This what happens when creatives are driven out and drivel is shoveled into eyeballs with gusto and always-green profitability KPIs.

It was always a race to the bottom: more words, more words, more and more words. Now, at the bottom, there’s nothing but charred ground and disillusionment.

The public hates your guts, and they’ve no more dough. Corporate greed sits in great banks in the Caymans and beyond, and they won’t repatriate the green.

I see nothing that can be done, frankly, except for each of us to strike out on our own, making art in the dark, selling to all our friends, and perhaps to those who someday break into the coffers and under the shine of golden badges and glint of pistols return the ill-gotten loot to the shores that made it.