#67 has reached the late night comedy circuit to be lampooned, and yeah, I just posted something about this on My Portal so that one is gonna take its time making it to the Fediverse. I'm posting it here not just for expediency but also for circulation because the younger set has been PWNED by Boomers with this development.
The younger folks who are parents of the kids who are declaring "67" have been declaring that it means nothing, and they are so wrong about that. It's had a particular meaning for decades, kids. Yeah--don't #OKBoomer me just because I'm old enough to know better.
Anything that is 67 is in conflict with something else. That's it, kids. Shove it with your OK Boomer shit and learn how to deal with this in its long hand form: "at sixes and sevens". You all can sit down and shut up now.
Permita-me que o convide a uma breve reflexão sobre estas maravilhas de nosso século. Falo daquelas lâminas delgadas e luminosas que nos prometem o mundo, ou antes, os mundos todos que a palavra escrita já concebeu. A sapiência de Alexandria na palma da mão; que ambição! E com que facilidade nos rendemos a ela. O toque de um dedo, um estalido invisível, e eis que um novo volume se acrescenta à nossa coleção. Sentimo-nos mecenas, bibliófilos de uma nova era.
A sensação, digo-lhe, é a da compra, da posse, do domínio. Mas as sensações, como bem sabemos, são as mais astutas das trapaceiras. Escondida nas letras miúdas de um pacto que ninguém lê — pois a pressa é a moeda corrente destes dias — jaz uma verdade de todo desconfortável: não comprastes o livro, amigo meu. Alugastes, quando muito, o privilégio de o folhear em vossa tela.
Enquanto a polêmica
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Meu caro leitor,
Permita-me que o convide a uma breve reflexão sobre estas maravilhas de nosso século. Falo daquelas lâminas delgadas e luminosas que nos prometem o mundo, ou antes, os mundos todos que a palavra escrita já concebeu. A sapiência de Alexandria na palma da mão; que ambição! E com que facilidade nos rendemos a ela. O toque de um dedo, um estalido invisível, e eis que um novo volume se acrescenta à nossa coleção. Sentimo-nos mecenas, bibliófilos de uma nova era.
A sensação, digo-lhe, é a da compra, da posse, do domínio. Mas as sensações, como bem sabemos, são as mais astutas das trapaceiras. Escondida nas letras miúdas de um pacto que ninguém lê — pois a pressa é a moeda corrente destes dias — jaz uma verdade de todo desconfortável: não comprastes o livro, amigo meu. Alugastes, quando muito, o privilégio de o folhear em vossa tela.
Enquanto a polêmica entre os antigos e os modernos se perde em questiúnulas sobre o aroma do papel ou a fria conveniência do vidro, o cerne do drama passa ignorado. Falo da posse, esse direito tão caro ao homem. Na vossa estante de jacarandá ou de pinho, sois o soberano de vossos domínios. Cada volume ali é um súdito leal. Na biblioteca etérea do vosso aparelho, contudo, não passais de um inquilino. E o senhorio, um ente distante e sem rosto, reserva-se o direito de vos despejar a qualquer capricho.
Dos Grilhões Invisíveis e Seu Nome Bárbaro O algoz desta nossa servidão atende por um vocábulo bárbaro: DRM — Digital Rights Management. A um ouvido ingênuo, soaria como a justa gestão dos direitos do autor, e quem de nós não preza o labor do escritor? Na prática, entretanto, a coisa é outra. É um ferrolho, um mecanismo de controle férreo sobre aquilo por que já despendestes vosso dinheiro.
Um livro de papel, esse objeto palpável, traz consigo um séquito de liberdades. Podeis emprestá-lo a um amigo, gesto que cimenta as mais sólidas amizades; podeis vendê-lo a um sebo, dando-lhe nova vida e recuperando alguns réis; ou podeis, num gesto de desapego, legá-lo aos vossos descendentes. O livro, em suma, é vosso. O tal do DRM, porém, aniquila estas liberdades comezinhas. O livro eletrônico não se partilha, não se revende, não se herda. Ficais cativo no feudo digital daquele que vo-lo vendeu, e a vossa biblioteca, que julgais vossa, pertence, em verdade, à plataforma.
