Walking through the new arrivals section of barnes and noble, I realized I can't afford new books. Paul Auster's Travels in Scriptorium is 145 pages long, and $22. Our obsession with appearance has permeated the realm of ideas, words, writing. I'd be happy with standard 8.5 x 11 printer paper, stapled and sealed in an off-white folder, and shoved into the shelves right next to the overpriced, ostentatious volumes. I would even settle for a paperback.
I know there are many who have stated before me that the simultaneous release of paperback and hardcover books would be a great idea. It would allow the average American to afford a new release now and again, and I would be able to stay up to date with the current literary scene. But it's all about the buck my friends. I'd hate to be a pessimist, but I am, it's all about the cash.
Speaking of the cost of ideas, Orhan Pamuk, who I am currently reading, is living in a sort of exile in the US after feeling threatened in his homeland, Turkey. Pamuk felt threatened in Istanbul after the recent death of Hrant Dink, a Turkish journalist, who was shot for acknowledging the Armenian genocide. I feel saddened that Pamuk was forced to leave his home, but I can't help but appreciate his presence in this country.
I'd just like to welcome him to this land of ours, and encourage him to keep writing, and to keep thinking.

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Centipede graces Nutang with its presence. The Centipede is ebullient, elated, jovial, and thanks bartholomew for the invite. It's a truly wonderful site, and fresh and ripe, and ready to be explored.

But now the Centipede's workplace calls it back to the dull routine.

So it goes.

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