Hello hello hello,
Apologies for not writing as much as I usually do. I am drowning in everything I have to do and wafting through some kind of mild depression, or that’s what I keep telling myself, a mild depression. I refunded my muse’s subscription to this Substack, bizarre sentence only I would ever have to write or admit to, and it has had more of an impact than I would have thought on my desire to write. So, I’ve been focusing on the physical instead; I love sweating, I love displacing the pain, and I hate thinking about it. At least, right now, I do.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t been working on things for you, dear reader, because I have!!! I will soon be publishing the first in what will hopefully become a series of conversations with guests, the first one with my long-time friend Molly, who makes me aware of a strange Tik Tok trend, which launches us into a conversation about “cultural BPD”, the internet and its impact on our relationships. I will also be publishing a conversation with writer and friend Naila on the death of romance, being difficult, and Love at large.
I also have an essay on being the girl in the phone, but that one will take the time it takes. Maybe that will be no time at all; who the fuck knows. While I’m grateful for the new subscribers, I can’t help but feel a little exposed. Like after two decades of being Online and Posting, I’m suddenly aware of myself being perceived. Oh well, too late to turn back now.
I thought I would respond to a comment someone dropped in the chat, about the attention economy running on disposable content and how Tinder, with its strategic character count, makes sure you flatten your complexity and remain disposable after the match. I found this interesting for several reasons, but I don’t think I could elaborate on them for long enough to dedicate an entire post to this. I will say, however, that while I completely agree that Tinder, dating apps, and even the internet at large encourage this “flattening of complexity”, I think it also happens offline as we have learned how to make ourselves easy to consume and disposable and perform this flattened, condensed, clever version of ourselves everywhere.
Call it brain worms, call it being on Twitter for too long, whatever, our interactions, online and off, make a mockery of who we truly are. It’s all ironic detachment and quippy, shallow observations. The new hot girl is the meme admin, right?
With everyone so unceremonious and the lawless hellscape of neoliberalism, which allows anything and everything to justify itself, narcissism breeds little vampires, monsters of our own making, who, yeah, have no issue tearing each other to shreds, ghosting, floating in and out of what we’ve reduced to mere situations.
It sure is fucked, my friend!
You can suggest things for me to read, watch or comment on in the chat or by e-mail. I love and appreciate everyone who subscribes and or shares anything on here. xoxo.
C u soon
S
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