I love my kindle. I really do. It’s got 3G and with it, I can get hundreds of books instantly at my fingertips. It’s awesome.
But my kindle is not perfect. For one, it has a lot of crap on it, because I haven’t always been terrible discerning between ‘cheap books’ and ‘good books.’ But the blame for that falls on me and, to a certain extent, on Amazon for propagating such methods of spreading books like viruses.
The big issue, though? That’d be with the screensavers.
I’ve got a reasonably old kindle, now, so it’s all in black and white. And if you leave it alone for a while, it blinks to a holder image. Some of these are cool, I love the version of the illuminated manuscript! Illustrations of astrological entities? Bitchin’.
It also has a number of black and white images of famous authors. Some of these are okay, though why I would want to look at some of these famous author faces, I don’t know. And some of these images…
Sometimes, when I have the kindle sitting open, half reading a story and half doing something on the internet (such as writing, if I’m being good), the screen will suddenly go dark. And then, from the pixelated darkness, a face will emerge. And there will be Emily Dickinson with her dark luminous eyes staring into–
Well, I really want to say staring into my soul. But you put it like that, it sounds almost romantic. It’s not romantic. It’s terrible. There is no love or compassion in her gaze, there is only judgement. And not the judgement of one author to another, but terrible, uncaring, unfeeling judgement. It is, simply put, inhuman. And there is no doubt, whatsoever, that she is starting at me. This isn’t just a pixelated case of Mona Lisa, with eyes that seem to follow no matter where you go.
Kindle Emily Dickinson is watching me. Watching me write (or, well, play petsites on the internet, since that’s probably way more common). Judging me.
For what horror, I have yet to understand. I may never understand. For understanding would lead me down a road darker that humanity cannot travel, cannot dare to tread without losing that very essence of ourselves to the darkness that lies between pixels.
That or she’s judging that my kindle is full of bad porn, and pfft, if that’s the case, deal with it Kindle Emily Dickinson.
Unless you want more. Then maybe we can work something out.
(Creepy note, while writing this entry, my internet connection dragged to a raging crawl. Perhaps Emily has powers tap into the very fabric of the internet itself. Which. Further backs my comment on porn.)