They know they’re making you mad. The website Thought Catalog sits at the intersection of the hauteur of the young and the privilege of the wealthy; it’s become the subject of scrutiny, lately, for its alternate aggressive positioning as a place for young people to boast about their entitlement or to bizarrely miss the point.
The current Thought Catalog aesthetic, speaking broadly — one that exists at the corner of thoughtless prurience and a nihilistic insistence upon mocking your prudish sensibility — is close to objectively bad.
And it is aware that its readership stems not from its brilliance but its brilliance at trolling the reader..
The kind of technology guidance that consumers need today differs markedly from what they needed in 2006.
The hard technology choices of that time have been rendered fundamentally uninteresting by basic technological progress: cheap, good HDTVs abound, an MP3 player is simply an app, and few would even consider owning a digital camera other than the one on their smartphone.
It’s made me think a lot about language in general. I think that if a writer writes in more than one language, you really recognize how specific and complex a language is.
They’re just different entities. They’re just completely different. They sound different, they feel different, they are different at their essence, even though they can mean the same thing—you can translate something and mean the same thing, but it’s so specific the way a language works.
The thing about this right now in my life as a writer, I feel a certain awe for language in general, for what it is, what it does, and I think this writing experimentation has brought a lot of that to the fore.
It is curious to me how often we tend to describe the perfection and drama of the natural world, its sublime qualities, in metaphors of fakery or artificiality: “like a postcard”, “like a painting”, or latterly in New Zealand, “like a scene from The Lord of the Rings”.
The impulse, I think, comes from a wish to apologise for the limited capacity of the “real” world.
To grow up is to confront the disappointments of language, in a way, and to suffer the divorce between what we experience and what we imagine to be real.