01 07 11 - 12:04The following examples are of people who cannot write.
However, most people think this is "good writing" because it's accessible. Even though it's incoherent and overdone, like a Cadillac with gold rims and a tinsel fringe along the velour top, the proles love it because no matter how much they get "educated," they still have no ability to discern aesthetics, ethics or long-term logic.
The people who are writing this crap are arrogant proles who think their overuse of common words in "novel" (read: awkward) combinations makes them geniuses.
They want you to bow before them, and acknowledge them as important, even though they've done nothing of importance. They don't think about whether what they're doing is important, only that they want to do it. We can be paid for this so we should do it!
Feast your eyes on this terrible writing:
An assemblage of various bits of ephemera and art along with our special drafting table, which serves a million purposes.
The wolf is another piece by the lovely d.c. ice, a gift to Grey on the occasion of the final show at her gallery. The Hasselblad reminds us to keep shooting, and the waspâs nest was actually found with the birdâs nest inside of it! - Design Sponge
We all know the gig with Design Sponge: it's entitled hipster children of wealthy Americans, preaching to an audience of "educated" lower-middle-class Americans who just want a cause in life, because they work at do-nothing jobs or are stay-at-home moms without a clue. But this takes it even farther.
Around these people is a whole culture of entitled mediocrity, in which the focus is on them as people. Their "art" is a means to that end. They are all about their own drama, and if they can fool you into liking it, they get more powerful and they can laugh at you over drinks at the local wine bar.
For such people, charity is a means to feeling good about themselves.
Invisible, but manifest in his works, he would turn up from time to time in the news, like some demon Forrest Gump -- not his face of course, but flashes of his labor, his jack-in-the-box violence. When the smoke cleared, all the FBI would be left with was a sketch of his mysterious terrorist-from-the-funny-papers countenance, the mad monk in hood and sunglasses, a post office icon that did not age. - Mad Genius: The Odyssey, Pursuit and Capture of the Unabomber Suspect, by Nancy Gibbs, Richard Lacayo, Lance Morrow, Jill Smolowe, and David van Biema
What a stinker. The drama! The awkward wording! The stacks of cliches.
For a band dedicated to expanding their palette, itâs kinda hard to pinpoint that evolution, as their catalog is stylistically squirrelly. A cathartic doom metal band with shoegaze and stoner rock expansion packets has transformed into a pop band with trippy electronic and metal tinges â a cyborg Stooges with an occasional affinity for narcotic dream pop. - Invisible Oranges
Let's get wicked stupid on PCP so that makes sense. Actually, it never will -- it's just garish.
Fuck off, proles. Leave writing and thinking to people who graduated from real colleges because they have real achievements. I don't care if your Daddy's oilfield equipment company paid for you to live on a trust fund; I don't care if you think the world owes you something because you grew up in a working class neighborhood. You're dummies pretending to be wise, and when we take you out of your comfortable zones of hiding, you stand revealed for what you are: peasants pretending to be kings.