The complicated narrative of a simple life

It occurs to me that lately, I've been "phoning it in" by posting little mini-vignettes related to mashups that are wrapped in a malleable gossamer façade mimicking sincerity, structure and substance. While such may make for a numerically impressive post count, it's ends up being inconsequential at its core.

But what to do when inspiration for the great missive of worth is lacking? Does one simply and blithely accept that, on this day, the muse is elsewhere, and, resigned to such a faith, elect to wait for her return, upon which ideas shall flow as a great river from the soul to the fingertips, whereupon they will be transcribed in binary form into the great ether that we call the World Wide Web? Or rather, does one, desiring not to lose the essential shell of ones art (even though it be hollow for the instance), commit ones and zeroes to their apportioned space, knowing that this particular sequence may be as insubstantial as the physical weight of the means of transmission? To do the former invites a sense of rarity, and, consequentially, disinterest on the part of the reader due to too great a temporal span between conveyances; to do the latter almost foreshadows a sense of desperation on the authors behalf, and for a surety generates an unwelcome noise-to-signal ratio heavily imbalanced to the favour of the former, thus creating disinterest on the part of the reader due to the general disinclination to constantly separate dross from gold whilst sifting through streams of literary conceit.

The question need not be anything less than trinary in nature, for, where inspiration may be lacking, possessing a certain grammatical and syntactical acumen may suffice, and, in part, serve as an adequate apparition for the true nature that the author indeed aspires to posses and display. When such a course is followed, it is hoped by the author that the reader willingly mistake such empty rhetorical flourishes for genuine belabored thought; such an endeavor could be assisted and enhanced by pre-pending a lofty title to the post in question, therefore generating an expectation of a certain loftiness in the mind of the reader - one that can only be dispelled by a certain close reading that demands more of an investment of time and mental facility than most are wont to spend. In this case, said author should be amiable enough to, at the very least, define his post as being nothing less pretentious than a complicated narrative of a simple life, sow the fertile grounds of his space with high words and phrases, and bid the reader a fond adieu, with the assurance that, perhaps next time, something of true worth shall indeed find its way into a land that is not to be.