Flatline

flatline 4Few things speak louder, I suppose, than a bi-annual sales report from a publisher. It so reveals the truth about artistic endeavor, about passion and yes, reciprocated love.

It so can be a reminder of what it means to empty out the content of your own heart for the world to trample and ignore, but also why you once decided to write in the first place – and for whom.

Oh, how I missed that fuck-all feeling that once told me: if there isn’t a book being published which you want to read, then you write it – for you!

But I too, of course, am the mutated baby of this monster we call ‘Market’, an addict to the drug that makes us believe that at the heart of everything there is a sound fucking business plan.

So, I too got on facebook and LinkedIn and set off to build a ‘Community’. I was told I needed a blog too – not a diary – but a blog: an on-going dialogue with an audience. A what?

Could it be that only psychopaths leave marks and that conquest is indeed the flip side of creation? Did I actually forget that expression is always personal, and that an audience of any significance is always ONE!?

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