Economy of Attention

So some months ago I was banned from a Facebook page called “Meanwhile in Australia”. I don’t want to draw too much attention to the page, but it spends a bit of time doing what one might view as rage-baiting, as well as what some people would consider stereotypically Australian stuff which is also viewable as toxic but it’s just a joke so it’s fine, and the merest fart of criticism is unacceptable. Will delete posts that doesn’t go the way that’s wanted, you know, that kind of stuff. Pretty standard.

Sometimes the page expresses what some might consider as a move toward equality, or an expression of progressive views, but generally there’s enough stuff that can be considered as not.

Toward the end of last year the page started sharing stuff about Australia Day early, and naturally it was viewable as rage-baiting and of course a good deal of rage came out from people defending and criticisng the day. I’d been thinking about leaving the page for a while because of what it puts forward, but they made the decision for me when I said something along the lines of “You could probably do less rage baiting”(sic) on a non-Aus Day post complaining about people complaining about the “controversial” posts from the page, which itself was quite viewable as rage-baiting. Was banned in three minutes, and I heard the post was taken down a little later.

At first I was somewhat surprised, considering I’d criticised their ongoing coverage of Raygun despite complaining about people giving Raygun attention because there were more important issues. Did the same when the page complained about people arguing over a kangaroo despite their bringing a lot of attention to said kangaroo. But yeah; Decision was made for me, and I’ve been better off for it.

But, you know, there’s something interesting here, and this post is not really about “Meanwhile in Australia”. This is about the economy of attention, and how problematic it is, because it is problematic.

There’s plenty of ways to get attention and rage is probably one of the easier ones. Draw people in, get them engaging in an annoyed or frustrated way, keep them arguing. Throw a funny in here and there, and maybe something uplifting, then more rage. Generate more anger. Get people talking. Keep them engaged. Put the question out to them rather than a statement that is perceivable as rage-baiting. Now they’re voting due to a question that shouldn’t be controversial but is. And it keeps on going.

I get that people want to be involved, but it’s still disappointing when it comes to this stuff. It rarely is rage-baiting for good. It’s often rage-baiting for attention. But beyond that what is there to say? What could I possibly provide? Attention is currency, and the more it’s received, the easier it is to generate popularity which can be turned into income.

When I occasionally remember “Meanwhile in Australia”, and I think about how utterly banal it was, and how it reveled in being merely okay at best, and how the page continued to do things that appear to just be purely for attention. I have to wonder if it’s a place that’s willing to actually engage in self-awareness, especially considering that the admin is willing to delete posts if they don’t seem to go the way they want them to. But I also think about how we have all this potential to stop engaging in what ends up being an inefficient use of our time, but so many of us are willing to waste our time when we’ve better things to do.

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Five-Hundred Word Challenge 1452: Heavy Morning

What to write? What to spin into reality? What to find where and how to find it on a day that’s only merely slightly disturbed, rather than completely? Questions that I’m just throwing in the air, seeing what comes back down. What lands.

At this present moment, writing is a struggle. Mood is heavy and thoughts of the future weigh on my mind. It has not been a good morning, and I imagine the next few weeks are also going to be pretty heavy. Still, I must write. I have to keep on writing. I have to push on through.

Here I am, sitting at work, waiting for routine to kick in so I can get to it, but I don’t know if I’m going to get through the day. Having to express how I feel is already tough enough as it is, but when you express it to someone you care deeply about and their response is to, essentially, “Yeah but”, just isn’t great.

Who knows what will happen in the coming days? Who knows how things will go from here? One tries to know, and perhaps they suspect, but sometimes it all seems unknown, and maybe it is here. I don’t know. I don’t like speaking cryptically either. It feels like I’m trying to generate drama.

But I’m tired, and I just want to rest, and I cannot do that. I have to keep going, and I have to write, or rather I desire to write, but I’m struggling. Things start going well and then they come crashing down, or rather the foundation starts to shake, and that’s life. You pick yourself up; you keep going where you can. You move through life at whatever rate you can move, and you keep going and hopefully you come out on top somewhere, and all that.

This is all too much for this morning. I want more joy, more of an upbeat thing. I want to be spinning tales of silliness and not this stuff that is made to be more heavy than it is. Maybe I’m too sensitive or something though; I don’t know.

