It wasn’t enough to be enough anymore, one had to be infinitely more; or less, he wasn’t sure. To be full of wit and self-deprecation while quietly grooming one’s status as attractive seemed to be key in marketing as of late, probably somewhat always, but things were spiraling, getting worse, vapid even. Tragedy is now flaccidity because there is no more content; content has been banned or at least relegated to the basement in favor of speed, but it’s seen as alright because there is such a wealth of contentless material that the mere quantity constitutes conversation about said quantity, and the discussion therefore becomes content made of empty content. A giant box filled with empty boxes .
April 2, 2013
Design, invent, write, parent, cook, create View all posts by christophermwilt
This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 2nd, 2013 at 4:49 pm and tagged with content, empty, observation, writing and posted in Baltimore, Fiction, observation, publishing, Uncategorized, writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.