Junk Food

I read a really bad book lately. It's a popular young adult book. It was a huge mess. Again and again I wonder at myself: I think I've got taste but then why do I like slumming it so much. I met some of my uber literary friends on saturday before Venkat's farewell. I had nothing I had read that I could confess to. I didn't care but why do I dwell on things I know which I don't really like. Does the thrill make up for it? It's just sensational to be inflamed with fear, wonder and love. Escapist, unreal, shallow.
And if one does want sensation there is DH Lawrence, Colette, Maupassant. I think its time to go on a detox diet of reading.