Do Espectro na Biblioteca, ou o Livro que se Esfuma O mais assombroso corolário desta ausência de posse é a impermanência. A obra digital, que hoje adorna vossa coleção, pode amanhã, por um arbítrio remoto, sumir-se no nada, sem vos pedir licença.
Não é teoria da conjura o que vos narro, mas episódio verídico, e de uma ironia que faria sorrir o próprio destino. Há alguns anos, a grande companhia que vende estes aparelhos — a Amazon, para que não nos faltem os nomes — removeu dos leitores de seus clientes as cópias de “1984” e de “A Revolução dos Bichos”, do finado Orwell. Sim, o leitor não se engana. A empresa, exercendo um poder digno do Grande Irmão, apagou a obra que precisamente denunciava o poder totalitário. Uma peça que a vida, essa velha dramaturga, nos prega para nos lembrar de sua natureza farsesca.
O recado foi límpido como a água: vossa biblioteca não é um santuário, mas um serviço. Disputas de contrato, uma falência, uma simples mudança nos termos de uso podem fazer com que vosso tesouro intelectual e financeiro se dissipe como fumaça. Tal ameaça é impensável para o livro físico. Nenhuma corporação ousaria adentrar vossos aposentos para subtrair um volume de vossa prateleira.
Da Verdadeira Liberdade de Ler A conveniência destes modernos e-readers, confesso, é inegável. Mas o preço que se paga por ela é a nossa própria autonomia. Ao aceitarmos este modelo de licença, abdicamos de um conceito de propriedade que, por séculos, definiu a relação do homem com a sabedoria.
A escolha pelo livro de papel, portanto, é muito mais que um saudosismo estéril. É uma declaração de princípios. Um ato de resistência contra estes feudos invisíveis que nos querem tornar meros usufrutuários do saber. É a afirmação de que uma obra, uma vez adquirida, deve pertencer, de corpo e alma, ao seu leitor.
Assim, da próxima vez que o dedo vos coçar para a “compra com um clique”, interrogai-vos, caro leitor: estais a adquirir um bem perpétuo ou um privilégio revogável? A resposta, quiçá, vos faça olhar com renovado apreço para a velha e fiel estante de madeira. Ali, cada lombada é uma certeza. Ali, a vossa biblioteca é, sem sombra de dúvida, vossa.
Chronicle of an Illusory Possession, or of the Book One Has Without Having.
My dear reader,
Allow me to invite you to a brief reflection on these marvels of our century. I speak of those thin, luminous pages that promise us the world, or rather, all the worlds that the written word has ever conceived. The wisdom of Alexandria in the palm of our hand; what ambition! And how easily we surrender to it. The touch of a finger, an invisible snap, and behold, a new volume is added to our collection. We feel like patrons, bibliophiles of a new era.
The sensation, I tell you, is that of purchase, of possession, of dominion. But sensations, as we well know, are the most cunning of deceivers. Hidden in the fine print of a pact that no one reads—for haste is the currency of these days—lies a truth that is utterly uncomfortable: you did not buy the book, my friend. You rented, at most, the privilege of leafing through it on yo
Chronicle of an Illusory Possession, or of the Book One Has Without Having.
My dear reader,
Allow me to invite you to a brief reflection on these marvels of our century. I speak of those thin, luminous pages that promise us the world, or rather, all the worlds that the written word has ever conceived. The wisdom of Alexandria in the palm of our hand; what ambition! And how easily we surrender to it. The touch of a finger, an invisible snap, and behold, a new volume is added to our collection. We feel like patrons, bibliophiles of a new era.
The sensation, I tell you, is that of purchase, of possession, of dominion. But sensations, as we well know, are the most cunning of deceivers. Hidden in the fine print of a pact that no one reads—for haste is the currency of these days—lies a truth that is utterly uncomfortable: you did not buy the book, my friend. You rented, at most, the privilege of leafing through it on your screen.
