Blogs are Dead; Long Live the Blog

TL;DR (Because apparently that’s all we do now):

Blogs aren’t dead. They’re just in hiding.

I still write because I’m nostalgic, pissed, tired, and too ugly for OnlyFans.

You want a summary? Too bad. This is the summary.

The blog is dead. You’re just scrolling the wake.

Let me say this the dumbest way possible. In writing.

Because that’s the joke, right? That’s the bitter little irony. I’m pouring this out in full sentences—real thoughts, maybe even a comma splice or two—knowing damn well most people won’t make it past the first block of text. Hell, some of you bailed at the headline. Too many words. Not enough dopamine. No emojis. No thirst trap. Just… ideas. Gross.

We live in a world where saying too much is the same as saying nothing. Where nuance is an eyesore. Where attention spans are treated like rental cars—driven hard, abandoned quick. You post something heartfelt, personal, true—and people treat it like a homework assignment from a substitute teacher they don’t respect.

The blog is dead. Reading is dead. Thoughtfulness is dead.

And I’m still here. Like an idiot with a candle in a hurricane. Writing anyway.

Because fuck it.

Because someone has to.

Because if we don’t keep talking like this—slow, messy, human—then all that’s left is sludge and influencer brain goo.

But here’s the twist. I don’t actually think blogs are dead. Not really.

They’re just beat up. Forgotten. Left behind in a world that scrolls too fast to notice what it ran over.

So let’s rewind. Let’s talk about what happened. And why I’m still doing this anyway.

Blogs aren’t dead. They’re just taking a long nap after watching too much TikTok.

Once upon a time, the internet was full of words.

Glorious, chunky, over-caffeinated paragraphs of them. People blogged about everything. Their breakfast. Their existential crises. Their favorite obscure sci-fi novels from 1978. And other people actually read them. Voluntarily. With their eyes.

Video killed the Radio Star. It also shivved the blogger.

Then somewhere around the time Vine died (RIP) and TikTok crawled out of the algorithm like a caffeinated gremlin, everything started to change.

Suddenly, it wasn’t about what you had to say. It was how good your lighting was. How symmetrical your face looked in a ring light. How well you could point to floating text bubbles while doing the same five dance moves as everyone else.

And just like that, blogs got shoved into the attic. Right next to MySpace, laserdisc players, and that stash of AOL free trial CDs we all swore we’d do something with.

Who tried to Kill the Blog?

Let’s be honest. It wasn’t just Zuckerberg and the algorithm.

It was us.

We sold our attention spans for cheap. We gave up patience for dopamine. We started treating curiosity like a burden.

We swapped thinking for swiping. Depth for speed. Nuance for noise.

And while we were doing all that, the blog sat there in its bathrobe. Cold coffee in hand. Wondering when the hell we’d stop doomscrolling long enough to feel something again.

The rise of the beautiful people

Video is king now. And yeah, it’s a good-looking king.

YouTubers have perfect teeth and custom neon signs behind them. Instagram influencers somehow glow even under fluorescent light. Even the “relatable” TikTokers have $400 microphones and apartments that look like IKEA catalogs.

Good for them.

But some of us? We weren’t made for video.

Some of us were made for rambling midnight thoughts. Bad puns. Long-winded run-ons with too many parentheticals (like this one). Some of us have faces for radio and minds for blogging. And I say that with love—for all of us weirdos still clacking away on keyboards like it’s 2005 and Blogspot might actually still be a thing.

Why blogging still matters

Because writing isn’t about charisma. It’s about connection.

It’s about saying something that sticks. Not just something that loops well in 15 seconds. Writing invites you into someone’s brain. Not just their curated kitchen.

Blogs are where ideas simmer instead of sizzle. Where you can be messy, or philosophical, or funny, or long-winded. And nobody cuts you off with “TL;DR.”

The world is exhausting. Algorithms turned everything into a pitch. Every post is optimized. Every scroll is a coin toss. Even sincerity feels like a brand strategy now.

Sometimes we don’t want to be “entertained.”

Sometimes we want to sit down with a mug of coffee (or whiskey) and read something that makes us nod, laugh, cry, or mutter, “Damn. I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

Raised by static. Still sending signals.

This isn’t a manifesto. It’s not a mission. It’s just a return.

I write this because I miss writing. Because my career path veered into meetings and metrics, and I forgot what it felt like to chase a sentence and see where it went.

I write this as a tribute to the things that built me. Saturday morning cartoons. Late-night horror marathons. Cracked comic shops. VHS tapes. Video stores with “Be Kind Rewind” signs. And long walks home with too much in my head and nowhere to put it.

I write this because I want to leave something behind. Not for the algorithm. For me.

For the part of me that still needs to remember, process, laugh, grieve.

I write this because it helps. Because it shuts the noise off for a while.

Because I’m too awkward for podcasts. Too stiff for TikTok. And too ugly for OnlyFans.

But writing? That still feels like mine. Doubt I’ll make ten cents from it. (Be sure to send me ten cents to prove me wrong though!)

I grew up in static. Raised by reruns. Comforted by TV voices when the house was too quiet. And now, in my own way, I’m just trying to send something back out into the dark.

Not to go viral. Not to get discovered.

Just to connect. Even for a second.

So yeah. I’m still here. Still writing.

Still sending signals.

So no, blogs aren’t dead.

They’re just hiding. In witness protection.

Waiting for the algorithm to burn itself out.

Waiting for someone—anyone—to come looking for something with a little soul. A little substance. A little sarcasm and a few too many commas.

This blog?

It’s my resistance.

My little rebellion against the tyranny of the scroll.

And if you’ve made it this far… congrats.

You’re one of us.

Welcome to the slow content underground.