Is this just how it's going to be now?

I am somebody that needs order. I am somebody that’s in your way to make order happen. I was born an order’s cuck and I’ll die it, always stepping out of line over myself to provide comic relief and stay in fortune’s good graces.

I am also somebody who cares about putting out good work, artistically and structurally, maybe too much for my own good. It gets to a point where the measure of good distorts, converges over the horizon, and becomes bad: a solid body of work left to ponder on for too long just rots in the kitchen. Then it’s a health hazard.

To my dismay and insomnia, I’ve chosen a platform where I’m incentivized to pay attention to what’s around me. And yes, I’m brimming with entitlement, selfish, and hung up on “good work” that exists antithetical to content and looks down on everything that doesn’t live up to my standards. The comparison gets me very, very low sometimes — I believe that’s part of the process, but something’s telling me I let it mean more than it should. Am I digging too far? I can hear a faint Larry David’s “Cazzie, your ancestors survived the holocaust!!”

The content in question usually starts with “in today’s fast-paced world…” and exists on the premise of 1) making you money 2) turning you into a better version of yourself 3) both? The mechanics of this MLM’s efficacy is that we’ll buy content from a jellycat squirrel it’s aspirational enough, promising salvation and digital immortality. The person behind it doesn’t spend days in writer’s agony and will probably be a millionaire in passive income by end of next year, Stripe fees and all, and yes, I’m very much jealous. Because it sells better than anything I could make. Still somehow singling myself out by claiming I’m doing something noble and less spiritually promiscuous? Well, that’s just stupid. Being on the internet and complaining about Too Much Content Everywhere is like being in a strip club and averting your gaze from tits. I myself sometimes feel I’m a few flailing posts away from getting my boobs out on the internet. Writing is metaphysical stripping anyway.