Don't you ever feel that you are wasting your life reading while you could be out there "enjoying life"...

Why not do both? Reading is a super comfy weekday evening or Sunday afternoon activity.

what else would I do? if there were something that I felt to be superior which I could feasibly do as an alternative to reading then I would be doing that. I am exactly as I want to be and I pity those who are not.

I don't think that it's a chore, I love reading, but sometimes like I'm missing something. All these people seem to be happy partying, fucking and getting drunk, and I'm locked in my room reading the whole day.

Yea Forums got cancered by slavs ang chinks

>and I'm locked in my room reading the whole day.
Whose decision was that? Yours. Nobody is stopping you from read and having the social life that you want.

The only way to not waste your life is to kill yourself unironically. Life is nothing but suffering, and the sooner it ends, the better.

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Everyone that I have encountered who made this argument has spent ridiculous amounts of time watching video. Last time I heard it, they were talking about their binge watching GOT 5 minutes later.

>what else would I do?
Drugs

Mine were quoting Joe Rogan.

Based, subscription to prescriptive dialogue is absolutely retarded, I’d then say to them, "Define living life, define enjoying it", imagine being autistic enough to fall for the,
>Travel Moar
>Go our moar

Reading is far more rewarding than partying in the long term. I did the whole drinking and partying thing when I was younger and remember and value very little of it now, whereas insightful things I have read have fundamentally altered my thought processes and the very course of my life. That being said, socialization is a very important aspect of life and shouldn't be entirely neglected either.

Never.

>Don't you ever feel that you are wasting your life reading while you could be out there "enjoying life"? There's a lot of people telling me that reading is useless, that I'm "living the life of someone else and not mine".
Is that such a bad thing? I don't see that as a bad thing. I think I have no more control over my life than any other person and I don't live my life that other people do. It is my choices to make and I don't really care what others think of those choices. That's how the world works and it is my choice to live. So why not read my books? Because I would read them if they were available and I also know if they are available I don't have to read them anymore. The only difference here is that I have "enough free time" to read a book in my spare time. So please don't say that I waste my free time reading because I would rather waste it reading my books even if they aren't available.

If you haven't read your fair share of literature then you'll end up swallowing down every piece of bullshit that gets thrown your way.

>tfw life never reaches the romance and excitement of stories
>tfw alternating between boring and painful

The truth is, "life" as you conceive of it in your mind is the ideal you've constructed through absorbing writing and other media. The actual experience can never match up. Only memories, gilded by the passage of time, can possibly serve as equivalent; but to relive a memory is more akin to reading a book than experiencing a moment.

As far as I can tell, there's no winning. That Kierkegaard quote is right -- live and you will regret it, do not live and you will also regret it.

Maybe start lucid dreaming.

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Anyone who tells you that you need to do or not do X to “enjoy life” is a colossal faggot.
If you get value out of reading, then read until your eyes fall out of your head man

Sometimes I get this feel of urgency, like I should be striving for more than what I currently have. But then again I could be wasting my time with much more pointless shit than literature, like vidya or youtube garbage.

I try to remind myself that we’re all trapped in a decomposing cage of flesh and bone, with a million desires whirling around us at all times like sirens attempting to draw us from our vessel. That these desires are nothing but the conjured demons of economics, society, and evolution and while they promise fulfillment they will only use you to their own ends, increasing their strength over you, leaving you a slave and a broken human. The world of phenomena is a test, projected by the noumena, and to conquer it you must conquer yourself. Although I might try to convince myself that life has some external value, after a night drinking with “friends” or a sexual encounter with woman, it quickly becomes apparent that most friends are not worth having, and that woman’s sexual desires are so perverse and banal that their even having desired you bears the weight of a bad conscience. What man does not discrace himself by submitting to a woman’s desires? He becomes a fool, a brute, a scoundrel, a cuckhold, all at once— and looses himself in the process. What man benefits from society? He devoured his life’s work to the machinations of warfare and industry, he trampled the earth, he becomes bound up in stories told to gullible children, he is sold slavery and like an idiot wears his chains with pride. Service originates in the Latin word”Servi”, meaning slave. That’s what society, friends, woman ask from you, your slavery.
There are two things in life worth their weight in gold: freedom and silence. How many men exchange these treasures for paper? Or for a soft touch of flesh? Or for some false sense of phenomenal meaning to disguise their nouminal emptiness?
In English, the familiar for of “you”, “thou”, has long since died from the language. For those lonely men in Anglo countries seeking company, this should be (with honest reflection) enough proof that you will never find it. We live in a civilizational world-spirit which lacks even the words to express friendship, closeness.
In books, there is the peace of forming a genuine connection with another person. If you cannot read, write. If you cannot write, read. If you are still lonely, hire a whore; it is less demeaning and less expensive than going to clubs. Logos is the breaking free of the soul from the flesh, embrace this and turn your eyes from the treachery of desire.

