Does Anyone Out There Get Me?

Being a writer in the Digital Age fucking sucks.

So, this Substack thing isn’t taking off like I hoped it would. I’ve been at it now for going on six months, and I’ve lost more subscribers than I’ve gained in the last 30 days. I’m worried that people are either no longer willing to try new things or—even worst—they only test the waters if they know that thousands or millions of others already have. They could be running toward an oasis or a foul-smelling sea of Trump urine: It doesn’t matter as long as they’re running behind others. That’s most people for you. Goddam herd mentality. (Speaking of God, maybe the point of such a powerful invention is just to keep us all running in a straight line. The suckers that we are.)

It doesn’t help my cause of achieving a cult- or God-like following that I just abandoned Facebook—for the sake of sticking it to the Zuck for bending the knee. Of course, I didn’t like the little Zuck before, but now that he’s fully a MAGA man, it would be rank hypocrisy to continue posting my content on his failing platform. (Plus, barely anyone was engaging with it anyway.) I somehow liked him better when he was building websites that compared college women to farm animals. (Only the latter of which were willing to sleep with him.)

Fuck Zuck. I’m wondering if it’s possible to build a solid base of subscribers without social media of any kind. If it is, I’m going to need help from anyone reading this who thinks my madness might resonate with someone else out there. Please spread the word. (Of course, I believe that if it truly resonated, I wouldn’t have to ask this. So, I ask it reluctantly.) Spread the goddam word.

Please also send me a note about how I can do better. I’m at a crossroads. I can barely find hope in much of anything at all, so it’s very hard to pin my last hope on people suddenly deciding to start reading—about serious topics no less. I might be close to getting a book published, but even if it passes the gatekeepers and the censors, it’s so depraved that I’ll likely end up getting sued, stalked, shamed, scapegoated, persecuted, blackballed, muzzled, castrated, misunderstood, or all of the above. But that’s the best-case scenario: That’s assuming the fucker actually sells. My guess is you’ll be the only ones who buy it—except that, no, you won’t be because I’ll send you a free copy for having the character and grit to be a first follower.

My initial goal for this Substack was a community of sorts—not just my shouting in one direction. I’ll take any content-related ideas, of course, but that’s never been my main issue. My issue is I’m an out-of-touch fool who thinks my work should speak for itself. it’s not just that I don’t know how to market myself well: I don’t think I should have to. It’s too much to come up with what I think/hope is compelling content only to sigh when it gets few hits, likes, comments, etc., and then come to the realization that no one is there to help—not for free anyway. You’re on your own. It’s not enough to be good at one thing anymore.

I’ll repeat: It’s not enough to be good at one thing anymore. As someone who has been searching desperately for a job and a clue for 14 months, I assure you that versatility and adaptability are the themes of 2025. If you’re not already reskilling, upskilling, or whatever the fuck word they’ve come up with that means making yourself more marketable to soulless employers, I suggest you ask AI for advice on how to get started. While you’re at it, ask them how to best survive the Trumpocalypse. You’ll thank me once the AI-powered overlords spare you from the technocratic chopping block. Of course, I won’t hear it because I’ll be long dead by then if I can’t figure out how to make myself more acceptable to their algorithms. Help yourself first and second. If there’s time on the weekend, help me. That’s about as much as I can expect from a typical American at least.

It’s hard to be ignored, neglected, and/or irrelevant, but I fear a lot of us will soon be—if we’re not already. Just remember that you heard it from me first.

Or don’t—see if I care.