books for smut

I was locked out today, which is quite often, because I keep leaving my keys at home when I leave for church in a hurry. Which was good. I went to the library (my sole refuge from the elements) and started reading Gulliver’s Travels. I’m making progress, but very slow, and very unenjoyable. It’s supposed to be a most ‘disturbing satire of the human condition’, but right now it’s just disturbing. But it’s a Lit text and I must read it – I wouldn’t want to do a repeat of King Lear, would I? Sparknotes and Wikipedia would never fill the void in my soul as the book itself, blah blah –

But the truth is, I hardly read anymore. There’s just no time anymore, with the Macbook and manga and marinated mashed-up meh. I used to love reading, but now there’s a new way to escape, albeit one riddled with smut and shit and sex. It’s called the Internet, and we use it for everything, learning nothing at all.

And now I just want to have a media fast for maybe a week, except that I can’t, because the Internet is everything. I get my news from it, my entertainment, my homework. It is my photo album to the world, my playlist, my window, my flute. Isn’t it worrying where everyone becomes a hyperlink on a list, a bookmark, a paint-by-numbers profile on a social networking atrium?

What purported tools of convenience we have designed have crippled us. Try leaving your phone at home for a day?

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