Twilight! Violence! The Musings of Mr. Bradley iii!

Yeah, violence.

Well, kind of. Let me explain, and of course that means backstory.

August 2nd, 2008. The wonderful pile of literature known as Breaking Dawn is published in the United States. I, being myself, stood in line at Barnes & Noble to pick up my copy at midnight, though I, still being myself, wore body glitter and had the entire Twilight playlist on my iPod for the first time — normally I have my favorites and get rid of the not-so-favorites. (This was also the first time I rode the city buses. Since then it's become a major form of transportation for me.) Me being me, I was up until six reading it, and yes I finished it in about five hours. Squee, vampires, sex, yada yada yada, I loved it. (Still do, just to a lesser extent.) Life is happy.

Several days later I find out that one of my dear friends, very much NOT being himself, also decides to buy the pile of literature. I swear that if D could, he would spearhead a Purge Our Schools Of Twilight! campaign. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to try. Admittedly the writing isn't that great, the characters are flat, and the plot is lacking, but I at least appreciate them for their escapist value — they're a substantial, enjoyable, angsty way to waste time. My friend just openly loathes them, which is why I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the spine with a chess piece staring at me from his meager book shelf. (That was also a surprise. He doesn't have many books anyway, so to buy that, of all things?! My God, he must have been on something that day.) Boo, happy ending, sex, yada yada yada, he hated it. Life is happy.

A long time later (let's say November/December 2009) D came off his drug trip and decided to get rid of the pile of literature. His first method of purging his bookshelf was to hold a book burning. I about had a heart attack at that, especially because he asked me to help, and instead swooped in with a cloud of glitter and angelic choirs, offering to take the book home like the Publishing Saint that I am. He was glad to see it go, practically shoving it down my pants in an effort to get it out of his sight and his house.

Dilemma.

Suddenly my house has two copies of the pile of literature, with only one person who likes it. (Slight correction: My house has only one person who has read or intends to read it.) The second copy is rendered useless and excessive. In fact it kind of made me feel like my books were rabbits, because suddenly the amount of Breaking Dawn doubled in one fell swoop.

Trying to find a home for the useless pile of literature, I posted something on Facebook to the extent of "Bradley Jonsson rescued a copy of Breaking Dawn from a potential book-burning yesterday, but now he has two copies and needs to find a home for one of them. Any takers?" After several comments from people suggesting to go through with the book burning, my sister saying she would take it because they can always use more toilet paper at her house, and a few kinder people saying they would take it if they didn't already have a copy, enter the patron saint. My dear friend K said she would take it and give it to her girlfriend. (K is a lesbian, and a terrible one at that.) The comments stopped, and the book had seemingly found a home.

Well, it's still sitting on my shelf, collecting dust.

Enter the violence! For about a month now I've had the urge to destroy something. An old art project, an ugly shirt, anything — but I've also always wanted to tear a book apart, ever since my older sister had a fight and completely dismantled the family dictionary. All the pages were collected in a shoe box and thrown away, but not before I saw them and coveted them. One of the most vivid memories I have is walking into my sister's room and seeing her sitting on the floor, tears on her face and a dictionary in fluttering pieces at her feet.

Hmm. Need to tear something apart, plus useless and substantial book. Naturally I put the two together.

Except. Destroying anything makes me sad, but destroying a book? That is a sin punishable by extremely painful and drawn-out torture. Death is too good for one who destroys books.

SO WHY DO I WANT TO DO THAT?! It literally goes against the core of everything I believe/like/hold dear.

Sigh. Anyway, I digress.

I've come up with a compromise.

destroy: to ruin the structure, organic existence, or condition of; to ruin as if by tearing to shred; to put out of existence.

That damn structure in there is throwing things off. (Thanks a heap, www.Merriam-Webster.com) The compromise was going to use the dictionary as a loophole in some way or another, but that structure kind of kills it. How can you take apart, dismantle, whatever-you-want-to-call-it a book without "ruining the structure"? Wait, hold on.

to reduce to ruins; to damage irreparably; to subject to frustration, failure, or disaster.

Hmm. (By the way, I'm making this compromise up as I go along.) I will not be subjecting the book to frustration, failure, or disaster. I will not be reducing it to ruins. But I'll definitely be damaging it irreparably. I mean, even with my original plan of keeping all the component parts for some thing or another, it will be beyond repair.

Ah, screw it. That book is going down.

Er, in the nicest way possible.

And I'll post pictures or something.

Oh, and happy Pi Day, everybody.