Sometimes your brain needs to breathe.
I mean sometimes my “muse” is in sweatpants eating Cheetos with chopsticks while watching Reality YouTube at 3 am…
If you think Shakespeare didn’t write dick jokes?
You think wrong.
This writing gig is hard, ass-chafing work that strips the emotional epidermis from your soul faster than a belt sander on balsa wood.
And yeah, when you’re on social media or writing for a client.
The constant pressure to produce “Meaningful Content™” (or whatever the heart felt writing soul coaches are calling it) worth someone’s precious eyeball time creates a tension that has to go somewhere.
Where does that tension go? Into your body. Into your relationships. Into the void sucked darkness where your joy used to live and before you know it, the light has been sucked out of your eyes.
This is where a quality shitpost releases the valve.
It’s like one of those weird little farts that escape during yoga.
It’s embarrassing but necessary for continued function.
And honestly? Sometimes more memorable than the serious stuff.
Consider the attention economy we’re drowning in…
“Thinkpieces” and heartfelt manifestos all competing for the same three seconds of rapidly deteriorating human focus.
(God do I hate LinkedIn for that shit)
And sometimes our carefully constructed 5 000 word essay on narrative theory is fighting against videos of goats in pajamas.
The goats are winning.
…the goats will always win.
But sometimes we need to embrace the unhinged goblin energy of a good shitpost.
I mean come on. We forget that there are actual humans who also sometimes think in memes and absurdities and what not.
And the thing is your shitposts often contain more authentic you than your polished professional content.
They’re the unfiltered neural spasms of your actual personality before your internal editor (that prissy hall monitor bitch) starts wagging her finger.
You know who resonates with readers? Actual people. People with weird thoughts and questionable humor and occasional moments of brilliant stupidity.
And I am very stupid.
Each stupid little word turd you release into the online wild is potentially the compost that grows tomorrow’s award winning idea flower.
That’s generally how creativity works.
You hereby have official permission from me.
A random internet voice of dubious authority. To occasionally write things purely for the joy of writing them.
To publish words that serve no purpose beyond making yourself snort-laugh while typing.
And if anyone questions your professional judgment? Tell them you’re cultivating authentic audience engagement through strategic deployment of relatability markers.
(Cause corporate speech pisses people off lol)
Or tell them to an all you can eat a buffet of butts.
Stephen Walker