If you can't do both you're a faggot. You'll never be happy with just one, and you'll never truly enjoy either without the other.

Do you ever feel like a plastic bag?

Drifting thought the wind?

Wanting to start again?

Do you ever feel, feel so paper thin?

Like a house of cards?

One blow from caving in?

Do you ever feel already buried deep
Six feet under scream
But no one seems to hear a thing
Do you know that there's still a chance for you
'Cause there's a spark in you
You just gotta ignite the light
And let it shine
Just own the night
Like the Fourth of July
'Cause baby you're a firework
Come on show 'em what your worth
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y

Unfathomably redpilled

>All these people seem to be happy partying, fucking and getting drunk

Then they go home and take their anti-depressants

the people telling you reading is a waste also spend several hours a day scrolling through facebook instagram etc. it's like when my family members who know that i'm an alcoholic offer me alcohol and i say no thanks they get offended and defensive. people don't like having to question their habits

"A reader lives a thousand lives; a non-reader only one"

Also reading and living aren't mutually exclusive

why can't you be happy like me :)

It does not matter user, lives your life the way you wanted. You came to this world alone and you will go alone, why give a damn about such a petty thing.

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Just

Funny, I was sure you were a chink. What shithole are you a dingleberry of?

There was a time (18th century?) when travel was done by the rich, intelligent, cultured. They traveled with letters of recommendation and were greeted by the luminaries of the time who opened doors to the great art, books, ideas, buildings, social circles of the area—impossible experiences from afar—which was often a time they considered the best of their life. The internet, globalization, commercialization of the world has entirely eliminated that experience. The only people who enjoy traveling now are the opposite of the past, they’re capitalist-hedonist. Obviously that’s not Yea Forums. So ya, it’s a dead meme, but it had a vibrant life once.

if you're a milkboy keep reading

>Wants to clone himself so neither of them will be virgins

Be honest, would you?

Sure readings good. But be honest, you’re lonely as fuck. You need to make some shit friends (because what other kind are available to you) and go out now and then. It won’t make you happy but it’ll make you about a half bar of Xanax less miserable. And that’s about all life has to offer you in the way of reprieve. That and Buddhism.

All them neurons groomed so nice and you just use ‘em to shit the board

Based

No, I'm neither good looking enough nor of the opposite sex. Also, sex without procreation is a waste of time.

The amount of Jew/women hating virgins on this site is depressing, absolutely ruining my brand to be in the same cyber space as you

Why you have such a bleak perspective on the pleasures of social life?

By having a happy childhood

You're constantly at the process of missing something, that doesn't mean anything, especially if you make the mistake of attributing universality to a concept as subjective as "happiness". To me, a happy day is a day sitting in my bed watching kinos or reading books. To others, a happy day is one spent getting absolutely shitfaced. At the same time, while there's nothing stopping you from going to a party getting drunk, there's no guarantee that doing so will give you the same feeling of happiness you get when you read.

No, I enjoyed life once, it was horrible.

Continue reading more not less. Read with the aim of comprehending that what passes for life is mere phantasm.