While the polemic between the ancients and the moderns gets lost in petty squabbles about the aroma of paper or the cold convenience of glass, the heart of the drama goes unnoticed. I speak of possession, that right so dear to man. On your rosewood or pine bookshelf, you are the sovereign of your domains. Each volume there is a loyal subject. In the ethereal library of your device, however, you are nothing more than a tenant. And the landlord, a distant and faceless being, reserves the right to evict you at any whim.
From Invisible Shackles and Their Barbarous Name The executioner of this servitude of ours goes by a barbaric word: DRM — Digital Rights Management. To a naive ear, it would sound like the fair management of the author's rights, and who among us does not value the work of the writer? In practice, however, it is quite different. It is a bolt, a mechanism of ironclad control over that for which you have already spent your money.
A paper book, that tangible object, brings with it a retinue of freedoms. You can lend it to a friend, a gesture that cements the strongest friendships; you can sell it to a second-hand bookstore, giving it new life and recovering some money; or you can, in a gesture of detachment, bequeath it to your descendants. The book, in short, is yours. However, this DRM thing annihilates these basic freedoms. Electronic books are not shared, not resold, not inherited. You remain captive in the digital fiefdom of the one who sold it to you, and your library, which you consider yours, truly belongs to the platform.
From the Specter in the Library, or the Book that Vanishes The most astonishing corollary of this absence of ownership is impermanence. The digital work, which today adorns your collection, may tomorrow, by some remote whim, vanish into nothingness, without asking your permission. This is not conspiracy theory, but a true story, and an irony that would make fate itself smile. A few years ago, the large company that sells these devices—Amazon, to name a few—removed copies of "1984" and "Animal Farm" by the late Orwell from its customers' readers. Yes, the reader is not mistaken. The company, exercising power worthy of Big Brother, erased the work that precisely denounced totalitarian power. A trick that life, that old playwright, plays on us to remind us of its farcical nature.
The message was crystal clear: your library is not a sanctuary, but a service. Contract disputes, bankruptcy, a simple change in the terms of use can cause your intellectual and financial treasure to dissipate like smoke. Such a threat is unthinkable for the physical book. No corporation would dare enter your rooms to steal a volume from your shelf.
On the True Freedom to Read The convenience of these modern e-readers, I confess, is undeniable. But the price we pay for it is our own autonomy. By accepting this licensing model, we relinquish a concept of ownership that, for centuries, has defined man's relationship with wisdom.
The choice of the paper book, therefore, is much more than sterile nostalgia. It is a declaration of principles. An act of resistance against these invisible fiefdoms that want to make us mere usufructuaries of knowledge. It is the affirmation that a work, once acquired, must belong, body and soul, to its reader.
So, the next time your finger itches to "buy with one click," ask yourself, dear reader: are you acquiring a perpetual asset or a revocable privilege? The answer, perhaps, will make you look with renewed appreciation at the old and faithful wooden bookshelf. There, each spine is a certainty. There, your library is, without a doubt, yours.
‘WE’RE SHUTTING IT DOWN’: COORDINATED ECONOMIC BLACKOUT SET FOR NOV. 25 – DEC. 2
Blackout The System has called for a nationwide boycott, urging participants to refrain from working or spending money from Nov. 25 to Dec. 2 as a protest against a damaged government and economic system.
