Writing these days is like Greek or Latin. Some get it sooner than later depending on how it’s working out for you. In most cases it never works out as well as originally planned. The plan is as simple as waving a flag and to then expect winning results. Only a fool would believe such nonsense.
We start out life thinking everything will just happen at the click of a button, without any real focus. We walk into a room, flick on a switch to only find somebody else had already turned on the light of day. And now we feel like it’s us who flicked on the darkness. Equally the written word has been relegated below the image. Video has muscled in and presentations have squeezed the life out of time.
Product worshipping has replaced the need for seasons. The glass dome we live in is a giant sun room that looks like a golf ball. You can brush and polish it all you like but it won’t always yield a ‘eagle’ hole in one.
To the outside world writing seems like a boil or rash. I often get comments like how would you like to pay for some SEO. Follow me on Twitter or Instagram, never “How’s your father?”. Luckily there are still avid readers who still enjoy real cream profiteroles.
Blogging is a great way to document thoughts. You can look around all you like, follow everyone and anyone. But actually spotting talent and tracking them down is like talking Greek. It won’t be long before you’ll have them all crashing on your sofa. Most blogs are just wet beds. It’s easy to just ‘dip your toe into things’ or ‘bang in a few clichés here and there’ but actually squeezing out substance, rythmn and reason seems a whole other ball game. Is just great to have a place to kick the ball into a brick wall as hard as possible.
So is blogging a game, or is it more like a voluntary soup kitchen? We stand around ladling bowls of soup and stuffing passers by with crusty bread and butter all day. To only one day realise asperations are like ships in the night. You are attracting the rich and famous. The people who need your skills are out there dating your next girlfriend. It’s like one day that revelation reveals itself as plain as the pimple on the end of your nose. The secret is they do get behind you you only have to resume the position and simply ask. Sad really how most folks at some point made themselves recieve that sort of punishment. These sort of blocks keep people back from commenting on anything outside of their own world of problems.
Most of societies problems are amplified in solo fake news. This promoted belief is done through making readers believe they are the only ones reading things. These readers feel lonely and unique, like it’s only themselves that share each others experiences. It used to be the other way around. If you wanted someone to share your blurbs you do certain things. Techniques that make themselves different and unique. It’s this pressure that gets the heard commenting. It’s the same people who look back at other people and say ‘Jesus, I so proud of you!’. Yet all they see of themselves is the leaky cracks in their world. The mess starts within which is why we all experience guilt. This sort of guilt is rediculous, false and serves nobody.
And the hobbyhorse. We think it’s fine being left in the Postman Pat red car rocking with a collection of coins in the metre, whilst leaders and guardians go about their business in the busy shopping mall. They hang their friends out to dry like hats on a stand. So its ok to throw a ball of paper again into that little paper basket far, far away? No it isn’t and neither should you feel like a screwed up piece of paper. You see we have made this world a world of editors. Society is filled with a world of invisible criques whom rather than show themselves, they just keep on churning out the same crap.
Take photojournalists for example. You see maybe one picture of themselves in the avatar of themselves hiding behind a lens. This naturally attracts other photographers who have avatars of themselves hiding behind a lens. Its like the happy lens club. Stuff them and there silly lens avatars. If they have problems reading and writing the that’s just the way it is and those things will never change. And music fans. They listen, they learn but have lost that needed outlet of karaoke so instead they go out in the world, singing other peoples songs and expect to get paid for it, potty training comes to mind. I’m a big boy now. Its wiping time. Ben becomes the big monster gloating in the pool. The Mars or Snickers. The photographers Hoola Hoop face in a ball of fire. The literature on the lavatory wall saying call me you sissi.
Most people understandably don’t even read it. My hope is a world of more people busy writing instead of just pressing buttons thinking the rest of the world will clap at the top five names on the Pheonix, Mr Do! High score.