Weaving snares with words. I find myself turning away from writing that talks about soul, grounding, development – words that are woven together to produce what I now think of as magic.
I am repelled by writers of these pieces who work to draw in the reader with a promise of a better way of being.
I am repelled by the way the writers weave descriptions that allude to something, but in reality it is for the reader to fill in the narrative from their own longings.
It puts me off. I am suspicious of the motive – even when the writers do not know that is what they are doing – even when they think they are writing for the good of their audience.
Reality
What comes to mind and makes me laugh, is an event I went to some years ago when Steve Wozniak was speaking.
Someone in the audience asked him whether he agreed with the view that the such-and-such uprising had been a success because of the way a message was able to spread quickly with social media.
Steve said he thought the guns supplied by the CIA were more influential.