We can’t even reach the people who truly love the project anymore, not just the drifters. Of the multitudes of people we have across the world as friends, followers and subscribers spread across all platforms, all of which we have passionately earned, lost and re- earned over the years, the amount we can actually reach in our posts is driven down and dragged around by the algorithms. The promise and distortion of love and acceptance. The promise of better, cheaper, more, easier. The seductive tweaking of our desires, hopes and dreams. The psychological tolls we face as users are created by this illusion. Same old greed that I hated about the music industry in the first place morphed into a more addictive form.

Another banal glaring opiate for the masses. Experimented and exhausted my options, and it has led again to a corporate dead end. I followed its rhythms, adapted to its quirks. But it has shown it’s true colors as a punisher and a liar.

It did for a while for many of us so we all took the bait. I hoped as it grew it would afford indie makers like me more freedom, authenticity and opportunity to get to anyone that might give a shit and build our own self contained niche. I was once in love with the ideas of the online social media universe. Motored along by my creativity and, in this case, the internet. Yet every few years there comes a new natural unrest. Grateful to live this life, laugh at the catastrophic, call out bullshit, and to love my work. īUT fuck, that crisis, psychotic breakdown, breakthrough made me brand new, funnier, clearer and stronger. Amplified through self flagellation, gripped by sloppy vices and ice brittle artist tragicomedy. Undiagnosed autism at odds with the absurd logic of the world. I did my time with depression and insomnia.

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