The Speedup

Imagine trying to get happy on a tight deadline. Like you have ten minutes to get happy, or else your boss is going to punish you.

Observer Effect: Don’t Even Think of Quantifying Me (A**hole)

The 21st century America is a very strange place. Beautiful, bountiful, but strange. It tells me, “I want your music in my catalogue as long as you agree that it’s not special, and I want your booty in my catalogue as if it’s not special, either”. It wants me to line up and lick the conveyor. It wants me to play ordinary. It wants me to march with the crowd and participate in the global sexual act that has been stripped of all magic. The underlying emotion is of disrespect.

What do I say? First, I have no words. Then I cry. I don’t like any of it. It’s counter-everything. It defeats my humanity, my dignity, and my sense of self. It’s a man (and woman) eating machine (I stole it from Grace Jones).

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