Something facebook reminded me I wrote almost a decade ago... I should have heeded my own words.
A Horror Story
The floor was cold and his toes were numb. The barefooted author clicked his keys and did his deed until the deed was done... indeed. A feeling of accomplishment tickled him in uncomfortable places. Uncomfortable because the ungrateful undead could never accept such feelings.
A negative and narrow man, the barefooted artist was a beast of hate. An ugly machine producing vile fables. A product of the art or the art as a product has never been reconciled. He was a train of putridity picking up speed with every body mangled on his track. This negative, narrow, ugly, machine-man, barefooted author was also a blogger. Not because he wanted to be but because we was told he had to be.
Having heeded the words of the wise snake oil salesmen before him, the ill-described author believed promotion was key to one's success and to promote successfully in the digital age one must blog. So, blog he did. The author became a salesman and went about his course with vigorous disdain. His blogs were as hateful and pointless as he was. His readers felt cheated and subjected. Blog after blog he cried hate for the act.
His beard grew out with a cheeto-orange hue. His eyes began to fail so he donned square glasses, he had a color for every day. His belly puffed and his words became meaningless. Not just in his blog but in the art he once claimed to create. It became as sterile and empty as his sales pitches.