“eBOOKS, PRINT BOOKS & THE UNIVERSE…”

Let’s start with THE UNIVERSE—surely you must know that I would not attempt to explain the unexplainable! So I went to Wikipedia who descuniverseribes THE IT in these terms:

The Universe is all of time and space and its contents. IT includes planets, stars, galaxies, the contents of intergalactic space from the smallest subatomic particles to all matter and energy. And the size of the whole universe is not known and may be infinite.

Let us next look into THE IT that is eBooks. I know Wikipedia could tell us…but I’ve recently been living in that world—out there where elements spin in a universe of content that for all practical purposes does not exist. That is until a computer key somewhere in Earth’s space and time, clicks.

THE IT that is Print Books is, at first glance, Humankind’s storytelling in every genre created to date and the variety of those yet to be vetted. I could throw in Google Cloud Print but that is a print of a whole different color. The word Print means produce, like matter and energy in the universe, but on a much smaller scale of course.

What follows is a wrapping up of this blog… The Universe, remember, is matter and energy. This tells me that all that has been written and what is writing and what is yet to be written shall remain FOR ALL TIME! So I ask, “What PRINT might that leave on the Universe?”

eBook “How Angels Fly” @ http://amazon.com/author/jlmontera

 

“LOVE FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION…”

typewriter_legswtypewriter_sample_img_2A very long time ago I wrote what I considered prose or maybe it was poetry; I’m not very good at identifying genres. Be this as it may, I will share with you (over time) my own genre entitled: Thoughts.

OLD SWEATER: Her aged hands hold knitting needles as if in a fencing duel. Skeins of yarn wend their way out of her basket. Click/click/click… Fabric is woven into a meshwork of color. Her stitches conjoin threads for the creation. A whittled form emerges from her needled skill. Her love is its texture.

BURYING: Street faces serve as sentinels for the funeral procession. Darkly clothed mourners stand in sorrow-laden silence. A warm breeze carries religious rites to my wintery soul. Painful emotions kill my heart as the knife they drew from yours. Your tomb awaits and I throw dirt instead of a blanket over you.