Friday, December 9, 2016

Genericide Update: A Payload of Discontent

Words! Unlimited transmitters of information, unparalleled transportation for communication! These supremely significant symbols signify all knowledge that shall ever pass from one human brain to another. Pouring from the mouths of all who live easier than air, they infest the world with ideas equally insidious and ingenious. Thrown to the wind like flowers in the breeze, they ingrain themselves in the hearts of men. Also alternate genders of human, a small subset of clever animals, and theoretical lab experiments where cardiovascular systems gain sentience. Words are tools, to an author as a hammer and nails to a carpenter or confidence and mental insulation are to successful businessmen. But there are not a thousand hammers of varying shapes equally equipped to conquer every nail. For the humble author need not worry about mere execution, but the tools. Before he can concern himself with composition, he must select the instruments. Before he can compose a sentence, he must select the words.

Truly, this is the plight of the author. Arrayed before them lies an endless ocean of broiling possibility, a sea of sparkling imagination where only weak waves of inspiration wash upon the mind. They must be discerning! They must be precise! They strike with the skill of a surgeon’s scalpel, the ceaselessly creative continuity of a careful calligrapher. And when their great work finally reaches its inevitable end, a modest miracle arrays itself before them. A set of sentences, a parade of paragraphs, which chart the character of the very cosmos. A spark that can be seen in every eye, a song that every soul may sing, a piece of collective consciousness that the mirror of life reflects in all of us. What they have achieved is not communication. It isn’t art or entertainment, not laughter or beauty. It is nothing more or less than meaning itself.

But then sometimes they can’t do that so they fill a page with flowery nonsense to kill time.

Now that we’re firmly entrenched in the dank pits of reality we can get down to the real content! As is commonly known among scholarly institutions and readers who aren’t braindead, there are two types of content around here:

1. Not actually content at all, I lied.
2. Bad news.

Since I’ve already supplied a sumptuous serving of the former, let’s complete the feast with a hearty helping of the latter. I know it has become custom for me to spend one of the happiest days on Earth whining about various terrible MMOs. I’ve got something planned. But sadly it may not drop its payload of discontent on the intended day. Self-made deadlines for other projects demand my attention, and my holiday season will surely be accompanied by those most odious distractions of “friends”, “family”, and “being happy”. The article in question is also rife with images, much like the previous ritualistic disembowelment of DragonFable. Review. Review of DragonFable. Review is what I meant to say.

Review is not what I meant to say.

The images make it difficult to work on the piece in the scary “outside” places, such as when I’m commuting. Without those sneaky hours bolstering my productivity, the bottom line is that content may be sparse for the rest of the month. But you’ll at least have this style of self-aggrandizing nonsense to look forward to! And really, isn’t that all anyone could want for the holidays?

…you need to learn what the phrase “rhetorical question” means. And stop using that kind of language, I’ll have you know my mother is a classy lady.

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