Noise

As I’m writing, the album Lonely People With Power is setting the tone:

What else could come?
It was me, it was you
Converging into two
Desperate to be left alone

I tried everything. I got a “hacked” Instagram app on my phone where I removed reels, set chronological posts as the default view, stripped out anything resembling numbers and anything that could create tribalist comparison with other people, and many other things. The experience improved enormously. However, the core problem remains unsolved: the uncanny feeling of emptiness and lack of substance.

For just a second, think about where it comes from. Who is on the other side of the screen? Is it actually a person paying attention? Or is it someone buried in compulsive, reward-driven behavior, no different from a person hypnotized by a casino slot machine?

Go to a concert. Phones in the air. Not everybody, but just enough to make me feel disconnected from the main experience. I wonder: if I feel alienated, what about them? They have to scream into the digital void that they were there, as if it were a life-or-death situation. It’s not about liking that band. It’s about others seeing that you like that band. There is a survival mechanism involved, indeed. Artists, too, are competing against the recursive A/B-testing algorithms of our time.

Can we count somebody who acts that way as a living being? Are they really living? Or are they just proxies for poorly curated pieces of unsolicited information? If you think my wording is too violent: how much of what we read, listen to, and watch on a daily basis can be tagged as genuinely solicited information?

Lonely People With Power insists:

Thinking I’d survive with
everything I was gaining
Behind the curtain I was sinking
With everything I’m supposed to be

I’m pretty sure you can come up with many more of these observations. Concerts are far from the exception. They exist everywhere. We are being bombarded and suffocated.

Attention-deficit society and information gluttony are two sides of the same coin. Noise is the common denominator. So much so that we can’t hear our own voices. Not even our own thoughts. We crave noise. Anything can be measured and sold. Fantasy problems and desires are manufactured, hijacking our mania for recognition. Primal instincts and raw, compulsive, unprocessed emotions are all we give. Joy and bliss are alien concepts, misaligned with the requirements of this infinite jest, where we survive the numbers-that-be only to drown in noise, soothing the lack of genuine connection with ourselves.

We are slaves to profit-optimization algorithms. Freedom, sold as a highlight for your story. Fragile egos, desperately seeking something to believe in. The religion of numbers and loud voices, it must be. I’ve intentionally left out the upcoming AI-agent-driven social media accounts that will further accelerate the endless stream of unsolicited, poisonous, addictive content. Like fast food, you feel like you’re eating something. Only there’s little to no nutrition at all. I didn’t go in depth because it’s the same thing at its core.

I hope we nurture the right people: the ones who will see silence and focus as the most punk thing ever. To anyone with the courage to look inside and leave the false idols behind: I wish you the best. Never doubt silence. Before articulating a proper speech, you first learn to listen closely.

Of course, social platforms can be useful entry points to interesting projects and job opportunities. Luckily, I developed the habit of using them only to find just enough information about someone or something, mostly related to business or creative work. Things like “when will this artist play her next gig?”, or the vibe of a coffee shop 4 km from where I live, to judge whether it’s worth the trip. You know, things like that. But that’s the limit.

When it comes to keeping up with people I care about: nothing replaces hanging out. I could have completely missed that you were in Thailand for three months. But rest assured, at our next lunch I will pay attention and ask you all sorts of questions. Not only will I not get tired of hearing about you: I’ll enjoy every damn minute. Those things can’t be scored or measured by any analytics platform, though.

You might get away with a fancy post. Eventually, the look in your eyes will give you away.

Could it be flesh and
blood were all we gave?