Not all writing impacts readers; some do and it is unfortunate that some among them do. To write prose or poetry, one might plausibly argue, is the last remaining art unscathed by Trojan algorithms and codes peddled for adwords and other such click baits.
Little else explains overnight “instagraphers” slapping in a filter on to allegedly “unearthly” sunsets or singing sensations whose talent boils down to mastery over digital synthesizers and auto tune. Neither, incidentally, offer new perspective, a novel story or anything for that matter worthy of consideration or a mild ponder. Yet these works of “art” are evidently admired abundantly; conceivably, for not much else other than what the technology at use has achieved.
Words, in spite of dictionaries and translators, have fortunately not been entirely taken hostage to technologies of creation. The weight of responsibility this fact implies to preserve the page’s sanctity should make any pen tremble in fear. But that isn’t half of the problem.
In a case of the tail wagging the dog, much of words written are affected not by thoughts preceding writing but by reaction to it after. Writing isn’t confined to a book or a webpage consumed by unknown readers. Its scrutiny accompanied by showers of accolades and disapproving denunciation is immediate and prolific. This sharing and feedback phenomenon would not affect the writer much if the pattern of reaction weren’t discernible. Unfortunately though, the pattern is less complex to decipher than a cooing parrot trained to thank you for a nut and say fuck you for a fruit.
As a consequence, pages fill up with what readers wants to read rather than what writer has to say which doesn’t do much for its authenticity. And a page that isn’t authentic serves humanity rather well as tree trunk than as a page. But then, if that page is a bunch of pixels… well (sigh), there isn’t much else to yammer over here.