Why I Don't Read Many Books Anymore
I am sitting in a room with stacks of unread books. The longer they remain unread, the more likely they will remain unread forever.
My bookshelves used to function as a kind of visual memory aid. Their function now is largely decorative. They are picture frames for an assortment of coloured spines. I am running out of time to recoup all the hours used elsewhere. Mostly I am running out of patience.
In my hands is a little black slab with a spider-web crack across the screen. This shiny thing has hijacked my mind and dominates the space once set aside for leafing through magazines or for finishing a chapter of a book.
The slab has become part of my extended consciousness. It is a memory bank and a component of my cognition. It is a breeding ground for germs and a repository for a large chunk of my soul. It holds my photographs, my secrets, and my correspondence. More importantly, it holds my undying attention.
And that’s why I don’t read many books anymore.
GS1
Want that as a poem? Here you go:
Why I Don't Read Many Books Anymore
I am sitting in a room with stacks of unread books
The longer they remain unread
The more likely they will remain unread forever
My bookshelves used to function as a kind of visual memory aid
Their function now is largely decorative
They are picture frames for an assortment of coloured spines
I am running out of time to recoup all the hours used elsewhere
Mostly I am running out of patience
In my hands is a little black slab with a spider-web crack across the screen
This shiny thing has hijacked my mind
And dominates the space once set aside for leafing through magazines
Or for finishing a chapter of a book
The slab has become part of my extended consciousness
It is a memory bank and a component of my cognition
It is a breeding ground for germs
And a repository for a large chunk of my soul
It holds my photographs, my secrets, and my correspondence
More importantly, it holds my undying attention
And that’s why I don’t read many books anymore
GS