Evil spirits, away.

Admittedly, I’m Not A Marketer

The idea of marketing seems endlessly contrived.

I understand that in order to appear relevant, I must repeat the same over-worked formulas, to the same over-worked insecurities, in a way that gives hope through form, merely so I can convince others of my brilliant execution.

The more people I convince, the more relevant my information becomes and I suppose, in a sick twist of fate, the world continues it’s delicate spin just that tad bit wiser.

Unfortunately, the market is saturated with billions of others trying to spruce this kind of sentiment, which ironically, means content needs to become even more streamlined, rather than diversified.

I mean, it’s not that we need this information.

True necessity relies in the disparity of our emotions which our so-called “human solutions” exploit flawlessly.

Otherwise, hierarchy would be some kind of political farce... and well, it already is, in-spite of the constant distraction whirling in tandem twirl.

This disparity, almost self-inflicted, has become THE necessity our lives have become accustomed to and it’s a collective shamble, disintegrating beautifully into a political haste of downtrodden narrative.

It exists as a sort of tenant to the repeated-survival replication badgers into our minds.

We wake up each and every morning with a glaze, half-sunken stare and we do it again and again and again to the wisdom that dramatic production brings; those quirky algorithms we play in our minds, adored like an invisible child.

Perhaps I’ve already lost you.

Perhaps, these words are just another pointless distraction for you to sink your teeth into.

It’s just a shame that you don’t really get to decide. I am not the magic hand that makes your eyes blink.

Click for a like.

In today’s world, thought has become a wholly democratised commodity. It is pre-defined and post-packaged.

Like a box that fits perfectly into our brains, embracing simplicity and human limitation as if innovation were a curse on the soul.

Good design, churning and twisting. It tingles away into our hearts, because sir, the design lives inside you; it cracks at the spine and withers at the serum.

Interfaces that sparkle; buttons that flow. Life has become so perfectly effortless, dazzling like a handful of colourful shapes that cannot quite be grasped.

The internet has changed the way we relate to information as a brand. It has made us demand more from less and that, is the illusion marketing upholds.

Misguided sincerity, falsely expressing it’s sorrow.

We hold onto our broken strings, pulling away at a bunch of puppets which have no control over the dynamics of our existence. Worlds out of imaginations, pretending to care.

…and in the abundant clamour of interest, we trip ourselves blind like a deaf donkey on shit ears, all the in name of “progress”.

Yet it is a cycle we all accrue, some more subtly than others.

At least the good ones are subtle.

Not that it really matters. The market always decides. Pointlessness pontificates.

A single golf clap? Or a long standing ovation?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.