The Interstitial Garbage Dump

Download the album automatically and don't listen to it at all and chuckle at the ensuing media firestorm sinking an irrelevant brand.

Pick a new role for yourself online, let the psychosis of the internet really get to you, really inhabit its odd corners, muttering constantly about incredible things with an awesome potential to alienate others while also alienating you. Get really huffy about something like everyone else is doing!

The newest sensation is a good way to get views and followers. Yet there is a way to do it properly and it may only be to create some bot account twitter, where you are the bot, retweeting an oblivious feed via buzzy logic and reimagining news stories in the naive or Socratic mode.

You ramble about the newest sensation. There is the Rob Ford Saga, pt. 6, and many others. Or work on the themes: What the Hell, vol. 1; Wild Internet XXI; My Fat Twitter Diary; Fail-o-sphere 2.5; LOLNET... the internet possibilities are endless. If you want success, stick to the sensations and try and become as media literate as you can in the broadest sense. Make a vid or two. Don't use memes stupidly and try not to play irrelevant or annoying ones unless you're really good, memewise.

No it doesn't need to make sense. It only needs to make sense interstitially and occasionally. The savvy user reads between the lines anyway.

Whatever happened to Nerd Culture? It got really quiet and samey, growing like a benign tumor on the cultural wasteland of 2014, a cyst overfull of information and inflated by its handlers. The newest game is all design and art, game be damned. The digital grindstone. "Only moonlighting in reality these days."

The dramatic currency wars. Fading economies. The thriving era of Cannibal Orphan Globalism. Violence signalling like flares in the dark that something is still terribly wrong and broken, help is needed, and the constant fear that everything else will get dragged in again leading to some monstrous cataclysm. Orphans of the species make further orbits for a couple of hardscrabble years, looking hungrily at a succession of pure nights.

We have a responsibility to do what we can and not let it get to us, try though it might. Is it our responsibility to look into things, risking mental corrosion and flights of fancy? Who can say? This blogger certainly can't. Casual self-reflection is probably a good habit unless it leads one too far inside. Introspection is only half the story at best. What seems impossible is always categorical: do all questions lead somewhere?

The internet provides a constant potential to feel extremely negative and anxious about everything, a literal bottomless pit that only exists insofar as what exactly? Personalized algorithmic experience, digital rat maze, the netscape, first and last frontier; possibly the end is in sight.

What the wreck of news journalism reveals is a world still running amok. Things are in some ways better, but things are worse at least existentially for all and are really not that great for most in any case. In the best case a global society awakens, ignores its differences, and forces the start of a new era divorced from as many of the ignorant sins of the past as possible. But realistically a continuation and intensification of the recent past is most likely, for at least a few more decades, by which time it may truly be too late.

The net decline of genetic diversity correlates to a net decline in the value of Earth, beyond merely a pruning of the tree of life as some non-alarmists would argue. If people were as carefree about their dollars everyone would be a millionaire, economists would be philosopher kings, and there would be no world hunger. Funny how more or less pure capitalism, either way, could solve a few problems. The law of mediocrity is by definition only fair to a small percentage. If we made it, could it rule us? What does it matter when the toxic cloud is already here, and has been for dozens of years?

The realist perspective is not individualistic, but there will always be the allure of a heroic self-narrative and/or other fantasies. There is not enough realism left, as if the horrors of the 20th century exhausted our ability or willingness to see things as they are. How will we advance beyond being troops of apes? Will we? Is the criticism even valid? We cannot truly say things are purely otherwise yet. The symbolists can prove it.

It is best to ramble about things awhile. Puzzle them over over a beer or so with a friend or friends who are looking to ruin your line of thought by thrusting their own into a collision with it. Whatever, anyways, right? Whatever...

User Comment Rodeo: Lazier and Funnier than Ever!

Hey readers, you're probably quite excited that the UCR hasn't been lost or destroyed in a fire yet, right? Oh, you aren't... well it's back. 2014 has probably been a great year for stupid user comments, but we're going to find out. Okay, well, here's a bunch of great user commentary, bitching, and the occasional gem - dug up in the most unhealthy way possible.

 

Highly potent stuff. Hahahahaha. I can definitely see why the UCR 3000 or whatever picked this up. Great shit. Hahha. Not a waste of twenty thousand dollars.

