The Future We’re Writing up and the Creative Messiah Complex
Public turns pubic and gets awkward, confusing, and crass. If you write about your vagina on the internet, are you considered pubic media or public media? In the age of political correctness, what amuses one person is guaranteed to offend another.
Here’s a quick fix: Above all else, aim to offend everyone equally.
Create art that meets the moment instead of ephemeral words thrown into the garbage disposal for brain farts that is the internet of greed and grift, a gore fest of mangled grabby fingers, drool, and spite where bloated prose bubbles up and erupts and oozes, clogging up the conversation.
Who breeds this culture and why?
Who breeds this contempt and why?
Who breeds this content and why?
Levity levitates and joy shimmers in the distance: Verse is no longer risk-averse, poets are publishing with wild abandon, and assorted word artisans are transcending the absurd with heart, guts, and whimsy.
There has never been a better time to create anything, we live in the golden age of the millionaire messenger after all.
I am here to tell you I am the person I have been waiting for. Amen, bless me, and don’t forget to leave your eyeballs and your wallet in the collection plate.
You can suck and fail and still make bank in the age of mass-market mediocrity. You don’t need to be editorially, emotionally, or financially literate or accountable either, you just have to want the attention more than anyone else in the world and be prepared to do whatever it takes to get it.
Trump it up.
Go on, brand yourself with a searing dollar sign, turn the meat of you into a big fat-marbled human wagyu steak, and dish it up. Feed the masses fear, anger, and outrage. Then brand yourself again with a loud hiss and add the gravy of ritual humiliation so those who find felicity and fulfillment in the misfortunes of others can feast at the through of you.
Why be a trapeze artist when you can be a circus freak buffet?
Please don’t sneeze unless you’re masked up.
“Look, we all wanted to be big on the internet,” we will tell our kids when they ask us why we hijacked a vehicle for mass enlightenment and turned it into an ATM that very almost sold off democracy.
“Very almost, Mama? You’re lying! How much did you make from me?”
Some of our kids will remember being pimped from bump on social media for swag and clicks and bucks, servicing an audience who enjoys watching children being coerced into advertising products by parents without real job prospects, skills, or the willingness to acquire them, for example. Is there anything cuter than a snub-nosed, jowly toddler advertising junk food?
“But Mama… your job was to protect me and you had me hawking McSlop on an app?!”
Sorry, kiddo, consumerism grew you and predatory capitalism raised you because you were born into a culture that only values money. Parenthood became a livelihood, childhood became a performance, and there was a time when every birth was designed for maximum ROI.
Back when it was still made up of 50 states, the country once known as America lost its grip for a while. There was an orange human who emboldened and empowered the worst of us and also the worst within many of us. Accountability disappeared for four years and those who were powerless to resist the lure of fame and easy money did very terrible things.
“But Mama… your job was to protect me!”
If we’re very lucky, our smart kids will disavow our dumb ways without disavowing us. They will learn from our mistakes so they do not repeat them.
They will not have children.
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