You know lingoJam? ģ̷̨̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̗̫̦͍̫͔͍̭̝͔̦̼͖͔͔̱̥̭̥̱̤̻͉̲̤͖̫̝͙̖̞͕͎͙͕̘̺̩̭̫̫̗̫̙̺͇̻̰͉̬̦̲̯͖̰̟̅͐͐̓̈́̏͐̈̋̓̆̾̀̿̇̉̏̍̌̄̾̉́͂̄̄͌̎̆̄̽̋̈̆̾̄̈́̉̏̔̈̍̎̂̋̐̆̾̿͆̀͌̾̋̓̀̃̐̽̂̏͑͊̊̂̍̉́̇͌͊̆̐͋͋̇͌͌̐̈́̃͌̽̿̉̍̆̔̈́̍̇̌̚̚͘̚̚̚̚͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅ... show more
You know lingoJam? ģ̷̨̨̧̢̢̧̧̧̧̢̡̨̨̡̢̨̨̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̗̫̦͍̫͔͍̭̝͔̦̼͖͔͔̱̥̭̥̱̤̻͉̲̤͖̫̝͙̖̞͕͎͙͕̘̺̩̭̫̫̗̫̙̺͇̻̰͉̬̦̲̯͖̰̟̝̦̳̱̣̟̞̻̪̝̯̣̞̰̹̗̪̦͚̝̥̞͎̺͈͉͚̜̮̮̻̝̘͎̭̪̱͚̖͖̫̗̜̺̪͚̼̜̝͍̻͚͔͙͙̼̜͚̩̣̙͖̤͈̲̻͙̤̖͖͎͙͉̻͔̹̱̮̲͇̱͎͉̜̖̭̦̖͉͍̠̤̣͈̼̺̮͖̮̙͉̠̠̣̣̖̦̥̙̼̱̤̞̻̖̞̙̞̥̣̟̤̗̻̠̪̖̳̙̻͎̜̣̤̼̩̤͓̤̞͈͔̩͔̥̺͔̙̤̗̩̖͓̹͕̳̖̫̲̭͎̲̣͖͙͚̞̹̣̤͇͔͖̰̠͈̝̜̲̮̫̅͐͐̓̈́̏͐̈̋̓̆̾̀̿̇̉̏̍̌̄̾̉́͂̄̄͌̎̆̄̽̋̈̆̾̄̈́̉̏̔̈̍̎̂̋̐̆̾̿͆̀͌̾̋̓̀̃̐̽̂̏͑͊̊̂̍̉́̇͌͊̆̐͋͋̇͌͌̐̈́̃͌̽̿̉̍̆̔̈́̍̇̌̚̚͘̚̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅl̷̨̧̨̨̢̡̧̡̨̨̡̡̡̢̛̛̛̛̩̮͓̭͖̳͍͎̙͙̖̯̘͚̜̝̘̤̻̗͕̰̘̮̰̪̯̣̘̯̯̣̦͈͓̤̮̙̖̟̮̖͍͚̺͍̙̺͙̣̥̮͎̳̲̹̙̭̯͈͇̜̙̜̜̥͎͚͙̱͚͔̠̜͕̬̠͎͈̱̺̱̣̲͈͇̦̝̝̫̮̺̗̮̼̜̪̣̟̯̙̜̮̯͍̬͙̣̲̲͉̦̺͎̹̞̯̯̣̖͉̗̝̱̺̾̿͊̓̀̅͊̐͛̔̌̄̓̐̽̓͌̂̉͌͋̓͑̀̆̾̇͑͋̈́̔̋̈̏͒͆̃̅̈́̇̀̅̀͐̓̽̍͌̍̈̎̽̏̊̄͋͛̈́̈́̀̀͌̌̍̏͆͐̾̿̍̂͗̎͋̂͂͂̉͊̌́̇̉͐̌̍̈́͊͗̓̂̔̋͌͊̊̀͛̋̀̐̎̆̾̄̎̓̑̔̑̂́̎́͑̌̆͒͋̀̂̄̈́̉̐̈́̎̋͒͑̂͐̈́̇͑͆͘͘̚̚̚̚̚̚͘͘͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͠ͅȋ̸̢̢̧̨̨̨̧̨̨̧̡̢̧̡̡̡̢̧̡̛̛̛̛̜̹̙̠̝͉̮̖̪̩̻͍̦̹͙̯̩̲̤̺̙͓͓̲͍̜͓͎̻̟̮͙̜͍̣̗̻̹̥̞̰̤̜̺̝͓̬͈̘̞̗̗̖̺̳͇̪͇͔̱̟͕͍̪͉̹̭͉̩̟͈͓͚͙͎̲̹͖̟̱̝͈͖̙̼̤̼̥̦͓͚̝̠͎͉̥̖͚̱̪͈̠͓̹̠̦̮̣͉̫̮̳̤̥͇̖͎̘͎͓͈̥̻͉͙̰̣̫̜̮̼̟̪̫͕͎̯̼̻̺͓̱͎̞̱̗̦̜̖̖̩̝̩͎̦̭̙̭̜̰̺͈͉͕̳̼̦̟̤̘͇̭̲̩̼͎̪̦͍̗̼͙̲̳̹͖̲̤̟̮͚̣̙̖̯͓͉̤̻̭̻͍̯͕͇̹̦͓̝̥̙͍̪̣̰͙̰̟͇̜̭̮͖̺̞͖̤́̀̔͛̇̎͊̈́̍̆̂́̒̊͋̌̿̍̀́͗̈̽̽̎̍̾͆̋͗̀̉̿̄̇̃̐̄̍̿̃͛͂̿͛͒̾̓͂́̉̃͂̓̋͌̔̋͒̑̈́͂͑́̉̌͐́́̈̅͐̎̒̌͛̒̏͂̀̆́͗̈̿̈̇̓̍͒͂͛́̑̄̿̋̎̇͒͗̈́͂͊̉̉̾̎̾̄͋͛̾͐̉͊͌̒̍̇͋̂͑̏̓̓͒̌͑̽̐̊̄́̽̒̅̏̚̚̕͘̕̚̕͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅt̴̨̡̨̛̛̛̛̩̪̼̺̻̰̼͚̳̲̞͓͕̜̗̰̺̮̮͈̣̞͈͖͕̟̩͓͈̥̗̭̏̐̒̐͐͂̃̈̏̈́̉̄̈̒͒̽̽̐̌̑̽͆̀͆͒̈́̈́̄̒͗͋̀͋̔̃̍̌͑̆̀̄͂̔͑́̈́̒̐̔̑̇̑̓͐̀̀̒͑̈̐̇͋́̔̈́̾̈́͌̍̃͐́̄̄̌̽̆̿͛̈͒̂̐́̿̈̓͒̓͌̄̽̀̀̌̉͊̉́̏̀̋̎̕̕͘͘͘͘͘̚̚͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅͅc̴̡̧̢̢̡̧̧̢̨̨̢̡̧̡̢̡̨̢̨̨̢̢̨̧̛̛̛͖̩̱̗̗̥͙̯̲̭͙̳̙̪̝͚͖̫̬̮͈̖̬̯͇̫̲̼̜̙̝͍̖̣͔̱̝̦̦̯̦̜̠̲̯̠̮͖̙̫̞͇̤͈͔̳̠̯͚̘̮̺̜̣͚̠̳̹͎̭͕̦̗̩̟̻̬͍̺͍̣̲͙̥̙͙̣͉̝̼̰̖̲̯̱̟͓̱͙̦͈̫̻̭̝̝͈̫̝̣̭̤̲̪̦͓̭̦̼̘͙̬͉̳̜̙͇͖̞̝̪̝͇̜̥̙̖̱̥̮͉͈̼͍̼͓̥͙͚͍̝̘̭̟̫̦̠̘̟̗̣͚̘̻̹̳̝̙̭̤̮̲̤̹͕̮̻̭͉̗̺͉̜̟͓͉̳͈̲͖͕̩̫̱̟̙̥͍͎͔̗̽̔̃̄͛̌̔̓̈́̓̈̏̽̌̾̔̿͋̃̐͆̍̾̓́͒͑̃̿̇̎͐͂̏̈́̀̈̿̀̅̊̑͆̄̋͆̈́̈́̆̀̋̀̑͊́͋̎̿̽̃̋͂̄̐̒͗́̐̍͂̍̓͗̏̌͂͐̂̀̿͌́͌̌͆́̊͒̀̍͋̐̈̊̄̐̓́̐̾̃̓̊̿́̍͑̓̐̍͊̽̔̈́̈̍́̈́̄̍́̌̾̒͑͑̿̄̒͛̓̉̿̀̉͑̈́̀̃͆̈́̔̆̐̿̋́̔̔͌͐͐͛͆̓̄͊̀̈́͋̌̀̋̾̍̾̅̉̃̈́̄̈́̃̃̿͂̑̀̈̊̔͆̉̌͐͛̀̚̚͘͘̚̚͘̚͘̚̕͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅh̴̢̧̧̨̢̢̧̡̧̡̧̨̨̛̛̟͖͙͚̮͚͈̥̘̮̞̙̭̺̫͕̩̰̙̜̬̫̰̺̻͚̳̫̭̦̟͓̬͚̦͇̦̠̰͈̤͖̲̠̫̮̹͚͙̥̪̞̤̠͈̟̤̣̰̖̩͍̞̬̟̞̫̲͇͖͇̠͕̲̮̮͈̮͚͉̟̰̰͚̰͚͍̫̪̲͚͇͎̗̖̣͖̮̘̹̜̞͉̺̗̫͖̗̼̜̪̹̣̬̩̺̫̬̻̝͎̪͎̭͍͍̘͚͔̦̠̬͙̜͖̹̗̱̪͈̝̙̰̼̮͖̖̜͎̙̥̙̫̺̩̜̣͕̋̌͛̅̏̍̓̆͋͑̊̆́͌͒͋̋͊̾́̍̌̑̈́́̓̈́̂̐͗̇̿̊́̅̍̏̄̌̊̒͂̐̀́́̇͒̒̀͗̎̓̌͛̇͐̈́͑̋̂͛̆̆̏̏̑̽̇̅̔̈́͑̆̈́̃̐͑̌̋̎̈́̂́̇̍̅̉̄͑͘̕͘̕̕͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅ
@liv Admin knows them all, my knowledge is simple C and bash and Python bout network mostly rest is afaik Js? I hate it but know it> an all round boiled shadow
This #Halloween I miss the old Dr. Fear show (The Mysterious Lab of Dr. Fear) on the local cable channel. Yes, I can find it on YouTube but y'all know I can't go there because my ad blockers "are a violation of our Terms of Service" and I won't drop my ad blockers.
Those of you who still visit YouTube, do yourself a favor and find the one episode of The Mysterious Lab where Trinka Drakul sings her own words to Fur Elise. I have that video saved somewhere here and I always gotta hear that this time of year. #RIP Jaemi Young #TrinkaDrakul --Trinka the character's birthday is today.
Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight? If your ma says not to chew it, do you swallow it in spite? And it catches on your tonsils, then heaves 'em left and right? Does your ...