Ahahaha holy shit somebody got owned [for teh internet savvy browsers: 'pwned'] pretty hard in the comment section that day... goddamn that's some serious incest.

Damn look at this guy who can see through the facade of lowered violent crime rates and other liberal mumbo-jumbo hexapentatonic voodoo to the truth: ancient biblical cities that were destroyed for lawlessness and immorality are essentially the same as the modern United States. Obozo, good shit dude... betcha didn't come up with something that good yourself.

Hell yeah that's got me spinning in the chair, spitting out my tea/coffee/beer, and laughing all the way to the bank!

In twelve years the above user commentary will be cited in a study conclusively proving that video games promote mental illness on a level at least equivalent to marginalization, drug use, or genetics. I don't know what the hell is going on, but people live like that... imagine their internal monologues and all the stupid shit they get excited about... mental illnesses and neurological problems... seriously hilarious shit.

 

Climate science is the lowest target besides almost everything else an unthinking buffoon commentates on. Let's see what might or might not happen (much like we as a species do with earth and climate science).

You see? Hippie shit.

Oh, and highly reasonable responses that lead one to question why the commentator is wasting potential arguing with people in the user comment section. Why not go to school? Or use your time responsibly... maybe these saints have bigger plans than any of us know, and don't mind getting mired in incredibly stupid and wasteful arguments with hardened skeptics. Maybe they don't even get hopeless or angry or wracked by belly laughs when they engage the user comment sections of the internet... and there's a lot of those.

Words: Apparently Dumb, Stupid, and Easily Misused

Words are apparently stupid, because when you attempt to write many of them on the internet for any purpose you are missing the point. The internet is all about ADD, ADHD, and Twitter. Twitter's got it right and I've got it wrong. And I've had it wrong all this time. Paragraphs, sentences, and long-term writing are stuff of the 20th century and earlier.

I am not savvy enough. Don't believe me? My smartphone doesn't have apps or even a data plan (which makes it a part-time computer with built-in phone capabilities), my Twitter account has no followers (because I don't tweet and forget [my password constantly] to check Twitter unless some really hilarious hashtag is imploding),  and my blog is full of words and skimpy about pictures, videos, and excitement. What a fool I must be to keep at it: like it's some kind of book ebook that I'll never finish and that nobody cares about anyway. Like one of the stories Machine of Death rejected.

This blog is like an Angelfire crap page except not written by a child, no stupid .gifs or burning text, and no annoying MIDI covers of Limp Bizkit songs. So maybe it's not like an Angelfire/Geocities abomination... but why in the hell can't I figure out a way to capitalize on A) putting effort into making a way cooler blog [is this even possible] B) marketing this blog since I care so much. I can't have one without the other and, to be honest, I'd rather skip both.

Making a blog cool, even with idiot-proof software/front-ends [sorry Blogger], isn't as easy as I think it is. I'd have to scrap Publicato and try something new, losing probably everything that I struggled to build. But, honestly, if all I'm going to do is write stuff, link to stuff, and occasionally drop a screengrab, then I might as well go with a less tacky layout.

I will take a look, and feel the pain of what I imagine are actual human readers (unless even this is a delusion, and I've just attracted a lot of search-engine crawlers). Wood grain accent – like an 80's station wagon – black text on white background within it (ugly, amateur) in a non-offensive font at the very least. Flawless punctuation, occasional misspellings and typos despite a clear pro-professional writing bias. Nothing cool at all. High concept in words, not execution. Nothing hand-coded or done lovingly. Lodged in the belly of a content farm.

So that's why I don't always update. I always think that I am fooling my fool self with a fool blog on the internet. I play blues records and drink, and I hate that I ever started a blog at all. People make money off of facebook pages and twitter accounts, the odd blogger goes on to get published by an actual website, and almost everything I write is instantly drowned in the deep, still waters of the internet. It seems to me a hopeless case of building with sand on sand. Holding water. Fooling an eagle. Being angry at a dolphin.

That is to say: impossible. Writing is like smoking cigarettes: it stinks, it's bad for you, you end up making the wrong friends and distancing the right ones. Writing on the internet with more than 500 words at any one time is like being Henry James (or Theodore Drieser) at a post-modern microfiction literature convention. You can practically feel the cold shoulder given you by anything cool or contemporary. Who gives even the slightest shit?