Books Are Dead (Or Maybe I Am Different)
Scroll or swipe
They told me books were knowledge.
Two hundred pages thick with certainty.
One straight road from cover to conclusion.
No exits.
No branches.
No questions that dared turn left.
I tried.
Fuck knows I tried.
But my thoughts
moves like ghosts
not architecture.
Thoughts arrive sideways.
A pattern glimpsed then gone
before the chapter ends.
They say my attention span is broken.
But I am paying attention
Connections often bloom faster
than paragraphs can hold.
Perhaps books were built
for other purposes.
Perhaps they were built
to keep minds like mine quieter
March in a line.
Read the doctrine.
Defend the author.
Protect the fortress of pages.
Two hundred pages
of arguments
that must never change.
WE PRINTED OUR TRUTH!
But knowledge moves.
It slips between sentences.
Updates itself while the ink is still drying.
No wonder some of us go mad.
The fast minds.
The ones that see the edges moving.
The ones who refuse
to nail a thought
to a single page
and die defending it.
My mind was not built
for libraries of stone.
It was built
for evolving forests.of thinking
Paths crossing.
Ideas branching.
Tonight
I swipe another line
of voluntary disequilibrium.
Step sideways
out of the grid.
And somewhere
between one thought
and the next
I begin
to build my way.
