Scribam Quid Non Legerim

What does it mean to be a writer?”
 
Per­haps now that you can buy my book instant­ly, I am more qual­i­fied to answer this ques­tion - or, rather - a much more worth­while one:
 
What does it mean to be a writer” in 2016?
 
After receiv­ing my pre­cious copies of Heli­copter Man Pounds Dinosaur Bil­lion­aire Ass and But­taged­don: The Final Days of Pound­ing Ass in the mail a week ago, I tru­ly believe that I could answer with only Chuck Tin­gle” and still remain the most cor­rect indi­vid­ual in the known uni­verse, but these works - despite their beau­ty-in-craft - will nev­er top any con­tem­po­rary news-crypt’s best-sell­er list.
 
But why not?
 
Sharp­er anthro­pol­o­gists are out there, I’m sure, but I feel alone (with the huge excep­tion of my best friend) in my doc­trine of art con­sump­tion (along with my anti-food creed,) so I’m going to say with con­fi­dence on this pri­vate­ly-owned serv­er of mine — in this dystopic medi­um — that most of them are prob­a­bly idiots.
In the name of Vari­ety (whose Holi­ness has not and can­not dimin­ish,) I promised you Inmu­nis all that time ago, but I var­ied away too much to deliv­er. My mantras accu­mu­late too quick­ly for my logis­tic capac­i­ty and I have been try­ing my best to man­i­fest val­ue in the process.
 
Here I am, though — writ­ing The New Way.
 
Here it is — The New Web­site, and isn’t it pret­ty?
 
Sure­ly, van­i­ty is enough for the Ulti­mate Moti­va­tion.
 
Or, it would be, were it not for the over­whelm­ing evi­dence against any present aspi­ra­tion in my audi­ence. In any audi­ence, for that mat­ter.
 
Sure­ly, you must be wor­thy! Sure­ly, there is one among you who craves what you’ve nev­er seen before!
 
You are strange? You lis­ten to Sur­f­jan Stan? At Wal­mart? Instead of going out on a Sat­ur­day night? Hm… Yes, sure­ly there must be some­thing worth­while in the act itself! 
 
It’s com­mon knowl­edge by now that ado­les­cence is the appro­pri­ate peri­od in one’s life to insist upon his Grow­ing Quirk. 
 
Dear God, yes! My net worth grows every time I speak on Break­ing Boat! There is real cash val­ue in my unusu­al behav­ior, and I have only to wait until I can tell some­body to begin its liq­ui­da­tion!
 
Of course, I was not exempt from this. In fact, I am 22 years old, and the casu­al observ­er may con­clude that I am still firm­ly root­ed in it. 
 
There’s issue, though: any want in me for that ridicu­lous youth­ful vari­ant of indi­vid­u­al­i­ty fad­ed away long ago. The ratio­nal­ized elit­ism of my taste in music
is ancient his­to­ry. I can no longer believe myself bet­ter with­out 1) a sense of an objec­tive stan­dard of worth and 2) any money…at all. 
 
I real­ized that it was the breadth of the human spec­trum that so intrigued me, not my own odd­i­ties, and that the vast major­i­ty of its indi­vid­ual dat­a­points must dwell - vol­un­tar­i­ly or not - very near the cen­ter. With­out the gift of this truth from a Heck­ing Host of sci­ences and their givens, human­i­ty would be whol­ly unvi­able. 
 
But what if I told you that it is not by any rea­son­able mea­sure a wide­ly-held truth?

The author

David Blue

David Blue

David Blue began producing films about cars in high school and wrote a weekly column for Speedmonkey through community college. He hosted a music, technology, and automotive podcast throughout 2015 called Drycast, before going on to launch Extratone in the Spring of 2016 as an independent online magazine in the interest of consolidating and unifying the vast amount of original voices he’d discovered within his network of artists, musicians, culture writers, and graphic designers, and continues to pursue new culture and new perspectives.