It’s going to be one of those days, but I’ll get there in the end. I’ll pull through. I’ll push on toward something that I can claim as my own. My own small victory among everything else that’s going on, and then I’ll wake up and tomorrow will be another day, and things will continue on as they are, or maybe they won’t, but I’ve got to try. Got to keep on moving and getting through life.

But what else is there to say? I feel heavy and weighed down right now, and I’m tired and I’m tired of being in a state of continued uncertainty, but I’ll keep on going and I’ll keep on pushing forward, but I just want some stability in my life is all. I want to be able to know that the ground underneath me is going to stay there.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:59:58

Heavy writing for this morning.

Written at work.

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Five-Hundred Word Challenge 1451: We Need to Ban Words

You know how words twist and turn and do all of those things that make us express wonder at how they do the things they do? You know how words exist?

YOU KNOW WORDS?

Man, let me tell you about words. I’ve a litany of grievances, and it’s time for the airing, and let me tell you, there will be an airing. Will need to open all the windows because there’s gonna be a strong draft that’ll force its way through otherwise. Get ready, and prepare yourself.

I remember the time when there were words countering other words for no other reason than to having something to counter words. This has history behind it, dammit! And I’ll be hard-pressed to find something so heinous and offensive to the idea of basic sensibilities as this kind of action and lack of justice in the world.

We need to ban words, my friends, my audience, my people. We need to eliminate them from the world, for they have reigned supreme for far too long in this day and age. They haunt the night and they burn the day, and nothing burns as brightly as that which hurtles across and prevents us to act in a freeing manner. Words have bound us for far too long. They have bound us to the terror of communication, and they withhold secrets that they have no need to do so. They are a menace and their reign of terror must end in their error.

What happens if we let all of this wordly ruling continue? What will happen if we remain beholden to their form and shape, and the way that they express? Who will go forward with the kind of courage that they know is theirs if we do not act together, to strike them down and eliminate them from society? Can we truly find ourselves a free society if we do not act to free ourselves from the constraints and chains that these words put upon us? That they use to force us to express them? How do we really continue?

Who can go home at the end of the day and look their kin in the eyes and say “I fought for a better tomorrow” if what they did was turn the other cheek? Who can truly be honest with themselves? Nay! WE must face the truth and come forward, and we must be willing to make that fight, regardless of how difficult it may seem. We must be wiling to continue forward, regardless of how difficult each step might be; regardless of the weight on our shoulders as the bearers of the future. We must be willing.

There is no tomorrow if we let words continue getting on with what they want, and there is no future for us if we don’t act to strike them down and remove them from our earthly realm. We have two choices, and one leads to sacrifice and loss, but holds potential. The other, just loss.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:39:74

Bit of silliness, this writing, but perhaps it rings truer than I might believe.

Written at work.

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Moving Wave

Here’s a wave as seen during some unpleasant weather. It was a dangerous time, but the waves were wonderful to witness, and this one is moving, but it seems held in position.

This is my submission into Leanne Cole‘s “Monochrome Madness” for this week. This one is themed, and Sarah of Travel with Me is the host. She has chosen the theme “The Sea”.

This challenge is open to all, and I recommend joining in. If want to, check out more information about it here, and include the tag “monochrome-madness” when you share your photo. If you’d prefer not to join in, then at the least check out Leanne’s photography, and what other people submit.

I hope you enjoy.

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King Crimson: The Howler

One listen.

Just went into it and spent most of the time feeling like I was trying to catch up. I like what came forward, however. Not sure how well it captures the song, but it does get across something in a manner that I feel is accurate.

King Crimson’s “The Howler” is from Beat.

I hope you enjoy.

Silence, though sound soon fades in, and it seems funky and broken. At odds, though in alignment. A slight reduction and then it all comes into view.

Rhythm plays a steady, though seemingly wavering beat and guitar aligns at odds. Vocals drift and warp and seemingly stretch and contract over the affair. It’s almost as though all is disoriented, or putting forward disorientation.

The sounds seem to reverse as they move forward and buzz before the vocals return and the warping continues. The distorting and the stilted, stumbling, yet absolutely graceful flow continues until it’s just guitar strumming out a pattern.

Percussion and bass, as well as more guitar come in and meet and counter, and the vocals too return, though more at odds with the rest, and also crooning, perhaps in a scared manner. And it continues on with the oddness, the sense of being off that feels so right.

