That’s kind of what the Internet or modern life is like. You’re throwing all this stuff—personality, or music, or whatever the hell—into the Internet, and you have no way of really knowing if anybody’s reacting to it. A lot of times you’re just throwing it down a well, or you’re hoping that someone’s hearing you. It’s kind of like people praying to God; it’s the hope that somebody can hear you, but they probably don’t. You especially see it now on Twitter, or X, or whatever the fuck it’s called, you know—the people really kissing the ass of billionaires. (mockingly) “Please, please, look at me!” It’s not a very original thought. But it is weird that people are basically praying to these billionaires now. “Notice me!” That sort of thing.”
singer Joe Casey explains a a line from Let’s Tip the Creator to Tune Glue
And in explaining how the content they have created comments on mindless content creation, the Swamp Rock David Cameron (Joe Casey) both creates content for one website while also leaving themselves open to be quoted by a second website (hello!) to open a post on why the wider content that included twelve separate but intertwined pieces of created content was the eleventh greatest such collections of content in a near arbitrary period.
When this post is finished, I’ll share it with Oaker* Ruiksleg** and the Sugar Mountain***. To these overlords it is merely a speck of insignificance, both relatively and actually, but when pieced together with a billion other payments of tithes from a billion other ‘disappointing nephews’ if will form a part of an infinite assembly line of businesses whose product is casual glimpses of that same line. Please like and subscribe.
(*in Hebrew ‘elon’ means oak tree
**ruiksleg is an Afrikaans word meaning bad smelling or stinking. A bit musky, you could almost say. Are you with me? Are you following this?
*** the literal German translation of ‘zuckerberg’)
And, I’m sorry, but this blog is my art. It’s an art that isn’t easy to categorise. It’s mainly comedy, I guess, but also I do honestly sometimes honestly occasionally sometimes honestly occasionally actually review albums at the end of the year. But then at least as often I’ll just use someone else’s musical art as an excuse to highlight the failures of capitalism. But then I will also spend long periods trying to find a photo of Shawn Michaels at a computer that I haven’t used before. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’ve used them all. I could just use a photo of someone else at a computer, I guess – you might even remember that role used to be played by Vinnie Jones for a very short time – but no, it has to be Shawn Michaels. They’re my subeditor. Because that’s funny. Why? I don’t fucking know, don’t question my art. Also, the subeditors played by Vinnie Jones and Shawn Michaels? Completely different characters. Vinnie played the part more as a well-meaning but ultimately incompetent helper, someone who had received a job above their station and outside of their area of expertise but wanted to do the best they could. Whereas Shawn has chosen to play the part more as a surly teen who has no passion for the job at hand nor for their colleagues, and will through a wrench in any task more from apathy than from any real incompetence. Both actors may have worked elements from their own personalities into the part, I don’t know – I don’t want to question their art. Or maybe they were just two people I found with photos of them on the computer. No way of saying at this point. I could just not feature long comic strip style segments where I conduct a sort of Socratic dialogue with myself. But that’s part of what this blog is! It’s difficult to say exactly what this blog is, but that’s part of it! It’s impossible to say what kind of art it is, but it is art because I produce it for my own satisfaction, it is to be appreciated primarily for its emotional power, and I don’t make any freaking money off it! Like, at all. Fuck, I pay like £100 a year for this blog, it’s losing me a not inconsiderable amount of money. But I do it anyway. For the love of the game! Oh, actually, is this actually a ‘game’ rather than art? Whatever, the point is that I’m a genius. I think. It’s hard to keep track of an artistic mind like mine.
And me posting it on WordPress – as I’ve done since December 1st 2014 – is just me throwing a penny down the well. I then share it to Facebook and Twitter to post a couple of more pennies, then I move on.
I kiss the arse of both Musk and Zuckerberg, begging them to notice me.
Then…
One day.
Is happens!
Daddy Musk and Papa Berg turn to face me. All this work, all 724 of these posts, and I finally have their attention for just a few seconds.
This means both of their throats are facing me for the first time and I’m able to stab the pens I’m carrying in each of my hands into both of their larynxes. Now, pens aren’t necessarily sharp instruments of course, so I have to repeatedly stab both of them countless times in order to properly burst through to their windpipes and ensure there’s no chance of recovery.
I keep stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and stabbing. Until my fists are caked in ink.
And blood.
And ink.
And blood.
And ink.
And blood.
And ink.
And blood.
And ink.
And blood.
Necessary Evil 
One thought on “11 Protomartyr: Formal Growth in the Desert”