well yeah, there wasn't at a time any other way to deliver printed words
but yes he also loved THINGS. i mean huge chunks of leaves of grass are quasi-biblical catalogs of things.
however, i didn't bring up whitman as some emblem, i just brought up that poem to illustrate the notion that the place to keep one's greatest treasures is inside one's head, not a pile of decaying objects.
not that the mind doesn't also decay in the end (sometimes even sooner but that's another story). everyone goes back to zero.
Quote:
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Originally Posted by Rob Instigator
Methinks you do not take good care of your books.
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that particular paperback with green cover and tiny print (was it a viking book?) was the only english copy i could buy at an israeli bookstore where most books were printed in hebrew. it was all i could get. so i read it at the beach, i read it in coffee shops, i carried it in my pack, i tore the living shit out of it and i digested and absorbed it. i don't care to read any more from that cheap battered vehicle, which after serving its purpose must reincarnate as compost as we all do.