My Writing Is Digital Dust
People talk about me. My family talks about my problems. The people on the Internet talk about how my writing isn’t very good. These Internet volk are right. My writing is a cheap trick. I employ intense themes, namely drug addiction and mental illness, then mesh it with oversimplified philosophical concepts. In turn, I create what on the surface appears to be a compelling read: drama with deep concepts. However, as most readers know, this is just a silly illusion: I’m just a suburban white girl with some serious issues and a high school-level understanding of Dostoyevsky’s Christianity and Nietzsche’s passive nihilism. To put it metaphorically, a comedian makes you laugh with a fat joke. But is that the art of comedy? Of course not. A good comedian doesn’t just entertain you and make you laugh, the good comedian also imparts wisdom. There is humor and an additive value that contributes meaning beyond the joke. Perhaps my writing entertains you, or makes you feel less alone or just less bored; so what? Your friends do that, too. So does Angry Birds. That’s not art. That’s just a banal transcription and a social reaction.
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What an incredible and intimate act a simple kiss is.
Recently, protesters haven’t let ambulances with the sick and wounded cross their protest lines. On highways, protesters that have nothing to do with the student protests charge a fee in order to let people get through.
You make people work hard for your trust because you are weary of trusting ANYONE. The only person you fully trust is yourself, and you trust your own instincts more than anything.
Alden makes extra Indian food, Claire is always there to listen, and Russell lets you play on all his video-game accounts even though he takes them pretty seriously and you’re kind of awful.