I am one of the most intelligent, most profound individuals to

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I am one of the most intelligent, most profound individuals to browse /lit/ yet I don't read books.

How can this be?

I am able to write searing, intense, detailed criticism of both novels and complex theory, be it literary, philosophical or sociological. I am capable of identifying obscure underlying themes in any story I read, identifying the symbolism employed (usually with a heavy hand) by their author, I am able as though it were somehow a natural gift to essentially deconstruct any work of literature and explain in cold analytical terms why it fails or succeeds. I exist in a sense above the world of literature, gazing down upon it like an omniscient adjudicator.

Yet...I don't read books.

What the fuck is happening here? Have I transcended the need and / or desire to read further novels? Does the totality of my knowledge no longer admit any further information which it now deems superfluous? Or has my attention span and curiosity for life become so affected by a culture of haste and instant gratification that I am simply incapable, without a great deal of conscious self-discipline and restraint, to focus on something which now threatens me as a potential waste of time?