I did an experiment today because I wanted to see what 100g of protein (about 325g of cooked shredded chicken) looked like and if I could eat it in one sitting, to help me with my fitness goals. I cooked the chicken in my slow cooker the day before and then prepared it this morning with some home made bulgogi sauce, green onions from my garden, and sesame seeds. The results were very positive. I thought this would be far too much food for breakfast but it turned out to be perfect. It has kept me feeling full all day, my energy levels, focus, and mood have also all been great. I would like to repeat this experiment but try to do it much more economically. #cooking #recipes #fitness #food
@bobonthenet looks delicious indeed and budget friendly. I'm gonna try this warm full food at mornings instead 2 egg's in olive oil baked with pepper, Mineral Salt from Himalaya and curriculum and persil on a sandwich with a slice of smoked Salmon. Omega-3 and a lots of protein the egg's fat is ok as olive oil
Provided to YouTube by WAS Word and Sound Medien GmbHEisbär · GrauzoneEisbär℗ 2018 Electric Unicorn Music ProductionReleased on: 1981-01-01Music Publisher: ...
Unus Nemo
in reply to Roko • •@Roko
English:
Chronicle of an Illusory Possession, or of the Book One Has Without Having.
My dear reader,
Allow me to invite you to a brief reflection on these marvels of our century. I speak of those thin, luminous pages that promise us the world, or rather, all the worlds that the written word has ever conceived. The wisdom of Alexandria in the palm of our hand; what ambition! And how easily we surrender to it. The touch of a finger, an invisible snap, and behold, a new volume is added to our collection. We feel like patrons, bibliophiles of a new era.
