Purely a Matter of Relevance
Purely an Introduction
It is widely believed that the written medium is dead. Good. Nothing seems to have any true worth or value until long after its death anyway. Even in the short game, the best you can hope for upon reaching the great beyond is possibly a TMZ article written by someone whose opinion is as irrelevant as yours and hopefully a 30 second BuzzFeed video compiling the highlights of your existence. All for what; you ask? To be shared by that kid who doesn't actually post anything meaningful to your newsfeed, just sharing skateboard videos and throwback hip-hop music videos for nostalgic purposes. Someone will talk about how much they loved you in that one thing that you did 20 years ago. Someone will most likely share YouTube videos of your most notable work. Those certain hipsters will discuss obscurities of your career and their disdain of all the "posers" who only recently become fans because it's the cool thing to do. If you were popular enough you'll even garner the hatred of some maladjusted individuals stating how they don't care if you died, and can't understand why others would waste their time caring.
You made it. You worked your entire life honing your craft to present to the world at large only to die, alone I might add, so some 27 year old suburbanite in a sub par slam band can drag your name and image through the mud to get ironic likes and start beef in his comments thread. If you were important enough, this may last, umm, maybe 2-3 weeks before: someone more important dies, Bey randomly drops a new album, a major sports championship, the new Kendrick untitled live performance hits or some poorly structured meme banishes you to the realm of irrelevance.
This is perfect. This is my realm, a safe zone where I feel most comfortable. The strenuous nature it is to create art that you could only pray someone gives two shits about is enough to drive a man to drink...heavily. Knowing I can venture into an already deceased medium, it relieves the pressure of giving a shit about if you actually like any of the nonsense I have to say or not. I stated earlier, and this is something that I don't even believe in, I LIVE BY IT; my opinion is as irrelevant as yours, or anyone's for that matter. It's as irrelevant as these VICE journalists, these YouTubers, the social justice warriors and political fire-starters, even the FOX news reporters, the comedic minds behind the Daily Show and Real Time with Bill Maher. Facts or fabrications aside, none of your opinions are more relevant than mine. You, yes you, your opinion means shit.
Hard pill to swallow? Let me elaborate. Many of you are experts in your own rights. Degrees, diplomas, certificates, lessons learned in the "school of hard knocks," you, the reader, possess knowledge that is worth sharing. There are stories within us all that are meant to be cascaded forth into the world, but reserve the fact that your opinion has as much merit to the reader as they choose fit to accept it. The quicker you can come to terms with this information, the easier it will be for you to dive headfirst into whatever venture your heart desires.
I'm not sharing this with you to belittle your Facebook soapbox, nor to knock the reader down any pegs. This, boys and girls, is your introduction. I enjoy words, always have, and I intend to continue my love for words by sharing them with the world until someone stops me by force, or I pass on from this plane of existence. The written art form is dead, and I posthumously present to you an exposition that is purely a matter of relevance.
Mr. Irrelevant
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