Now the customers got more motivated than ever, seeing their objects
of desire not only described by their own technical details, but also by
their many external references.

At this very moment, Amazon placed a gamble with the future. She
did something no other bookseller had ever done before: She disembodied
a substantial part of her books, thus filling a huge database (the literary
correspondent of the music 'celestial jukebox'). By doing so, customers
were able to text-search whole books ('search inside the book' option,
they called it) and then see the search results displayed within the
respective paragraphs of the book searched. This provoked a global joy
and ecstatic use, but exposed the nudity of the book to too many eyes.
We, the Amazon Noir gang, were simply astounded and started to
endlessly play with this umpteenth content toy.

So, we couldn't stop until we stole the invisible.

We couldn't resist her beauty. She was a beautiful rich body of culture,
continuously unveiling her generous and attractive forms at request,
but never saying: "Yes, you can take me away". This free cultural peep
show started to drive us crazy. Many others were in the same condition,
but reacted differently: crashed their computers and were never again
online, or found another pay-per-view drug. Some of them described it
"like being constantly titillated, regularly being asked for money in
order to possess one of the too many physical bits". In fact adopted
software doesn't give access to the whole content, but only to bits of it.
Nevertheless, it is clear and understood to anybody that the whole
content was 'there', behind a few mysterious clicks away. A cornucopia
of texts, an astonishing amount of knowledge, a compelling body of
culture, infinitely put on hold, for marketing reasons. So this virtual
interface was a never-ending blinking to the disclosed magnificent
beauty sold one bit a time.

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