It all started a little over two, maybe three years ago, when I left the family farm to make my way in the world. Eventually I wandered into a menial service job which gave me much time to read and drink and chat with customers about philosophy and literature and politics, and it made me realize most people are wholly base and uninteresting, and more alike than sdifferent, and different only in virtues while resoundingly common in vices. This job also put me in close contact with several criminals, who were working under the cartel and of whom some were quite successful. The profound loneliness of their occupation fascinated me, and the more I watched them and the world around them the more I realized that so many mantras of young-hedonistic twenty somethings, “just do it” “have fun” “don’t worry and enjoy the party” “just dance” etc., were the facade of an economy of violence, slavery, prostitution, addiction, and abuse against all the most vulnerable in society. The most formative moment in my distrust in youthful carefreeness is when a dealer I was acquainted with used money he’d earned selling cocaine to a couple German tourists to buy two whores for the night— a fourteen year old girl and her mother. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes, which was not sadness, but a look of total acceptance and unquestioning complacency with the reality of her life. Those things stick with you.
Cont.

>educating myself is waste of time, I'd rather move my limbs instead

This

I spent the last 3 years in college waking up at 6am every weekend to go work security at an empty site and read for 8 hours. I don’t remember much of it, besides the huge window which looked out onto a sky which gradually lightened. I read and learned, wasted my youth, excelled and was productive, or not. Doesn’t matter.

I remember early mornings where it was so quiet and lonely that I would walk into the empty parking lot and stare at nothing as my eyes begin to water.

After this I returned home. Nothing much had changed. Being from a small town there was a lot of resentment towards me for having left. Deep down I think I appreciated it somewhat, because it was genuine in a way that young backpackers and celebrities and all those other joyous shallow people aren't. There's a saying that God must love simple people, because he made so many of them. If I was a stronger person I'd have gotten a job at the local law office, saved up, and bought a farm. I'm not so I didn't.

Instead I worked for a bit and saved for school. Even though I had to bear through the occasional bitter comment about me being 'uppity' it was a nice time. I slept with a much older woman for a while, but she kept asking me to impregnate her so she could have a second child before she was too old. At one point her own child (four I think) called me dad, probably at her request, and I could hear the rattling of chains so I cut her loose and never spoke to her again. Got in an argument with my father, moved away to the capital, and befriended a local politician. He took a liking to me and even offered to help me get a job at the Parliamentary Library. If I'd taken this offer, maybe life would have turned out better for me. I could be like Borges, working away daily in a grand library, reading and writing to my hearts content, privy to the ear of my nation's most powerful and influential. Dated a girl for a while, really sweet, I was the second man she'd ever slept with and she saw me as some sort of bohemian type. Memories are more pleasant than life itself, they're God's mea culpa for the physical realm.

Instead I felt overwhelming guilt for how I'd left things with my father, and a vague notion that I should go to school and "make something of myself" (when of course, I had the opportunity of a lifetime staring me in the face). I returned home, worked for a while, and got accepted to one of the best schools in my region, one that sent its graduates to complete PhDs at Harvard and Yale as a matter of course.

cont.

At this point things take a darker turn. One of my friends had been dealing with mental illness for a while. He was a good guy. One of the few that never resented or hated me for my itching feet and wandering mind. One of my best friends, the kind I could talk to about anything, who I could always depend on.

If he'd killed himself it would have been sad. Instead he got it in his stupid schizophrenic mind that several other friends of mine were involved in some sort of "rape cult". He stopped sleeping, stopped bathing, became increasingly paranoid, started carrying a gun around. One night he broke into my friends house and started shooting people in their sleep. Bam. Bam. Bam. The third victim, Z, another friend who I'd grown up with, survived the shot. He wrestled the shooter to the ground. He got the gun from his hands and called for help. I was sleeping downstairs at the time, if the bullet hadn't bounced off Z's head I would have been the next one executed. As it was, there were only two that died. Both pillars of the community. I went into their bedrooms while we were waiting for the police to arrive, in order to see what someone who'd just died looked like. He looked calm, sleeping, except for the bits of brain coming out of his scalp and mouth. Sometimes I can still hear the way my friend screamed when he saw the bodies.

Around this time I started getting seriously into religion and alchemy. I'd actually started fasting the month before the murders, and when it all happened I realized that it was the one truly worthwhile thing I'd done in my life.

