Life is strange.

Some wonder why I do not post more short stories, poems, and analysis on this blog. This is a valid question, and as such has an equally valid answer: quality takes time. I am working on a ton of amazing and brilliant things. Literally tens of thousands of essays are in the works. But as it is with all brilliant thinkers and philosophers, of which I am one, I usually delete 999 out of every 1,000 essays I write for being beneath me in quality.

There are two types of literary talents in life, the artist's and the fraud's.

The artist creates written works that flow so effortlessly from one word to another that it might almost seem as thought the writer barely put any effort at all into their work and was just using free word association to fill up a small space on a paper. They toil for hours to make it seem as though they do not toil at all; for they care most about benefiting their readers and disappearing into the background without receiving credit.

The fraud writes to show others what he has read. He does not write to explain but rather to display. Much like a street walker wears gaudy clothes and hikes up her skirt in a mock display of exaggerated femininity, the fraud uses uncommon words and awkward turns of phrase in conjunction with hyper-aware awkwardness disguised as openness.

Much like the obese cinephile who has watched hundreds of hours of Marvel movies, the fraud has consumed a piggish amount of written media.