Push out a word, a thought. More and more. Squeeze them into sentences. Push out paragraphs and pages, chapters and books. Sell yourself. Sell yourself. Your books will go to those who buy what you're selling—namely, a persona. Not a person. We're not people anymore, in this world, only personae. Choose wisely. You'll want everyone to love you. Blandness and banality are the key words here. Don't offend, don't upset, don't offer anything of substance which might inspire division. Words. Words pour out and tumble and coalesce and stumble into the void, where no one reads them or hears them or even acknowledges them. And you're left holding onto thoughts no one else can hear, struggling, desperate to share them, to hear them repeated. But they dissipate into a chamber devoid of eyes and ears, and you can't do anything other than glare as they break apart and merge with the darkness as it enshrouds you in a prison built on squandered dreams.