Crushed

I have to say it’s disheartening to see what I’ve seen.  People whose work I find fascinating being pushed off their publication platforms because either they themselves or their content is deemed “dangerous,” for being little more than counter-culture all the while the real animals at ISIS are given free leave to publish beheadings on Youtube.  I honestly don’t know what their endgame is.  You can’t unring the bell.  People have already seen the wondrous potential the internet has to offer, and most of them aren’t going to be willing to go back to network television.  By going after new content creators, by going after their money–how do I put it?  It’s like pouring concrete in the swimming pool to keep the darker races from socially mixing with whites.  Now no-one gets to swim.  Perhaps people think there’s some wisdom in spite.  I don’t think most people think this way, however; it’s the archaic profit apparatus of the legacy media and the ancient wrinkled mummies that own them.  They want the world remade in their own image; they don’t want a future owned by those that will actually live in it. George Soros can go eat a bag of fucking Read More …

Looking for Love (In All the Wrong Places)

It seems my mind is so changeable.  That’s not really the case, but it seems I can’t help but present it that way. The marketing side of this business is as labyrinthine as it is mysterious to me and is also no small source of agony.  The latter half of this month has mostly been invested in tying up those ends rather than focusing on the writing aspect; to be honest, so much writing has been completed that I can afford a short respite.  As such, I’ve got to get control of the marketing tools at my fingertips, set up monthly schedules ahead of time–let them run. Additionally, I fear I don’t produce enough daily content for my viewership.  For this reason I’m going to be releasing short articles–probably not more than three paragraphs each–dealing with somewhat random subjects as they occur in my head, some of which will concern writing but others of which will concern philosophy, philology, and comparative mythology–whatever else comes to mind.  I was a philologist before I was ever a writer, after all.  A good deal of that comes into my writing in often covert but sometimes overt aspects. Anyways, that’s all for now. –Madsen

Twitter Bitter

In all honesty, this is a long time coming, but I imagine few of my subscribers will have ever noticed; that’s how useless Twitter is.  Over the last year, and longer, considering, Twitter hasn’t done anything to update its product, make it in any way more convenient; they’ve focused on preventing users from communicating with each other, in the process creating echo chambers, in an attempt–in my consideration–to scare of the unwanted portion of their subscriber base.  Of course it’s working, but it’s not stopping them from hemorrhaging cash.  For a while I just sort of watched until it began to affect me personally.  Virtually everything I post on Twitter is throttled to a miserable grave; no-one I am connected to can see it.  Even worse, most creatures I’m connected to are themselves helpless.  I think my posts are actually unpinned from the various conversations in which they are a participant Anyways, as such, I’ve made a pact with a friend, and the two of us have disabled our Twitter accounts which should automatically be deleted within a month’s time.  If you want to stay appraised of my work, this site continues to be your best bet, but I also Read More …

These Are Supposed to be Progress Updates

Instead, they’ve become rather more like ramblings of a semipolitical nature–not that there’s anything wrong with that.  The terrors of the last few months have left me with reams and reams of completed work.  I could go nearly two years without hardly needing to write a thing.  It goes without saying that the writing side of my occupation has been well attended.  The issue, again and again and again, of course, lies in the marketing, in which I seem a thing completely hopeless.  I don’t have tens of thousands of dollars to throw away on an advertising firm; so it’s my problem. I’m supposed to be uplifting. I’ve been examining fencing manuals.  I’m thinking of writing a short set of articles called the “Little Book of Hugs,” as a sort of inspiration. People possess emotional depth we’re typically unaware of.  I would say so endemically.  It’s always there, but you might spend your whole life without realizing it.  You have to be pushed, under some sort of stimulus, something typically unpleasant and unwanted, and when you finally scratch the surface of your depths, you’ll wish you hadn’t.  The problem is that once you’ve discovered it, you’ll find you can’t help Read More …

The Death of Imagination in Writing

There’s a good chance I’m being something of alarmist here, but it is a worrying trend I’ve noticed ever since my tortuous pedagogy, bizarre occupation, and currently staggered wherewithal.  Writers aren’t trying.  They’re not trying to better themselves and their writing, finding frankly a fifth grade reading/writing level sufficient for an adult, and they aren’t trying to challenge their audience, who from years of intellectual atrophy are content to treat reading as little more than a pleasant pastime, masturbation and little more.  Let me put it like this.  You can go down to any bowling alley between childrens’ birthdays and find at least five people who are absolutely fanatical about both their sport and their growth as a sportsman in that regard.  You couldn’t just walk down to a book store nowadays and find the same; this is assuming you can even find a brick and mortar book store. I have with me today a little example, something I’ve pulled from a book I was bought for Christmas, for which I’m very grateful.  I’m virtually impoverished and can’t afford to buy many books if I want to keep my website online.  Anyways, I’d asked for popular science fiction novels of Read More …

Publishing is Dead

In a previous post I had said that Literature is Dead–something to that effect anyways.  Thing is, I’ve given it some thought, and I think I was wrong.  Literature certainly has seen better days, and it’s not because people don’t read anymore or that the quality of readers has degraded, it’s simply that there are more forms of entertainment media than there were at the beginning of the Twentieth Century.  Considering the popularity of movies, television, and videogames, literature has done an admirable job of staying afloat. So then I was wondering, what with the perverted cynicism of the publishing industry?  Why do all their calls for manuscripts read like the tag-lines for very forgettable B-movies?  Frankly, it’s capitalism, pure and simple.  Over the past century, the represented writer has seen his fraction of the royalties for published manuscripts shrink in both absolute and relative terms.  Writers are starving, and they haven’t been able to support themselves on their writing for decades–aside from a few notable counterexamples.  So publishers weren’t exactly developing a friendly report with their clientele, no client loyalty, if that makes any sense.  So when self-publishing via online outlets rolled around, like Amazon’s Createspace, those that either Read More …