The sensation, I tell you, is that of purchase, of possession, of dominion. But sensations, as we well know, are the most cunning of deceivers. Hidden in the fine print of a pact that no one reads—for haste is the currency of these days—lies a truth that is utterly uncomfortable: you did not buy the book, my friend. You rented, at most, the privilege of leafing through it on yo
... show more@Roko
English:
Chronicle of an Illusory Possession, or of the Book One Has Without Having.
My dear reader,
Allow me to invite you to a brief reflection on these marvels of our century. I speak of those thin, luminous pages that promise us the world, or rather, all the worlds that the written word has ever conceived. The wisdom of Alexandria in the palm of our hand; what ambition! And how easily we surrender to it. The touch of a finger, an invisible snap, and behold, a new volume is added to our collection. We feel like patrons, bibliophiles of a new era.
The sensation, I tell you, is that of purchase, of possession, of dominion. But sensations, as we well know, are the most cunning of deceivers. Hidden in the fine print of a pact that no one reads—for haste is the currency of these days—lies a truth that is utterly uncomfortable: you did not buy the book, my friend. You rented, at most, the privilege of leafing through it on your screen.
While the polemic between the ancients and the moderns gets lost in petty squabbles about the aroma of paper or the cold convenience of glass, the heart of the drama goes unnoticed. I speak of possession, that right so dear to man. On your rosewood or pine bookshelf, you are the sovereign of your domains. Each volume there is a loyal subject. In the ethereal library of your device, however, you are nothing more than a tenant. And the landlord, a distant and faceless being, reserves the right to evict you at any whim.
From Invisible Shackles and Their Barbarous Name
The executioner of this servitude of ours goes by a barbaric word: DRM — Digital Rights Management. To a naive ear, it would sound like the fair management of the author's rights, and who among us does not value the work of the writer? In practice, however, it is quite different. It is a bolt, a mechanism of ironclad control over that for which you have already spent your money.
A paper book, that tangible object, brings with it a retinue of freedoms. You can lend it to a friend, a gesture that cements the strongest friendships; you can sell it to a second-hand bookstore, giving it new life and recovering some money; or you can, in a gesture of detachment, bequeath it to your descendants. The book, in short, is yours. However, this DRM thing annihilates these basic freedoms. Electronic books are not shared, not resold, not inherited. You remain captive in the digital fiefdom of the one who sold it to you, and your library, which you consider yours, truly belongs to the platform.
From the Specter in the Library, or the Book that Vanishes
The most astonishing corollary of this absence of ownership is impermanence. The digital work, which today adorns your collection, may tomorrow, by some remote whim, vanish into nothingness, without asking your permission. This is not conspiracy theory, but a true story, and an irony that would make fate itself smile. A few years ago, the large company that sells these devices—Amazon, to name a few—removed copies of "1984" and "Animal Farm" by the late Orwell from its customers' readers. Yes, the reader is not mistaken. The company, exercising power worthy of Big Brother, erased the work that precisely denounced totalitarian power. A trick that life, that old playwright, plays on us to remind us of its farcical nature.
The message was crystal clear: your library is not a sanctuary, but a service. Contract disputes, bankruptcy, a simple change in the terms of use can cause your intellectual and financial treasure to dissipate like smoke. Such a threat is unthinkable for the physical book. No corporation would dare enter your rooms to steal a volume from your shelf.
On the True Freedom to Read
The convenience of these modern e-readers, I confess, is undeniable. But the price we pay for it is our own autonomy. By accepting this licensing model, we relinquish a concept of ownership that, for centuries, has defined man's relationship with wisdom.
The choice of the paper book, therefore, is much more than sterile nostalgia. It is a declaration of principles. An act of resistance against these invisible fiefdoms that want to make us mere usufructuaries of knowledge. It is the affirmation that a work, once acquired, must belong, body and soul, to its reader.
So, the next time your finger itches to "buy with one click," ask yourself, dear reader: are you acquiring a perpetual asset or a revocable privilege? The answer, perhaps, will make you look with renewed appreciation at the old and faithful wooden bookshelf. There, each spine is a certainty. There, your library is, without a doubt, yours.