Soon a solo of sorts, though perhaps it is better seen as a bombardment of terror and chaos, of release that slides into a return of the funky broken start, and it continues on until it fades and the song ends.

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Five-Hundred Word Challenge 1450: Writing Heavily

So I’m going through this period where I’m just writing heavily. Writing a lot of words, writing a lot of things, looking at drafts and finally finishing them, and I have no idea where this has come from. I think it might because I can see the endpoint, though it’s still a few hills over, but also because I’m just in a better mood than usual. Less tired. Not necessarily less feeling like shit, but in a better mood about it, I guess.

So I’m writing a lot and I’m getting things finished, and this is great. This is good. I need to anyway, as I’ve a lot of writing piled up, but I’m chipping away at it all and I’m getting stuff done, and this is great because, so long as I keep doing this and get things done, then I can finish them and move on, and in doing that, then perhaps I will see some sort of success that I feel is something I can stand behind… not that I don’t, but sometimes you want a bit more than you usually allow yourself to have. Or something like that. You get the idea.

But I’m sitting here and I’m wondering if I really will get to the top of the pile this time, or if it will all pass on by and that will be that. I’m wondering if I’m going to get better, or if I’m going to get worse. I have a lot I need to catch up on still, but I am getting there, if slowly. But I need to keep going.

I generally don’t make resolutions, but this year I’m trying to be healthier. Always am, of course, but this year it’s really happening. Always is, of course.

But I do need more sleep, but I always need more sleep. That will never change, but I’ll keep going.

I think a major issue is spending too much time on my phone. It’s easy to lose a lot of time on it, and it’s also easy to disengage… or so I’d hope. Perhaps it’s not. I am trying to keep track of things, of course, but I’m trying to stay away from it at the same time. Music is fine, but endless scrolling and going through stuff isn’t. That eats too much time and I need to take better care of myself when it comes to those things.

And so I’m just writing a lot and it’s great, and I’ll keep on writing and putting things out. I’ll keep on going for now, but I need to work on everything else I have on my pile. Slowly chip away, remain relentless, charge on and get through it all. Think about how I write, keep trying to learn and grow and put it all into practice, and remain focused, even if the focus is to just write aimlessly. If I do then maybe, just maybe this time I’ll get to the top of the pile.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:28:54

I was hoping for something sillier, but that was not to be.

Written at work.

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Naked

December 2014. I came home one day, decided to get naked. Though maybe it wasn’t that simple. I can’t remember whether I’d planned to or decided to do it on the spot, but I was naked. On the street and in the rain. Taking photos of myself. Outside of my house.

Somewhat embarrassing. Somewhat reaffirming, somehow.

I was living in Glebe at the time and there was something in me that compelled me to do this thing. It was, if I remember correctly, an incredibly stressful and anxiety-inducing time. I was quite on edge and frazzled and trying to keep it together, and I mostly was. Just trying to deal with things, get through them and keep getting on with my life however I could.

So I got home, and the weather wasn’t great, and I got my camera and propped it up on someone’s car, made sure no one was around. It began raining at one point, and I stood there, in the middle of the road and took photos. I stood there, went through it, went back inside.

I have a vague recollection of wanting to do a frank look at the self, but the photos didn’t turn out too well. However, even if they did, I don’t think I’d share them. There’s a vulnerability in them, but they’re also incredibly amateur. I had taken plenty of photos of people at that point, but not quite photographed them, so to speak. I know I hadn’t thought enough about form and expression, and so it comes through. Beyond that, I’m not quite in focus and they don’t really offer anything, but they do mean something to me.

In a way it felt uncomfortable to be there, in public, naked. There wasn’t anyone around and I stopped caring at a point, but there was some sort of relief. You know, that sort of “maybe things are okay”. I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have done if someone showed up, because it would’ve been pretty confrontational to see someone standing there, naked in the rain, taking photos.

Perhaps those photos explore the idea of the self in an urban environment, and how artificial that environment is. How, whilst the urban environment presents a truth, it’s as honest as it is dishonest, and the human body is one of the few honest things remaining in the urban. But I know that I was looking at the self, and I was more looking at what I was rather than anything external. And the rain made it all the more typically dramatic, even though it was a matter of fact moment in time.

