/lit/ - Literature

>>20136081
The vivid imagination that was fueling my teenage days has devolved so pathetically that the only avenues i seem to explore are ones that involve my shitty little self doing something and getting respected for it ; having a grand old time with loved ones ; or banal intrusive thoughts. even when forcing my mind to come up with elaborate scenarios and possibilities, i can never go very far with it. it used to be the easiest thing in the world, and now i can't even do that.
What's the explanation for this sharp decline? Is it merely a result of bad habits and general neglect? How can those pathways become so rusty?
Those charmless humorless white collar guys in their mid 50s who never manage to say anything of note seem to be a lot more understandable at this point. Headed for a nightmare.

>>20084210
Well you didn't wake up this morning
'Cause you didn't go to bed
You were watching the whites of your eyes turn red
The calendar on your wall
Is ticking the days off
You've been reading some old letters
You smile and think how much you've changed
All the money in the world
Couldn't buy back those days

You pull back the curtains
And the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying
Across the clear blue sky
This is the day
Your life will surely change
This is the day
When things fall into place

You could've done anything
If you'd wanted
And all your friends and family
Think that you're lucky
But the side of you they'll never see
Is when you're left alone with the memories
That hold your life together like
Glue

You pull back your curtains
And the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying
Across the clear blue sky
This is the day
Your life will surely change
This is the day
When things fall into place
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
That your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change
This is the day (this is the day)
Your life will surely change...

That's the one thing i was dreading because of this russia-ukraine bullshit. Russia has the biggest sea of pirated content available to the entire public in the whole wide web, with its autistic users managing to preserve the most niche and downright strange content that you would probably never manage to find elsewhere just for the hell of it, and now they're going to use this excuse to enforce a harder crackdown on the freeflowing piracy that's been established for years now. Obviously, it will never go away, but i just don't want to go back to the dark ages of having no other alternative than dealing some fatass cunt admin on a private tracker banning people left and right for childish and petty reasons, and getting away with it because of a lack of choices. Those ruskies left it all to be two clicks away from any random user in the world, if he knew what to type in the search engine.
It was already pretty bad that the generation of kids from the past 5-6 years had a laughably limited piracy culture with the advent of subscription services convincing them to just not bother with looking elsewhere despite it being incredibly easy to never need to pay for one of those shits ever again , but now we might risk the possibility of hubs like z-lib, ok.ru, slsk and whatnot getting completely memoryholed and locked away in an inaccessible box.
I fear.
And to those that are suggesting libgen, it had a much smaller library than z-lib, especially when it came to non-english books and .epubs as opposed to pdfs.

How do you find the restraint to just sit down and write when your brain is germinating with ideas? I get so excited and agitated to the point where i'm shaking everywhere with glee and need to pace around for hours, putting together the images in my head and talking to myself ; this is the high. But then, once the comedown happens, everything starts getting sluggish very quickly and i can only write two decent pages before all my mind tubes are clogged & frozen.
How do you get past this autism?

In terms of modern-to-contemporary era literature, yeah it's been a struggle. As you would expect from a post-colonial country, the commonly hailed books contain a lot of humanitarian, sentimental to a spielbergian degree, very influenced by lite-communism, naive calls for a more lax westernized bon vivant life under the "one world, one nation, one love" banner of bs, sometimes with some magical realism involved. I understand why these works have resonated for so many people, but their limited scope and quite frankly borderline insulting manipulation of the population's general spirits is ultimately exasperating. It's not necessarily the authors' fault, it was an emotional reaction to the unrest that they witnessed and how it hurt them, but its presentation and its treatment by those who were supposed to carry the torch made it all the more nauseating, and the fact that these were mainly written by diaspora who left their country of origin to live in their colonist's land so they can daydream about the good old days without doing much to contribute to the cause that they so deeply cherished in their writings is another element of repulsion for me.
Whereas the latinos were bold and laid down fiery writings that didn't sacrifice the lucidity of a thousand yard stare, and kept the balls of internal identity rolling, our guys were impotent. Where did the mysticism go?
I'll also mention that the lack of studious critics and abstract theorists was fatal as well.
They missed the heart of the matter by many miles, and worst of all, they pointed the finger at the wrong reasons. Being exposed to this climate in the context of severely misguided university students as well as "intellectual" who are merely propagating the status-quo without realizing it was a frustrating experience for me and many others, but on the flip side, hopefully, this disillusion has planted the seeds that will grow from our soil into the sharp swords of nature that will pierce the veil and bring times of greater clarity. I sincerely hope that someone out there will take that torch and do it while transcending silly labels such as "reactionary" and whatnot. A grassroots type of intelligentsia. We must not let the alternative approach to life be completely eclipsed and swallowed by the beige beast.

sometimes i perceive myself as having brilliant moments of thought. a feeling that is reinforced by other people's praise. but then once i put them on paper, i am horrified at how thin and fuckin superfluous they really are, and i'm at such a low point of cowardice in my life that i've been avoiding writing them down just to not deflate myself completely. i understand that it's supposed to be a humbling experience, but i come out of it more discouraged than anything. it's suicide fuel.
do any other anons have similar experiences?

How do you bros avoid being utterly disgusted by your own writing? I understand that, like any other craft, you're supposed to be shit before you see any improvement, but the frustration of never being capable of rendering justice to the ideas and images in my head is extremely frustrating, and quite frankly, i can't bear to look those abominations i have laid on ink.
How do you do it?

To all of those who read books on their smartphones : How the fuck do you do it ? Is it even comfortable ? Can you even concentrate properly ?
Thank you.