Performances

Beyond the very most rudimentary, writing is a performance art, a process of producing something for someone else to observe. Of course, there are exceptions to the rule, the personal note, the diary, but in the vast majority of our efforts, when we put pen to paper, crayon to wall, or fingers to keys, we mean for someone else to observe it.
And since someone else is observing it, we assume something of the writer's been passed forward through the words, though men have been identified as abjectly dishonest in the past. Text, though, is about the writer, as much as it is the subject.

And when its the internet, and the scribblings are for posterity, one had best present himself not as a mad king scrawling insane proclamations to the ghostly chorus of his tower vestibule, but as someone with a disposition for the production of well reasoned pieces of brilliance. If he can't do that, he might at the very least use his lexicon of overwrought adjectives to conceal the fact.

Writing, at its most bleak, is simply a tool to be deployed to push some bit of information against the gulf between two minds, and pass it there into a shared understanding. Colorful words, but not a colorful task. Beyond that, there is the meaning, or mismeaning of things, the form of language occupying the voluminous space above what is necessary for survival.

That writing is art, that most of human enterprise is art, should carry with it a statement of warning: People see what is there, and what isn't there.