Would I do this again? Maybe. The circumstances that led to my standing there, naked, are not something I want to replicate. I’d have to find a way to be honest about it, because I could probably do it for the sake of it, but I don’t know if I could stand behind the result of that. The human body is a thing, but a lot of people find it confrontational, and sometimes I still do. But it is something worth trying to understand, though perhaps with more consideration.

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Another Person I Once Knew

So I had this friend that I mentioned a few times many years ago, Naa. Was a good friend for a good while. Had to fend off some lies people she knew said about me, and that was fun. It felt like she didn’t believe me, and I know her partner had a dim view of me without my having said much of anything to him and listening to when he corrected me on stuff, and after he complained about Naa to me too. I also know that at the time I was pretty intense. Still am, but less wildly so.

So Naa was a good friend, or maybe not really, because, in 2015, once I cut out my ex in what felt dramatic and cathartic at the time, but in hindsight was incredibly immature, I felt she dragged me back in. Then she stopped talking to me a few months later, near the end of 2015.

I remember having this conversation about my ex with Naa after I cut her out, and Naa telling me how she hadn’t spoken to her in a while as she was over her because of how she was acting. Naa talked about my ex taking the conversation away from her when she’d talk about things she was going through. I said to her that she should keep talking to my ex. Essentially, whilst part of me wanted people to take sides between us (I was still feeling emotionally raw), I also didn’t think that was good. Obviously I didn’t know the extent of what Naa was feeling, but I also knew that my ex was a good person.

So anyway, my ex went overseas for a while. At some point whilst she was, and out of nowhere, Naa asked me if I could pass on my ex’s mum’s number for reasons I’m not going to mention, because Naa asked me to keep it a secret and not tell anyone. I passed on the number and I kept the reasoning a secret; At least, at the time I did, because I have spoken to people who don’t know my ex or Naa about it since, but being drawn back into someone’s life I didn’t want to be involved in, and being told to keep it a secret fucked me up for a bit, and after some time I felt I’d been taken advantage of.

At one point I almost let slip to my ex’s mum, because we happened to be hanging out at one point (we tried to have a friendship separate from anything related to my ex and it didn’t work out), and not long after providing the phone number to Naa, everything was fine and it was there just in case, so I was wondering. I didn’t tell my ex’s mum about the why (I said something along the lines of the number being lost) and that started some questioning that ultimately went nowhere.

It got back to Naa and she said what she said about it, and I don’t think I said that I didn’t give any info away, or maybe I did but it was ignored; I can’t remember. I remember being apologetic though.

Eventually Naa stopped talking to me without saying anything (sometimes you drop people without a word, I get it), which wasn’t long after a brief message about trusting people, and it really hurt.

So why am I mentioning this? Why does any of this matter?

Like a lot of things out there, it really mattered at the time, and it mattered for a while after. Unfortunately in 2014 I became aware of Naa telling my ex what we talked about and so I realised I didn’t have much in the way of privacy in that friendship. I think when I found out I was hurt, but maybe I told myself that it was fine and I’d deserved it.

I’ve spent a good deal of time with people getting shitty at me and whilst I know of times that were on me, often I’ve not understood why. The most I’ve heard from anyone is that I’m hard to read (as though that’s justification), but I’ve spent a lot of time listening to people and having my issues brushed aside, and I’d spent a lot of time listening to Naa talk about her issues because that mattered to her and I wanted to listen, but if I was talking about mine, then I was talking about my issues too much. Again, I was wildly intense at the time, but I also know that I’d listened as much as I spoke.

At the end of the day I’m older now and it’s stuff that I forget about for a good long while until it briefly pops into my head and I think about it and move on because that was then and I’ve had time to deal. I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with and I’m still not, but my friend lied to me about things and it sucked.

The breakup with my ex hurt a lot, but Naa cutting me out of her life without a word lingered longer because I’d known her a while. It was confusing when when she started following my work a few months later, but overall I’m probably better off not having that person in my life, but I hope she’s doing well. I hope she’s living a good life, because I don’t want to wish misery and pain on others. I don’t think that’s a good thing, and I don’t want to spread hurt.

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King Crimson: Nuages (That Which Passes, Passes Like Clouds)

One listen for this one.

Just sort of went through it. I was hoping I’d get more imagery out of this, but that didn’t happen. I think this could’ve been better overall as I was thinking too much. Still, I got an idea of the song well enough.

King Crimson’s “Nuages (That Which Passes, Passes Like Clouds” is from Three of a Perfect Pair.