So I worked over the summer, despite everything that happened, and made a lot of money. Despite being fairly young, I'd landed a really good job, the kind that gave me an office and a secretary and a weekly salary that exceeded a thousand dollars. I fucked a lot of different woman that summer, prayed every night, wrote every day, and was generally very satisfied with myself. Life has it's ups and downs-- that was an up period, someday I hope life takes me there again.

Everything changed when I went to school. It was a university in the big city, and I'm still a country bumpkin at heart. I didn't know how to act, how to run with the heard in order not to be trampled. My jumpiness, I had just barely survived a mass shooting, set me apart from the masses. I was very flirtatious, my brush with death had done wonders for my libido, and hit on everything that moved, if for nothing but the sheer joy of it. Unfortunately this attracted some crazy bitches to me, and when I rejected one (since I could smell the batshit on her), she decided to accuse me of attempting to "sexually assault" her. Never mind that she was the one who came onto me.

This shouldn't have been such a big deal, but American's are crazy, and there was all the fervor of a witch-hunt on campus. I'd be followed, harassed, threatened, and even barred from campus events. Despite the school launching an investigation against me (during which I was banned from entering certain buildings on campus) and finding absolutely no wrongdoing on my part, they refused to take any action when I complained of harassment and bullying (which I did complain, no less than a dozen times to the various campus authorities). It wasn't until I provided inarguable written evidence of my being harassed that they said if I wanted I could go through a kangaroo court process of bringing my case to the STUDENT judiciary. Of those freaks, only 5% weren't tranny weirdos, but I did anyways. When I presented my case, I was effectively told that if I went forward with my allegations and complaints they could find me guilty of violating what was effectively a no contact order against my "victim" and formally punish me.

An interim to all this, a girl who was close to a friend of mine at the time actually was raped, and quite brutally, she had scars and bruises all over her arms and legs. I didn't particularly know her, but he was reasonably livid and asked me for help in the matter. We went to LA where this girl lived, and tracked the guy down. We waited outside his apartment for two hours, so that we could get him alone and beat his skull in. I had to wrestle a knife out of my friends hand at one point, explaining to him the concept of demonstrable intent. Eventually we trailed him (the rapist) to a coffeeshop. My preference was to walk in and smash a rock across his face, then make a run for it, but my friend was a pussy and settled for talking to him instead.

cont.

Yup. Besides user, there’s plenty of time to enjoy life outside of reading while still finishing 10-20 books a year, which are fine numbers.

Let’s be positive folks :)

Anyways that was all fun and good, but it understandably added a dash of paranoia to all the false allegations surrounding me. Having barely survived being murdered in bed by a man believing in some sort of rape cult, having almost brought brutal violence crashing down on a complete stranger for similar reasons, having followed said stranger for hours without his being any the wiser, and even having gone up to his face and looked him in the eyes, asked him for the time, just to play with him, I started to become immensely concerned for my safety.

Also over this time, my mental health took a clear decline. The allegations against me had effectively isolated me from the body politic of the school and turned me into a pariah. I'd previously been very sexually confident and forward, now this took on a feeling of shame, and my every flirtation was immediately interpreted as a stated intent to molest by the other students. People avoided me as much as possible, so I spent almost the whole year without friends. My one friend during this time was a devout Buddhist, without whom I probably would have completely lost it, but she encouraged me and provided a spiritual example transcending the misery of total social alienation. Having nothing else in my life, I prayed fanatically, meditated, and practiced yoga every day. My studies took on a strongly religious and mystical slant. I wont talk about what I experienced, but I saw and felt things that, even if they could be accurately expressed, would not be believed.

I was playing with holy fire however, and without guides either. At times I would border on psychosis, and it drove away what few friends an acquaintances I did have. Eventually I wouldn't even go to class, just hide in my room reading and meditating. Realizing what a perilous state I was in, I made up my mind to drop out of school, which probably saved my life. Around this time a woman came along, I danced my way into her life, and used up all of my tapas over the course of a month-long bought of sexual exertion with her. She fell deeply in love with me and asked me to move in with her, and I was deeply in love with her so I did.

cont.

