/lit/ - Literature

Reading fiction is actually a waste of life. Why would one go through the trouble of reading fiction when they can just go watch a movie, tv show, or read a comic book? All of these things are easily digestable in one sitting whereas a 700 page fantasy book needs to be drawn out and read through differing days. I can get the full cathartic experience of reading through watching the avenger movies and I only waste 2 hours of my time. Atleast nonfiction books teach you something other mediums cant. If Im reading fiction it will only ever be a short story. Fuck 800 page fantasy novels.

I cant concentrate on reading a book

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I hate smoothbrains like you so much, this board is better off without you. It's not enough that faggots like you unironically get filtered by Don Quixote in that thread.

>Frost
>ice
Ohh, very clever.

>another one of these threads

>dramafag
>is he reddit?

>>19950521
When I did mention sex, asshole? Or should I say, Jew?

Everytime someone comes to me with their family problems i find that Kafka metamorphosis would solve their life i tell them to read then but nobody does

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>>19578258
>Their ideology is to place the individual, or better yet the consumer, at the forefront of everything
Two years into coofmania

>>19494070
In one month...

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>>19330704
Yeah Hollywood is famously reluctant to depict Jewish people

Ligotti isn't a materialist you dumb fucking retards, I can say for sure 90% of fags ITT haven't read the book.

>Like Segal’s vastness, Schopenhauer’s Will has the same purpose in mind for human beings—to use our “circuitries” to acquire some kind of knowledge of its mindless self. For Schopenhauer, though, the self-seeking Will does not feel good to human beings except during moments when we temporarily satisfy its universal ravening as it emerges within us. Why the vastness or the Will should want to use us in this way is a mystery. Both of these non-dualistic meta-realities do serve the purpose of making sense of human life in their own way. But whether they make us feel good does not seem to matter to either of them. We are just vehicles; they are the drivers. And wherever we are going, as Segal and Schopenhauer have assured us, along with every other individual whose consciousness has been opened to the vastness by whatever name or nature, we must keep in mind that we are not what we think we are. Taking things a step further, Professor Nobody would teach us that neither is our world what we think it is, lecturing us with a flamboyant dispassion on the omnipresence of the infernal in “The Eyes That Never Blink.”

>Mist on a lake, fog in thick woods, a golden light shining on wet stones—such sights make it all very easy. Something lives in the lake, rustles through the woods, inhabits the stones or the earth beneath them. Whatever it may be, this something lies just out of sight, but not out of vision for the eyes that never blink. In the right surroundings our entire being is made of eyes that dilate to witness the haunting of the universe. But really, do the right surroundings have to be so obvious in their spectral atmosphere?
>Take a cramped waiting room, for instance. Everything there seems so well-anchored in normalcy. Others around you talk ever so quietly; the old clock on the wall is sweeping aside the seconds with its thin red finger; the window blinds deliver slices of light from the outside world and shuffle them with shadows. Yet at any time and in any place, our bunkers of banality may begin to rumble. You see, even in a stronghold of our fellow beings we may be subject to abnormal fears that would land us in an asylum if we voiced them to another. Did we just feel some presence that does not belong among us? Do our eyes see something in a corner of that room in which we wait for we know not what?
>Just a little doubt slipped into the mind, a little trickle of suspicion in the bloodstream, and all those eyes of ours, one by one, open up to the world and see its horror. Then: no belief or body of laws will guard you; no friend, no counselor, no appointed personage will save you; no locked door will protect you; no private office will hide you. Not even the solar brilliance of a summer day will harbor you from horror. For horror eats the light and digests it into darkness.

The Conspiracy Against the Human Race

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