I hope you enjoy.

A light, dripping beat and some long draws of sound. It seems dark, almost, and tense, but gentle. Something more clearly guitar comes through, seems to call out, looking to understand a moment and plays fast and slow. Seemingly those draws of sound extend and contract and counterpoint each other, and lower.

Clear guitar returns and plays broken and clear, and solid, striking moments here and there. Lower, bass sound underscores and seems almost rigid, and smoothly so, and all the sounds are creating something as foreign as it is familiar. They paint image passing on by in snapshots, and soon it all pulls away.

It’s just bass and percussion dripping, but only for a moment as the other sounds return. Seemingly bright and seemingly dim and all exists within contained contrasts and imagery, seemingly looking for a harmonisation in there, but never quite finding it, or always knowing it and never letting on that it does.

The sounds keep moving, spreading out and inward, and they drift and hold, and change their shape, but the percussion and bass remain steady, and toward the end the guitar disappears and more space comes in until it’s just bass and percussion for a few seconds, and soon the song ends.

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Unlimited Noise Hamburger

One day there was this object of desire that people couldn’t work out. It seemed to be of some sort of delectable creation, and it seemed to be everything that everyone desired, and something that no one desired, but it was there.

People would look at this object and they would try to understand it. There was something as odd about it as there was enticing. It drew enough people in. It looked like a standard hamburger, but it was crafted quite well. It was balanced and layered and still and all sorts of fresh, and it didn’t seem to age. But it was just a standard hamburger.

Crowds came and went, but as they came they grew larger. The hamburger being where it was – sitting in a nondescript city in a space that was open, but perhaps not open enough – meant that, whilst crowds could grow massive, there’d come a point where traffic would become disrupted; where people wouldn’t be able to walk along sidewalks, and where business would not be able to facilitate customers if the crowds kept growing. However, the city officials didn’t care, for they too were becoming enthralled by this hamburger. They were captured and pulled within its appeal.

Those who weren’t were, understandably, becoming greatly annoyed by its presence and how it was disrupting life, for they just wanted to get on with their days and, if they had to pass near it, they’d not know if they’d have to contend with a large mass of people or not, for the crowds did not have a schedule. Some decided it’d be better to move away, and so did. They lived a more regular life at that point, and good on them for doing so. Some didn’t have the choice due to the belief in obligation preventing them from doing so, so they tried to cope as best they could.

One day, when one crowd had reached a particular amount of people, the faint sound of the lettuce leaves in the hamburger flapping against each other could be heard. It was faint – incredibly so – and yet, all the people there could hear it. Its volume gradually increased over what seemed like an eternity, until it seemed to engulf everything. But the hamburger was still.

Once at a certain volume, a loud, shrill hum pierced the space. Gradually more harsh noises came, and the people were enthralled, or so they seemed to be at first. It was not long before they found themselves prostrate, and it seemed as though the ground underneath no longer existed and was replaced by bodies.

The sounds called out for ages and for a distance, and the area was empty of movement. Any animals in the area left, and those who remained in the city and were not joined in took longer routes to get wherever, for the sound kept layering and increasing. It remained confined, but it was eternal and even if not heard, it could be felt. It changed behaviour and the dynamic relationship between concrete and flesh, and there was nothing that could be done.

Eventually someone became so angry about their life being impacted by this that they decided to walk over the crowd and toward the hamburger. Armed with earplugs of an exceptional quality, they stepped over people who were angry about this person’s approach, but they could not do anything about it for they were paralytic. And this person was angrier than they were, anyway.

They approached with firm conviction, and despite their earplugs being as good as they were, the sounds started coming through. Still, they kept moving with conviction and they arrived at the hamburger, and proceeded to kick it over.

With one firm bunt the burger fell over and fell apart, and the moment it did the sounds stopped. The person walked away; they had to get to work. Soon the crowd there started getting up, seemingly as though nothing had happened and they hadn’t been lying there for weeks. They returned to their lives.

Those in the crowd denied anything had happened and denied that they were caught in the hamburger’s thrall, and some even denied that there was a burger there, but people knew, and though they eventually gave up on trying to get people to admit to their being misled, relationships were changed.

As for the hamburger, well, it was just a hamburger and its constituent components were thrown out as though waste, which, once it had fallen apart, it had become.

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