Artists have a distinct advantage when it comes to Google’s search algorithm, which is based largely on how much “one of a kind” content you can produce over time:
Art pieces are products that can be proliferated infinitely without producing duplicate content, and are inherently unique.
See, the big problem companies have is that Google is programmed to like unique, frequent content, without producing too much garbage or duplicates.
Art, say paintings and drawings can be produced in great number, and used as blogging tools to feed Google spiders, with enough frequency to corner key words and phrases. The title and tags you give it are what feed the spiders, not so much the body content as read here.
This post is targeting “painters,” SEO,” “web,” “artists” in order to link my name with both artist and web.
This is called “Semantic-Connectivity” in the SEO world. Always include an image. Preferred community and interface right now seems to be Instagram.
- Choose terms you wish to target.
- Do frequent posts, like at least everyday.
- Unique content, i.e. – A pic of a unique painting. OR even multiple pics of the same painting. Note: Even a slightly changed image is still a completely different image and is to Google, unique. Each of them could be a post.
- Short body content for users who don’t spend more than a few seconds or minutes on your post.
- Optimize for mobile-first.
THE U.S. UNDER TRUMP IS FUNDING ($10BILLION) THE SAUDIS WHO ARE – COOKING – YEMENIS ON ROTISSERIE SPITS! THEY ARE LITERALLY COOKING THEM!
- FORCED FECES EATING
- COOKED ALIVE ON LITERAL ROTISSERIE SPITS WHERE THEY TURN THEM ALIVE OVER A FIRE
- ELECTRIC SHOCKS
- FORCED NUDITY
- BROKEN BONES LEFT FOR WEEKS
It really helps me to know now, that none of this was normal.
It really helps to know that we never really had a chance.
Helps to know, there really were cliques, even in Elementary School.
That cheerleaders and football players really were about keeping artists and thinkers out of style and out of sway.
That there literally really were poisons they called food, they intended us to eat.
We ate them.
And that they were all around us.
Cars really are dangerous. 60,000 deaths a year, a Vietnam. Every year. They just didn’t tell us, superhighways are deadly and the world’s end is really and truly always imminent.
In The Handmaids Tale, she scrawls “You are not alone,” inside the closet wall. Where no one can see.
Because at least, there was someone.
In finding out that meat and dairy, are not merely linked to pharmaceuticals, but that cancer’s cure was kept from us; and that there really never actually was an incurable disease, the antidote, we were made to think, was the hemlock.
That the whole industry deliberately made decades and decades of precise, cold, calculated, and diabolic efforts to keep people sick, to keep selling drugs and meat.
That the third world will never eat.
Were never meant to eat.
We were never meant to be cured.
That there really was and is – a Ministry of War, they call The Ministry of Peace.
That war is invented to sell missiles. Really and truly. That conspiracy is, far from the exception: it is the rule.
And observe how discredited that single word, is.
And this is what happens to all undesirable speech: Newspeak.
That jobs really indeed are a modern slavery, intended to keep you distracted. That your tasks were always utterly unimportant.
So only certain men become entrepreneurs. So you’ll think twice about taking any risks, and have kidssssssss…
Kids. The eternal chain, that by its very merit, pulls you down by your own devices. So you’re too guilty to recover. Meanwhile there is no need for kids. And meanwhile the bombs fall.
This is REAL.
I never really thought it was really, …real.
You bet your life it is.
You bet your life, cause every race for the cure, is actually a race to the death.
5 men own half the world. I’ll send you the link.
A race for your life, you never had a chance in living.
My Grandmother died at 64.
My mom at 49.
My uncle, at 49.
My other uncle, at 62.
My daughter’s family in which her uncle died at 20, her grandfather, long before she was born.
My Dad attempted suicide.
And still the light of his mind, scarcely trembles.
It’s all normal, he says. As will he say, eternally.
Still we scarcely tremble or lift a brow.
Airliners crashing into buildings. Were always coming. Were always there. Terror tends to crop up almost solely around elections. No one bats an eye.
There will be more, and will call it Boston Strong. Or New York Strong. We will call it, resilience.
It says. Resist. sponsored, by ‘Surrender.’
We weren’t hijacked.
Cause the very game is called: “Hijacked.”
We just…didn’t look at the cover.
But we bought it. Oh boy, we bought it.
See, I used to think this was all my fault.
That only I could prevent forest fires.
But really. It helps me to know that all of this was never normal.
And you are not alone.
“It is the finest blades that are the most easily bent, blunted, or broken.”
They came for my mother.
And I went back to school.
They came for my brother.
And I moved to France.
They came for my family.
So I renounced them.
And then there was only me.
And there was no one left to be the board.
Or the committee.
Or the judge or jury.
So I alone impeached him.
Yet he is the dethroned King, we still love.
Have no choice in loving.
His betrayal we hate, is but waves unable to even toggle granite and marble.
My Father is now once a Man.