Some reasons I barely wrote in 2016
When it finally dawned on me that I was just a part of the unpaid masses of content creators, I made the decision to stop writing. If I was going to write anything, it would simply be about how you shouldn’t write because someone else was simply going to monetize it.
Yet I still made time to mock dead old white men, that had always seemed like duty more than a job. Living old white men were fair game too. But with the election nearing, it seemed that calling out white male hegemony was suddenly every writer’s beat. So I took a break, hoping to pick things up again after the election, such was my optimism.
I decided to go back to school and quit my aspirations of internet writing fame. Of course this meant that I could only guardedly mock my chosen industry because independent thought long since abandoned our revolutionary industry. Still, my angst, no doubt borne of my angry brown predisposition, meant that I had to put my words down somewhere.
That’s about where my original writing stopped. I’d taken to reading fiction and longform, summarizing my interests in a newsletter. I made an earnest effort to catalog ideas in tweetstorms with the hope they would one day be regurgitated by artificial intelligence into thoughtless thought pieces. That technology has not yet arrived but here is a sampling of how the conversion might happen.
I hope that when my artificial intelligence algorithms are finally codified, they’ll write something uplifting. By then we should have all be positively indoctrinated into techno utopianism.
In 2017 however, it’s almost guaranteed that nothing I write could possibly offend anyone compared to what next year has in store for us. Truthfully, I’m trying to impress this academic with my incisive wit, which seems about a good a reason as any to write.
