You've hit on what I danced around, and have exposed why I am now so against this kind of thing: It's unwillful dis-communication. It is wretched and hateful.

You've hit on what I danced around, and have exposed why I am now so against this kind of thing: It's unwillful dis-communication. It is wretched and hateful. One can spout forth unstructured writing that is abstract, confusing, but also beautiful, uplifting: something that draws you in and smothers you with warmth and living heat. Alternately, there is dis-communication which proactively deconstructs, intelligently dissolving the stuff of thought into a primordial goo from which new life can spring. This type of thing is none of that. It is a moaning for death. And I'll have none of it.