I am in my thirties, my early thirties at that, but sometimes I feel like a much older woman. After text messaging was invented, I was good with technology. Give me limited internet, Microsoft Word with the squiggly lines reminding me that I can’t spell worth a damn, and a phone where I don’t have to call someone, and I am set*.
I belong in a simpler time, when choices were limited and you found out about new bands through your friends. All the tech, all the platforms, all the access that everyone has to say anything that is on their mind, all of the weeding through all the nonsense to get to a news article, poem, story, song, photo, anything worth enjoying is e x h a u s t i n g.
What happened to the times of mix tapes (the real kind) and discovering bands and art and books through friends, whose opinions you trusted (or knew enough not to trust). When I was growing up in the punk scene, you just became inundated with that subculture and all the art that came with it. The music, the writing, the art, the politics, the DIY ethics. You were part of the community, you were the audience and you had an audience. Things now seem so cut and dry and art doesn’t bleed together. Can we do that again?
But here I am bitching about it in a blog, so who am I to talk when I am adding to the exact problem I am identifying. Who is to say that I have the right or the talent to be publishing this or my poems? Are they just more blocks of text to sift through.
Since we are stuck in the digital age, can someone give me the magic algorithm or key words that will deliver me the writing that I want to read and the art that I enjoy?
(*Okay. Maybe I love Instagram. But that’s it. I swear.)