Best experienced through headphones…
ant-people, something has happened that’s made me question the nature of my reality, a thread to follow…
the point of intersection between the human mind and suppression. i don’t think you will ever see me again. i achieved what i was incapable of.
the time wave,
i sent it.
the strong rule the weak and the clever rule the strong. the distribution of our current system is the deadly bank account. there is a dangerous underground operating in telepathic space.
dangerous adventurers who plan to outthink and displace the static fragmentation of our united class society, everyone living lives as a member of a particular class thinking every kind of thought without exception, stamped with the brand of class rubbing elbows and getting jostled in by the crowd.
The blogging game has changed so much since I first started blogging back in 2003. Blogging these days has been relegated to the content marketing game where folks are pimping their wears trying to position themselves as thought leaders in the hopes that they can either become social media influencers or marketers disguised as “passionate” experts in something. As Tom Critchlow explains
…much content on the web is designed for scale, for sharing, for gloss and finish. It’s mass media, whether it’s made by a media company or an individual acting like one. So when people think of blogging their natural reference point is create something that looks like the mass media they’re consuming. Content designed for pageviews and scale.
That’s big B blogging.
I’m much more interested in small b blogging.
Small b blogging is learning to write and think with the network. Small b blogging is writing content designed for small deliberate audiences and showing it to them. Small b blogging is deliberately chasing interesting ideas over pageviews and scale. An attempt at genuine connection vs the gloss and polish and mass market of most “content marketing”.
It was Seth Godin who inspired me to move back in this direction. I listen to his akimbo podcast episode on blogging. Seth has been at the game for something like 16 years without a break and pretty much sticking to the same format. Seth is much more into go for the small audience directly and then let that handful of “true fans” spread your work and your ideas for you because they love what you do and what to share it with their friends.
Here’s the episode if you want to listen to it:
Speaking of Seth, I feel moved to re-read Purple Cow. I’m feeling like being remarkable on some level.
This quote has always been a beacon of light for me. I’ve been pursuing it for the past 25 years or so.
in the moment she answered
formless in-between states of grief
shadows dancing underneath her eyes
she did not recognise me
dull and desperate
before the beginning
i caught myself staring like a
chimp caught humping another
chimp, never would i be better
imitating the ways of the master not to
create but to destroy the beat of her heart
and then it made sense to me
i stood witlessly fumbling the
key to endless happiness she
sat on the bed with her hands
clenched, ‘i will help you hold
the hatred, spread it over the
fields black and foul and what
will you do for me?’ i will give
you another life layered in gauze
and honey, burning in teargas
i will save you from the vapour
and dust of sad dreams
I have to quit being anonymous inside the machine…artificial space in a dreamlike dimension…the pulse of 3am hits me inside the unconscious sea…a voyage below…subway empty…closing haunted spaces…this lack of a beginning divides me in the light under the flare of a system flooded by the black sun…time interval of an astronaut something stirs in the underground…52 eyes decomposing in the dark…these words cannot locate my lover’s nervous lips
Friday soon rolls around. I actually have to put on a tie today, which is not my normal Friday (if there is such a thing). The machine needs me and so I answer the call. Last night was painful, but i think the loop may have passed now – i’m on the other side – next step sense checking and integration into my life. I have some more stuff rolling out on Twitter today (as always) so hook up with me there if you haven’t already done so (and please don’t say you don’t understand Twitter, which is what I hear from a lot of people in my demographic – you are smarter than that, figure it out…use your imagination and make it whatever it is you want it to be…how did I get on this soapbox?)
Before I go, here’s a Friday playlist for you (i haven’t done one of these for a while (there’s only so much time in a day (even if you don’t sleep much like me))).
peace and love to you,
i was in the desert once
lost in meditation
i was trying to get to
grips with being a
plaything for the gods
i met some souls sitting
around a fire in the open night
they were contemplating
Good and Evil
Lust and Sorrow
all of my incantations
and prayers ignored
by the old gods, i consigned
myself to the enigma of the
meek and their gospel of love
until i stumbled upon a
switch labeled universe
next to a button marked
in a moment of weakness
i pressed the button
And just like that, we were back on track. Today on #Audiomo Day 5, I managed to get MR Mike Trussell on the line. We cover a lot of ground in a short space or time.
Hey up! #Audiomo Day 4. I forgot that people are busy. My challenge to speak to 30 different people for #audiomo this year has hit a snag and it’s only day number 4. But I’m a person, so if I talk to myself, does that still count? lol.
If you fancy a chat, let me know, help me reach my #audiomo goal!
#Audiomo Day 1. I love this time of the year when the Audiomo community comes together for the month of June to make and share audio. I thought I’d add something extra to the 30-day challenge this year and that is to have 30 conversations with 30 different people for my #Audiomo posts this year.
First up is my friend Sara Beth Hunt, novelist and podcaster.
– William S. Burroughs
Trying to ID the entity that is me when I know I am you and you are me even though I am by myself a whole lot of nothing outside that which is imagined or imagined to be me. It’s a permanent condition I’ve tried many times in the past to shake loose. When I let go, I spiral out of control like the pilot that becomes the plane. Being out of control is not so bad considering being in control is a massive illusion, one I could do without.
And then I found out that happiness isn’t the reward for a life well lived but a mechanism used to control my behaviour. That, I’m told is the reality of being a human.
I need to take a happy pill. That’ll sort me out. I get to retire from ordinary life and consign myself to the happiness bed. It’s not as plush as it sounds, trust me. There’s much sadness. I am sad. Sad tomorrow. Sad for the rest of my life which is to say I’ll only know joy, delight and profound contentment.
Life is nice among the normal people. I can be free, but my brain is programmed to want more than I already have which is to say I am a slave.
The real question is how much more significant is your life compared to mine? I’ll be experiencing your life tomorrow even though you told me your intensity of feeling would be beyond anything I would ever be able to comprehend. The price of being different comes down to basic wiring really. You flick the switch and the light bulb above the brain comes on. That happened over millions of years along with natural selection. Turn on or turn off? Tune in or tune out? Drop out or forever remain home with the lights turned off until some jackass comes and tells you you’re being selfish.
Can you relate?
Anyway, my eyes are getting heavy and this fresh cup of coffee hasn’t got me jacked in yet.
outside, the rats
huddle against the
cold grey shade of sky
eyes trail behind her
shivering as she sings
softly like a morning bell
metallic breath blows
grim where is her glory?
i gazed upon the gods being sold
in department stores and arcades
their light i have seen shimmering
against your skin and it is not my mind
i sing the virtues of dissatisfaction
drink from the blood of the bank
an innocent evil designated for Hell
invisible weight i carried for your love
We are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known. All men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers. – Carson McCullers
a kooky dream bounces between
erotic romance turned
struggling to contain her
destructive rage, she
falls unkempt in blood
a killer on the loose