That summer I returned home. Everything was the same, but everything was different. The dislike the townspeople had towards me had solidified at this point, I was unarguably an outside to them. My closest childhood friend, who had always been there for me, had become a horrible drug addict while I was gone, and weak as I am I simply chose to retreat within myself than have to deal with the reality of my hometown. Around this time another childhood friend of mine, also suffering from schizophrenia, slashed his grandmother's throat (she was the one person who had unwavering stood by his spoiled stupid ass during his illness and supported him) and dumped her body in the woods close to my house. After that happened I could truthfully say that most of my friends were either dead or in prison without it feeling cliche.

Not wanting to be around this, I moved back with my girlfriend. She was going to the school I'd been driven out of with pitchforks and torches, and we lived together in the student housing. She was always good to me, always sweet, but a workaholic. I took a few classes at the nearby community college, paramedicine, and while I enjoyed the rush of life and death that's in that field, I was bored at home, often coming home to an empty apartment, cooking some crap, and going to sleep alone only to be waken around midnight when she'd finally return from her studies. I also resented her a lot, since she could follow her dreams in academia while I'd been driven out brutally and unfairly. I tried to apply to other schools in the area, but my grades were irreparably destroyed from my bought of mental illness, and nobody would touch me. For her part I don't think she appreciated how lonely I was, and was too busy with her own life to really offer the support I disparately needed. She's an angel, but at the end of the day being with her was too constraining, and brought me constantly into contact with a world I just wanted to leave behind me and forget about. The coup de grace of our relationship was when I was called to stand trail for the murder of my friends, and rather than go with me, she stayed behind to focus on her thesis. At this point I realized the only person I could really depend on was myself, so I left and went back home.

My best friend had gotten even worse in my absence. Now he has scars all over his face. He steals and scavenges through scrap metal piles in order to get drug money. It disgusts me to admit this, but I couldn't bear to be around him anymore, it was all too depressing. Here I fall further into myself, my hobbies, my old books, my mind. Here I am alone.

That's the long and short of it. Some facts omitted, some distorted. In the end, I find it hard to refute the pessimists. Life is best experienced from a distance. Misery is all around, and for all my whining I've escaped relatively unharmed compared to most of the people I know. If I'm smart enough to quite while I'm ahead, to keep my head down and avoid commitments. Happiness is inside me, I tell myself this because I've seen enough of life to realize it won't be found anywhere else.

Now I'm comfortable. I'm attending a small community college in a different state. I study as many languages as I have classes available, and history, and read literature in my free time. I will start work at a nearby bar soon, which will allow me to fund my studies and have the bare minimum of social interaction required for sanity. Beyond this I hold my breath for nothing. What would "enjoying life" accomplish? Melancholy, a constant chasing of desires without cessation or end.

I'm not particularly athletic, or charming, or sexually desirable, what I have is my books and my mind, and not even access to a middle-tier university where I could put those skills to use. So I read and write and bide my time. If life can be pleasantly ignored till the end, that is perhaps the best fate man can hope for.

I don't know if you read my story or not. It doesn't matter. It was nice to type it all out. Nobody knows these things about me, just bits and pieces. Most of myself I keep to myself. Now I can return to being nothing. Maybe someone will read this and find some wisdom in it. Maybe it was an enjoyable story. All of it is lies, invented on the spot. Now I'm tired. I'll sleep. Tomorrow I'll be someone new, someone fresh, but I'll still be reading and I'll still be writing.

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I read all your posts and I enjoyed them. You write very well. Good luck in everything man. I'm at where you're at right now but not after such difficult experiences. It's nice to hear someone verify your disillusionment with the game.

you missed
>All of it is lies, invented on the spot.

your writing is good friend, the only thing that left me a bit disappointed is the final part, i was expecting a more original commentary over the previous experiences, instead we get the "pessimists are right lol". even tho that would be a likely conclusion for the character who has experienced all these things, i feel like the reader expects something more than what has been delivered. your style is enjoyable, nonetheless.

No, I enjoy reading. Also reading in no way prevent me from regularly getting wasted, doing coke and generally "enjoying life".

Based and cokepilled