The Malcontents of Content
Rage against the (content) machine
I’ve been struggling to publish this piece.
In my first Substack piece I shared the realization that I have so many ideas to express and how that motivated me to start writing again.
I knew I wanted to write about the idea and phenomenon of “content.” I had some notes and ideas jotted down and a bit of an outline. I knew the jist of what I wanted to say.
Yet when I sat down to write, I couldn’t find the words. I was frazzled, even.
At first, I didn’t understand. This is a subject I’ve been observing, contemplaining, and griping about for years. I’ve tweeted about it, read other people’s thoughts on it that are not dissimilar to my own. I was happy with the first two pieces I wrote here, and they came together quickly and with relative ease.
So I finally said to myself, “Hey! What’s goin’ on?”
And I realized what the problem was and still is: I’m overwhelmed by the endless content I consume… the very thing I’m grumbling about.
Big surprise, I know.
I often feel like a clogged drain from absorbing too much media (I yearn for Drano!). Sometimes there’s so much material in my system it just gets stuck. And that stuckness leads to a kind of mental paralysis.
But one of the things Twitter has taught me is that the solution to overthinking and reading too much is to write.
Writing is the cure for overconsumption.
I need to write this and get it out of my mind, if only for my sanity.
And I have a hunch you need to read this, too. Yes, YOU!
Why?
The other day I tweeted this:
Even though my account is “small and humble” like Shakira’s breasts, my lament about templates seemed to resonate with people. At the same time, I noticed other accounts sharing similar sentiments.
You’re sick of the same tired, copy-pasted, recycled, wore-out-their-welcome templates?
I hear ya!
As I write above, the byproduct of being online often, especially on social media, is a system overload. We are inundated with media on various devices on a daily basis.
So when everything you see looks exactly the same it’s doubly tiring.
Yet there is a positive aspect to the flood of online content.
More people are pursuing their writing dreams. There is so much quality work here on Substack and elsewhere, and more people are taking the leap and self-publishing their books for the first time.
That’s why it’s so hard to find the time and mental space to read everything you want to. And that’s not including all the classics, philosophy and criticism, and other modern works that are on your never-ending “to read” list (speaking for myself here).
It’s… a lot.
And what happens when you ingest so much of, well, everything and everyone around you?
You become congested — mentally, emotionally, spiritually.
It’s like overloading the washing machine. It may still get the job done, but not as well, and eventually it’s going to malfunction or breakdown.
Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but I often feel like a submerged island in this online game.
Even being an observer has its implications and does not absolve me of my willingness to consent, to bear witness to things I have no business witnessing.
Were we meant to be taking in all this material on a daily basis? To know intimate details about the lives of others, to read all kinds of negatively charged information that we’d be better off not knowing or seeing?
I doubt it.
But it doesn’t matter because we are all spectators now.
And there is no retvrn.
“Content” makes me think of a colorless blob packed into a space, like volume in a container — something to impregnate the vacuum, lest we be swallowed by our own demons.
Content fills the void… or does it?
But I’m digressing into an existential no-man’s land here. Let’s get back to reality.
There’s nothing wrong with writing or producing some kind of content on social media or elsewhere. I’m doing it right now, and you’re reading it.
As I often say, it’s not the what, it’s the how.
Every time you post something simply to occupy the timeline, to attract empty likes and follows, to chase the stench of dopamine, you lose a bit of yourself.
That means content often becomes repetitive and utilitarian — “1000 ways to say the same thing.” There is no soul, no purpose beyond the thing itself.
Adhering to overused and abused templates drains the essence of you from your writing.
That doesn’t mean that practicing with templates means you’re a bad guy. Nor does it mean you should write without structure, or that it’s easier to forgo the comfort of a preset equation.
Writing is hard, even for the best and brightest, and you’ve got to start somewhere, right?
But it is indeed a real challenge to write like a human being. It requires both practicing your craft — understanding structure, literary devices, grammar, language itself, etcetera etcetera — and the ability to express yourself. Neither of which are small feats.
The latter is often the most difficult part, for to place our work, and ourselves, on the altar of criticism is a nerve-racking endeavor.
Writing well requires introspection and vulnerability.
You have to really look in the mirror, not just in the filtered selfie where you hide from your true self.
So now what? I’ve identified the problem. But I’m supposed to give you a solution, aren’t I?
“Solve people’s problems,” they say.
Yet, if you look closely, I have given you the solution:
The antidote to “content” is authenticity.
You need to find your you-ness and let it spill onto the page.
Craft + You-ness = Authenticity
People are craving a genuine, uncalculated presence. So here’s your chance to get in while the shiny object syndrome of “creating content” is wearing thin.
That’s the magic sauce.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
―Ernest Hemingway
There is plenty more to say on this subject, and certainly I’m not the first nor will I be the last to comment. This piece is more personal musings than pointed criticism anyway.
But writing this one has been a personal challenge and really pushed me to define and encapsulate my own purpose here…
The purpose of this Substack is to be an antidote to the content machine.
Thank you for coming to my rant.
I love how reading your writing feels like I’m peeking inside your brain. Idk what it is about it, but it seems like a piece of such raw thought. That’s art right there, my bro.
Also, “small and humble like Shakira’s breasts”- 😂😂
❤️