August: wwwwwwwwwwwwww dot

The internet is something I don't get.

I have internet burnout. I’m sure there’s a term for it and I’m sure that’s not it. Online fatigue? World Wide Weariness?

I signed up to Threads like everyone else. I open it occasionally. I’m just not really sure what I’m looking at. Or who I’m looking at. Or why. It’s simultaneously over- and under- whelming.

Ted Gioia

writes about it far more eloquently than I ever could: How the Internet Went to Threads. So does

The Sophist

, if you want to laugh out loud at the same time: Well of course I joined Threads because.

My own digital dismay seems to pour out in rhyme.

The second verse from the first song on my first album goes like this:

The internet is something I don’t get
Typing overseas like sillouettes
Wake up and download a string quartet
The internet is something I don’t get

The winning line comes towards the end:

wwwwwwwwwwwwww dot 

Hear it to believe it. The song is called Over My Head. The year was 2011. I’d actually completely forgotten, before Googling it last night, that it was once covered by the one and only Ginger Rogers. See it to believe it…

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Fast forward 10 years. I may be a better lyricist, pulling off entire ballads in monorhyme, but cyberspace continues to elude me!

My inbox said it was too full
My upgrade failed to install
And I fell down a rabbit hole
Of baby clothes and denial
I tried to remain cynical
Not be so damn susceptible
But the chambers echoed when I called
And the click bait beckoned when I stalled
This will be your great downfall!
The internet has thee in thrall!
Still the writing on my Facebook wall said:
#NotWorriedAtAll

I first shared a video of this post-natal showstopper right here on Substack:

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COMMERCIAL BREAK!!

Last week I sent my paid subscribers a demo of a song which you can only hear if you’re a paid subscriber so please become a paid subscriber in order to hear it because it’s a very sad song:

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Back to the future. Sometime in between www. and the monorhyme I wrote a sort of novel. No rhymes. The following extract feels somewhat pertinent.

-Dad. I'm going to sell an idea to YouTube. It's a fucking winner. Ready?

Occasionally, when she had a stroke of inspiration or was pre-menstrual, Smith would arrive downstairs on fast forward, barely time to sip her caffeine between sentences.

-SplitScreen. It's going be an instant hit. Get this: Four simultaneous videos playing at once, two above, two below. The audio can be flicked between or played in overlap. Launched under the proviso of a mashup tool for VJs – you know what that is right? I give it ten days before it's seized by the mob. Dad. It's going to give people an insultingly user-friendly platform to do exactly what they're already doing – catching up on music videos, cute animal virals, cooking tutorials and conspiracy porn, all at the same fucking time. Well? A haven for ads. And the creatives will get their fix from the deluge of curated content – identical political speeches; identical red carpet outfits; string quartets, one instrument per screen... the possibilities are endless. Meanwhile the grand majority of people will choose to watch their videos on “Fruit Machine” – not sure about the name yet – enjoying whichever headache of combinations the feature's algorithm throws at them. It's gonna be fucking mind-boggling and vile and genius.

Her father’s phone lit up with two loud beeps. A young female voice interrupted them on loudspeaker: You need to be here in twenty, I couldn't move the call. And you have to let me know how many extra nights you want in Tokyo. Lunch with Anthony is happening. It cut off.

-See! This is exactly why SplitScreen is going to sell. The Attention Deficit Generation! Can she always interrupt you like that without warning? Can she see you're eating Special K? Does it even have an off button? 
-Sorry sweetie, I'm listening.
-I don't care! It's perfect. Online is our permanent disposition.
-It's interesting, your video idea.
-We're slaves to the beep! There's no need to check the post anymore, the post announces itself! And it always beeps twice.
-Ok very good...
-Information bombs, dropping without warning. Beep Beep: Good news. Beep Beep: Bad news. No sense of timing or respect for situation. You can't switch off, you can only keep up. Delete, reply, reply all, flag. Oh, and forward! How could I forget forward – got to keep moving forward. Keep in contact, keep up with the latest, don't be left behind, no rest for the wicked. Better watch a three year old conduct the Vienna Philharmonic while I quickly catch up on the The Voice.
-How does this relate?
-Don’t you see? Our fingers are like spiders, constantly crawling towards our phones. We might look relaxed but our fingers are on a tight schedule. What's the time? Better check the time! Flick the screen out of sleep and glance at the time. Ears on the conversation, fingers on the pulse. And oh look, whilst I’m here, Scrabble alert! Dad played ‘Focus’ for 26 points. Good move Dad, poignant.
-You're still winning.

Smith finished her coffee and eyed the bananas in the bowl. She wasn't big on breakfast.

-I’m telling you, Split-screen. It's just the next logical step. Think about buying a record when you were however old, whoever it was you liked, Bowie or someone. You walked all the way to the record store, spent your hard earned cash, brought it home like a prize, scoured the liner notes, whatever that even means, invited your groovy friends to sit around and listen in awe. And then they'd go home and you'd listen to it all over again, alone, over and over... How did you have the patience? You don't now!
-It was a romantic time.
-i.e. You had nothing better to do. Lucky for me, then came Walkman, Discman, Minidisc, iPod. Napster, Myspace, Deezer, Soundcloud. iTunes, Apple Music, Spotify and whatever the hell is coming next. Anywhere, anytime, on demand, as you go. Immediate, immaculate and interrupted. No commitment, no romance. Music for the multi-tasking masses. The Attention Deficit Generation. A recommended radio show? I'll listen back later. Release date? I already streamed it. The 10 O’clock News? I just watched CNN. Goodbye allocated-time, you led a special life. Did you know a music video on YouTube is now switched off after an average of twenty-two seconds? People's brains are ready for the next level.
-You make your point well. Now monetise it. I'm late.
-I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date! Beep Beep: There's a problem. Beep Beep: There's a party. Beep Beep: I love you. Beep Beep: You lost. Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep, is it WhatsApp or Instagram? Facebook or FaceTime? Mine or yours? Business or pleasure? I can see you in real-time, UK to US! Beirut to Bombay! Oh the wonders of the world! But wait – can't hear you – hello pixels – bad connection – losing you – on the train – going under – in the bath – going under – email me – we should really catch up.
-I've always said you should do stand up.

Smith was pretending to drown on the floor, scrambling up for air as her father zipped up a North Face jacket over his light blue shirt and swept his appliances into his briefcase. She pulled herself up on a stool, dramatically gasping for air.

-And that, is why, in this sorry state of affairs, the public is now deranged enough to watch four unrelated videos at the very same time. And I, Daddy, will win the fruit machine jackpot while they sit cross-eyed in their sublets.

She had considered Theatre Studies when she was eighteen, before attending an open day and wanting to kill the student representative singing at her about the course, the freedom of its structure and the social life of the societies. Now she practiced her dramatics on her parents. They were a good crowd, when she got their attention.

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This is probably the moment to mention Substack Notes — the slower, kinder, ad-free alternative to Twitter. I don’t use it enough, but when I do take a peak I think it might be the place to hang out. Like a coffee shop with home-made cupcakes rather than a gym lobby with energy drinks. See you there?

Oh for simpler times!