The Comic Sans blog post, while entertaining to read, was just a sarcastic babbling. I did enjoy reading it, but it was ineffective in its persuasive style. I still do not like Comic Sans, but Papryus is a wonderful font.
Guy Cunningham’s The Millions: Fragmentary Writing in a Digital Age. He discusses the way in which the advent of computers, tablets, ebooks, etc has changed the way we read–and write.
Flipping through the pages of Reality Hunger: A Manifesto by David Sheilds, I couldn’t help but cringe. If only slightly. It gives tid-bits about writing in a listed fashion. Thesis after thesis with no body.
While reading blurbs of ideas is–in theory–an interesting approach to relaying information, there is no substance.
Is that what twenty-first century writing is becoming?
The other book Cunningham mentions is Masha Tupitsyn’s Laconia: 1,200 Tweets on Film. This was the real travesty. Does Masha really think anyone cares that on June 1st at 10:50 AM she had the miraculous epiphany that Superbad is a phallocentric move?
Tupitsyn’s book simply feeds into the egotism surrounding new social media and the idea that anyone really cares what time you went to the bathroom or that you stubbed your toe.
Kafka wrote in a fragmentary style, yes. But, he did it for the reason of having the reader reapproach a section they finished reading and ponder it. Let the thought resonate. He wanted to reader to gargle his sentences like mouthwash until they got that tingling feeling. That minty fresh sigh of understanding.
As a Literature Major I find nothing groundbreaking about regurgitating famous quotes in a flashy manor. Even more so, I shake my head at Tupitsyn. She wasted an idea that could have been great and instead printed a disconnected annoyance.
The most interesting reading for the week was the article by Michiko Kakutani, Texts Without Content.
The idea that the new wave of culture is a rehashing of the past and lack of creative ingenuity rings true. “Lady Gaga is a third generation Madonna,” he says, highlighting the idea that the newer generations are simply copy and pasting the past with a slight spin.
Is creative ingenuity dead?
There are those who will say, “well, it’s all been done.” What if Picasso, the Beatles, Faulkner, Vonnegut, and Rothke all thought this way? Because of the onslaught of information people are losing the confidence in their creative ability. We’re falling into the nihilistic world Chuck Palahniuk created in Fight Club… “just a copy of a copy of a copy.”
I’ll never give up.