Aristos – the ancient Greek ideal of that that was best, or highest – why then have we forgotten what we, as a race, set out to do? Or have we been forsaken in the literary wilderness for our unheeding insistence upon saying every irrelevant thing we wanted to say, in a crass jumble of words and egos? For saying everything we said without respect for the words we used, but with an unseemly pride in our acquaintance with those words? For saying it with nary a hint of a love for the craft but a love of craft instead? For forgetting what it meant to love as one loved a muse; for forgetting that to love was not the same as proclaiming ownership?
Written in response to all the faff that gets pushed out onto the www every single day under the guise of an amateur literary movement.