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Published on Aug 14, 2011
Is this art? The seemingly meaningless echoes of another's psyche can seem to us random, chicken scratch, obscenity, drivel, when to them it reflects intimately the tortured scrabblings of a soul cast into the unfeeling abyss of the nicotine streets. A poet pulls deep from emotion, subconscious impulse, the seven circles of Dante's internal hell, and pulls forth meaning, laid bare, from the mind. Who then can say, truly, that the ramblings of another are without merit? What may seem a collection of dick jokes may in fact be a glorious wormhole in the gelatin fabric of the electronic hive mind.
Or, you know, it could just be some idiot reading the answers from a Q&A game at random.