So, this bloke in Missouri fuggin' burns books, as an act of protest against, the people who don't read them. Now, I've read Fahrenheit 451, and I agree with the Bradbury sentiment that burning books is bad, m'kay. But I can't help but to admire the act itself.
Tom Wayne of Kansas City, grew tired of the ever-growing number of unwanted volumes on his shelf. He tried sales, give-aways, even the library turned down donations. Fed up, he's decided to light set up a bonfire in protest of what he accurately calls ""the funeral pyre for thought in America." The only interaction with local authorities was that Wayne didn't have a burn permit. Wayne plans to get a permit and to hold more bonfires.
In light of this, it's hard not to think of my eventual demise as an author, given this reality that Mr. Wayne has drastically shed flame upon (a news item of noteworthy mention that will disappear tomorrow in a sea of sports scores and politic slop.) But fuck it man, God built this beast to write, and write I will. Even if I have to get all Thoreauian and camp out in Walden for a couple years and live off the fat of the land and pet the puppies with Lenny.
I applaud the action, yet fear the statement.
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