This is a storybook pillow, available at Colombo’s House Of Fashions or Amazon. Not available on the Kindle. This is not the diary of a Japanese courtesan (an instance of Zuihitsu, a precursor to the modern blog). Neither is it an erotic film of the same name. It’s quite literally a book sewn into a pillow.

My friend Deshan often tells me that books will go out like the dinosaurs, magnificently. I agree in theory, but it doesn’t seem the be the reality. It seems that most publishers are content to go out like litigating lemmings. This was until I saw ‘Modernist Cuisine’, a multi-million dollar adventure in cookery by former Microsoft CTO Nathan Myhrvol and his team. The five volume book weighs 43 pounds, has four pounds of ink and cost around $500. It is also has some of the best photography I’ve ever seen and gives me a distant thrill at the thought of how much knowledge and experimentation has gone into the work. This book is a dinosaur. It is magnificent.

I’m reading this new Kaplan book, so forgive me if the blog reads like a disjointed review. He speaks very highly of the Omani sultan (dictator in its non pejorative sense). However, he asks, “what happens if – or when – power shifts to a less vigorous or enlightened one? Then such extreme centralization can signal disaster… Nondemocratic countries like Oman often evince efficiency when things are going well, but when problems arise in such systems the population, especially if it is young, can become quite restive.” That is, democracy is not always better in the short run. To serve specific ends, despots are often in order.

My friend Deshan once said if books are on the way out, they may as well go out like dinosaurs. Awesome, magnificent carcasses for rats. Maybe so. Above is a die-cut image from a new book by Jonathan Foer. Tree Of Codes is a cut-up book, meaning he’s sampled words from an old story to make a new one. In this case, however, the book is actually cut-up. It’s a story about a last day of life, doing one of the few things a three dimensional book can do that a Kindle can’t. Look like a sculpture. Then, below, is a video of how ink is made. Almost all printed matter is made with a color wheel not of Red, Green and Blue but Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Black (CMYK). The K is black for some reason, kalu?

I was reading Adele Balasingham’s autobiography The Will To Freedom, which I randomly found in a used bookshop. The wife of late LTTE ideologue Anton Balasingham, she wrote a self-serving and blinkered autobiography, which is nevertheless interesting for her personal access to late LTTE leader Prabhakaran and other assorted terrorists. What I found most interesting was how total psychos tend to be humanized via food. She writes how Prabhakaran’s passion was food and cooking and how he often sent over dishes for her and Anton. She also details his fastidious dress and cleanliness habits and how he despised smoking and drinking. All very admirable and connectable human traits, but she entirely elides incidents like the multiple suicide bombings he ordered, or the hacking to death of border villagers, or the machine gunning of innocent worshipers in Anuradhapura. Instead, the story she wrote is about some pristine liberation struggle where Prabhakaran enters as a friendly neighbor, helping with food and travel arrangements. Interesting personal anecdotes, but not really representative of history. That is, even mass murderers must eat, as humans do. That doesn’t make them humanitarians.

Nasik is a town named nose. Ravana’s sister got her nose cut off here and, in some tellings, her breasts. That really started the whole thing. It is a bit weird to see people venerating images of a man disfiguring a woman, but they do. Personally, I’ve never liked Lackshman. He disfigured my mythical aunt and later killed the mythical me (Indrajit). However, the Ramayana keeps surprising me with its humanity. This evening I sat under a tree where Lackshmana sat for 12 years in penance for killing Indrajit. I didn’t know that. It’s quite a nice gesture.

I’m at the coconut stand, drinking tea, watching reality TV. I like neither caffeine nor king coconut, we’re just here to watch the girls. It’s a peculiar corner. There is a pile of coconuts and a shack. Pregnant goats eat the garbage and kids serve you drinks. This is nondescript, I daresay, but the place is surrounded by foreign women. Me and a friend are sitting there, just watching the show.

I was traveling and Machiavelli’s ‘Prince’ fit into my backpack. It’s addressed to a Medici, but it could just as well serve a Rajapakse. There are a few major lessons I got from it. Wage war, and wage war decisively. Maintain popular support and buy off the nobles. Do not be played or beguiled by foreign forces. Be bold and unapologetic. Machiavellianism is seen as evil, but it’s also realistic. There is a better way, but we have to at least acknowledge the fact.

I live in Sri Lanka. I buy used books from the street. My parents give me books. Most Sri Lankans have even less access than me. Anything that makes books available to more people worldwide is good to me. Google Books is one place where any Internet Cafe Johnny can search and reference (mostly old) books if they have the initiative. What they’re calling for isn’t that controversial, they’re just collecting and preserving out of print books and ‘orphaned’ books where the copyright has expired. These would likely disappear into McCallum street, or entirely. They’re also talking about a payment system for copyright authors. Microsoft, Yahoo and Amazon, however, are suing them.

I was reading this biography of Prabhakaran and I was struck by how often he was bailed out, either by or because of India. The LTTE was constantly able to retreat to India, to train there, collect funds, and be supported directly by the Indian government and RAW. It seems to take just hours to cross to Tamil Nadu by boat. At crucial points in the process India poured fuel on the fire then, trying to douse, it got burnt by Premadasa. Then Premadasa in turn got burnt. The only thing unchanging was Prabhakaran in his committment to a separate state of Tamil Eelam. Until everyone learnt they were getting played and he ended up alone.