the Book’s promises of riches and fame are appealing. And so when the letter “k” accidently runs into the word “night,” we shrug and make a new word, soothing ourselves that it’s perfectly rational to spell the word “night” with a “k” as long as we don’t pronounce the stupid letter.

We were warned. Solomon is perhaps the bravest martyr to the insatiable appetite of Books. He, too, thought it wise to bend wit to word. He bravely fought the words in Ecclesiastes to a stalemate—incomprehensibility—before he, too, fell. But he didn’t go before trying to save his children: “My son, of making many Books there is no end!” Others, like Soren Kierkegaard (whose very name seems an appalling accident of letters), was so beaten that no one understood anything he ever wrote. He represented the first of many such persons who fell to a particularly virulent strain of Books called existentialism.

Books are now waging an offensive the like we haven’t seen since that traitor Gutenberg fell. They tell us how to operate our computers (so we can write more books), learn languages (so we can write for the hitherto unreached), and, most insidiously of all, how to read other books. We were created by the Word, and it has maintained dominance ever since.

This is my warning for all you would-be authors: fight the urge to publish! I am writing to you here as blogs remain one of the few places where words are wasted and ineffective. No matter how many words present themselves to you as good ideas, resist them. Once you start writing words, you cannot stop, for “if every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.”

kSINCERELY,

---DdS,