Let's workshop this poem about how various technological disruptions of traditional stardom could trigger an artistic renaissance where artists prioritize the work itself rather than personal fame
La mort de l'auteur, encore
Our heart’s Why bother? already
amplified by a glut of IG talent,
with deepfakes and AI
stardom’s glitz will fade:
behold a neomedieval dawn
where art will take centerstage—
artists laboring for art’s glory,
not for personal fame, in a hive
mode of humble fealty.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)