/lit/ - Literature

/lit/ how do I get myself to read a book? I pick one up and I am mildly interested, but then I read only a little bit of it and never open it ever again. I also have this huge pile of books that I want to read, but I just can't bring myself to starting one.

It was never like this before, I have no idea how to motivate myself to finishing, or even reading a book anymore. Some of them are textbooks but I don't know if that makes a difference.

I hardly read anymore because of it and I feel like I am missing out on so much knowledge.

>it's another thinly-veiled thread about sex or the lack thereof
do you idiots never get tired of this?

>>10775105
>IQ TESTS ARE, OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING, THE SINGLE MOST RELIABLE PSYCHOMETRIC TESTS EVER DEVISED BY HUMAN BEINGS. PERIOD.
So were horoscopes and readings of entrails, for a while.

>it's another thread where we importunately blog at each other about our shitty sex lives and wallow in self pity

>>9381789
>play Skyrim
>CHOOSE WHICH COLOR BALL U WANT TO SHOOT FROM HAND: COLD / FIRE / LIGHTNING
>FOR U R THE CHOSEN ONE...
>play CRPG/ARPG from 1990s
>actual roleplay, great story, mechanics so complicated they have emergent complexity

Capitalism is consuming us

>it's another "theism vs. atheism" thread

>>9354335
>pic of a faggot who uses books as status symbols
>hackneyed "canon" metaphor loaded with pretentious verbosity

Off to a great start, OP

>>9325494
You literally defined "collective bargaining" as "striking," e.g.
>Collective bargaining (striking) only works if most or all of the employees choose not to work
Now you're just backpedaling. It's pretty embarrassing

>it's a "tfwnogf" thread

>it's a "Jews" thread

>>9129821
>the commonality is common

Provocative insight brainman

The tarantula rattling at the lily’s foot
Across the feet of the dead, laid in white sand
Near the coral beach—nor zigzag fiddle crabs
Side-stilting from the path (that shift, subvert
And anagrammatize your name)—No, nothing here
Below the palsy that one eucalyptus lifts
In wrinkled shadows—mourns.

And yet suppose
I count these nacreous frames of tropic death,
Brutal necklaces of shells around each grave
Squared off so carefully. Then

To the white sand I may speak a name, fertile
Albeit in a stranger tongue. Tree names, flower names
Deliberate, gainsay death’s brittle crypt. Meanwhile
The wind that knots itself in one great death—
Coils and withdraws. So syllables want breath.

But where is the Captain of this doubloon isle
Without a turnstile? Who but catchword crabs
Patrols the dry groins of the underbrush?
What man, or What
Is Commissioner of mildew throughout the ambushed senses?
His Carib mathematics web the eyes’ baked lenses!

Under the poinciana, of a noon or afternoon
Let fiery blossoms clot the light, render my ghost
Sieved upward, white and black along the air
Until it meets the blue’s comedian host.

Let not the pilgrim see himself again
For slow evisceration bound like those huge terrapin
Each daybreak on the wharf, their brine-caked eyes;
—Spiked, overturned; such thunder in their strain!
And clenched beaks coughing for the surge again!

Slagged of the hurricane—I, cast within its flow,
Congeal by afternoons here, satin and vacant.
You have given me the shell, Satan,—carbonic amulet
Sere of the sun exploded in the sea.

>>7764765