i am weary of meaning-making mediated by
the algorithms of latecapitalism.
i have no energy for reducing
creativity to content.
to even name this reality feels tedious.
to not name it would be dishonest.
we all lament the game we play, the price we pay
for connection, the charade that must be performed if
our creative work wishes to see the light of day.
the things that get seen are not the things i most love to make.
one must bribe this cursed robot into displaying one's best work.
one by one we drop out, burned out by
the digital demand for fresh pixels every day or else.
there is a particular obscenity
in using the heart emoji as the currency
by which we put a price tag on the work
that emerges from our streams of
creative expression.
what could be less like love
than to put a number on an image or a sentence or a song
and pretend that this number has anything to do with
the real value of the thing you have made?
i want my words to have weight, not analytics.
i want my words to have the texture of paper and ink
and the actual vibrational reality of words spoken amongst
embodied humans unmediated by the all-to-often necessary pixels of
the digital apocalypse in which we now live.
but numbers are the cost of admission to the world of weight and vibration.
if i do not convert the words handwritten on this page to pixels
they will disappear into a box in the bottom of my dresser and
i don't particularly need you to see my work you for reasons of
ego or fame but
i very much crave the moment of human connection
that is often afforded in shared sentences.
so i hope i find a way
to let these words reach you.
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Every bit of this.
This the vibe shift: toward exhaustion.