Monday motivation from the dark side of the sun
Voodoo spells and witchcraft from inside The Matrix
I don’t like Monday’s at the best of times, especially Monday’s that have the feel of a Sunday and that Thursday, last Thursday not this Thursday coming, last Thursday, had the feel of a Saturday as I watched live sport in the morning of an evening on the other side of the world that would soon become an early morning as my early morning became an early afternoon and this could very well discombobulate the very best of us and we must stay strong, stay vigilant and when in times of trouble, let it be.
Or you could tell Facebook and the moderators of the Groups associated with medium.com to go fuck themselves?
You see, I have a number of articles currently floating in purgatorial limbo within these Groups and not only that, I am in effect “shadow banned” on many more too. Tall tales from scant responses received to date state Facebook have automatically added a “whitelisting” protocol that can’t be altered by the moderators, meaning they have to in essence “approve” the articles. Makes you proud to live in a free world doesn’t it? One moderator was particularly prickly with me, he of the whitelisting protocols, essentially asking if I wanted my articles to remain in “spam” (what larks!) forever, thus dooming my words to dangle in a diseased desert of doom until the sun comes crashing into the earth.
Makes you proud to live in a free world doesn’t it?
“Whitelisting”?
Sounds so beautifully dystopian.
Whether it’s an automatic algorithm and Skynet have taken over or it’s an overly officious psychopath bent on the intoxicating drug of authority over a life changing Facebook Group, we’re all fucked. My words, my jumbled up random rambling musings are held in stasis by either decree of a machine or a machine thinking human. There is no further need for a transhumanist vision of a dystopian future and merger with the machines. We are the machines. We are The Matrix.
We are the bastard children of the future.
Then someone ruined my Substack experience (stop laughing!) and I had to have an extra sweet cup of tea just to stop the discombobulation tremors from returning.
By hook or by crooked stick I’ve managed to avoid the sort of shabby behaviour you come to expect in a madhouse such as Instagram in my time on Substack but after sending a polite reply to a DM expressly stating, and I’m quoting “Thanks for the follow! Please don’t ruin my experience so far on Substack by trying to sell me something. Thanks. Take it easy”, a
“Business Opportunity” was in my new follower’s immediate DM reply and I had to have another cup of sweet tea before I shook my head so violently it toppled from my shoulders and onto the floor below. What larks eh? A business opportunity. Well if it’s so opportune, why don’t you take yourself up on your own business offer? Let’s when we normally get into “Pyramid Schemes for Pyramid Dreams” (copyright pending) territory, and I rant about the absurdity of sending money to a total stranger in The Matrix and, let’s not beat about the bush here, a stranger I contend to be a vulture, a sucker of the soul, a vampire sucking on the works and ideas of others whilst they bring nothing to the deal. No energy. No enthusiasm. No human warmth. No actual love for the art of writing or reading a book. Fuck no. Pure digits in a pyramid scheme of dreams whilst they play pretend “internet influencer” in an electrical Matrix of utter fucking doom.
Bar-coded humans. In a QR coded world.
And that’s when they tend to stop talking to me.
Whether or not I have articles of mine held in a Christopher Nolan limbo or I’ll be approached with someone else’s dreams of a monetary pyramid the next time I show my face on Instagram, nothing is going to change and my writing is overwhelmingly pointless. There are 3 people in this world who believe my rambling musings to be of worth and one of those deranged lunatics is me. I proudly show off books that came about through a series of happy accidents but my literary babies know, in their heart of paper hearts, they’ll be condemned to a Nolan limbo along with their author.
Here’s the thing: I put my heart and fucking soul in my writing, for good or ill. It’s the only way I know. But I can’t compete with the machines of Skynet and the machine minds they’ve created, or the vacuous, vexatious vermin who get their money for nothing and no doubt their kicks for free too.
I don’t like Monday’s at the best of times.
Lucky today felt like a Sunday I guess.
See you next Thursday for more Monday motivation from the dark side of the sun.
Thanks for reading. I hope this message in a bottle in The Matrix finds you well, prospering, and the right way up in an upside down world.
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