Ego Addiction

I’ve always wanted to be the star. I grew up at the end of an era where people had to do things to be adored. Hollywood was built by people who worked hard to get to the top. Likewise artists created art before they could be called artists. Perhaps the biggest tail end of an era I caught was lead by the nauseating question, “Are you a published author?”

Back in the day you actually had to achieve something before you could be officially branded into the category. You weren’t an author unless an actual publisher picked you up. You were not a poet until a cheap rag accepted your poetry and printed it. Artists have always been subjective to an extent, but you were a “real” artist if your painting hung somewhere for people to see.

With the dawning of the Internet came a loosening of the rules. I remember the original turmoil and divide with authors. Those who had worked so hard to be published were being shown up by new writers self publishing through the Internet. They were furious. No one knew how to take this, because some of the self published works were just as good as anything out of the old stuffy publishing system. I may remember it better than any other divide as I was one of those new writers. I was thrilled to be able to put out a real printed and bound book all by myself for pocket change.

Likewise, anyone in the music industry can tell you about that cultural divide. Today we can talk to anyone on stage and screen to hear about the Internet making their light just a little less bright.

The Internet has shone a light on every system of elite hierarchy there is. Every industry we have known with kings and queens has been shattered. The Internet has allowed the peasants to immediately hold court if they can attract the right audience.

I am in between those divides. I come from a time where I was taught I had to do something to be anything. All the while I grew up in a world where you could scream anything on a webcam “just being yourself” and suddenly make a six digit income if you stuck to it.

Think of that guy in the 90’s who put webcams throughout his home and setup a subscription service for people to just watch him. He didn’t do anything unique. He walked around his home, ate bowls of cereal, wrote HTML code, and very occasionally had sex with his girlfriend under the sheets. He didn’t exploit his life. He didn’t record porn films. He was simply being monitored and he was a big hit for it.

Those days of webcam novelty have long come to an end, yet now much to Mr. Warhol’s prediction everyone is a star for at least 15 minutes. Today we are wobbling with a society longing for substance, yet being more and more addicted to the art of being. That addictive digital needle is filled with a substance called Social Media. The longing to go viral or get just a few more followers and Likes.

I knew the digital addiction to ego before most anyone else. I had my website and I had my own liking system. Back in that day we used to have to set those up for ourselves! It was far more difficult to get our fix as we did not have computers in our pockets. We had to rush home to check web site statistics, guestbook entries, and open up our email programs to download the latest batch of love letters. But we did it! We were addicted to it. We became hooked further in with every present from our wishlist and next guestbook entry.

The Internet ego formula and platforms have changed to accommodate everyone. After all, the Sheeple absolutely needed it for themselves once they saw what we had. It’s easy now. It’s in your pocket, it streams through thin air, and it’s everywhere. You can get online while hiking mountain trails or taking a shit in the local Starbucks. They have honed the ego machine to please everyone. They have made it an addiction for all because now everybody can get Likes and follows. We can all go viral. The Internet has turned into one big circle jerk.

In a way the Internet had elite just like Hollywood had elite. We started it and they took it over. They take everything over. They make all of the screens smaller. I am the Norma Desmond of the Internet.

For people like me it has been a maddening ride going from the difficulty of receiving Likes to being able to easily obtain an overabundance of them! I used to have to pay hundreds of dollars for my own server space in order to spend two months writing my own code, in order to finally publish my work and get a few dozen feedback messages of Like. The transition from HTML 2.0 to today was like an overdose. They made it so easy. It’s so easy to build your website or your “page” now. It’s so easy to program in the posts to fire 24/7 while I’m out doing more work to create more content. Finally, it is so easy to check the results everywhere from anywhere.

Instead of going home, opening my office door, “firing up” the CPU, I was suddenly able to get my Likes wherever I was. I can check them while sitting on the couch. I can check them from bed before I get up in the morning. I can scroll my wall while eating breakfast. I can catch up straight out of the shower. I post from mountain trails. I can be plugged in all of the time to receive my constant stream of Likes and it was absolutely overtaxing my ego.

Much like drugs the same goes for the Internet’s ego machine. I have been a lifelong addict to anything I get involved with. My genes must be extensively programmed to the Junkie mentality. Throughout the years I have overdosed on food, beverage, drugs, smokey treats, lust, love, and I would likely overdose on air if possible. There is nothing in this life that I have enjoyed in moderation. I have had to learn to moderate every single thing. I have now had to do the same with the ego and the Internet.

In August 2016 I went on a break from Social Media and most portions of the Internet. Indeed we cannot live without the Internet in the current 21st century life. If you have already acclimated your world to it then you cannot go without it. We make money through these circuits. We pay bills through here. We order food, set appointments, and communicate with “the folks back home” through here. Just about ten years ago I could have shut off my cell phone and Internet for 30 days and no one would have noticed. If I did that today I would have been declared dead.

My goal with taking the break was to see what happened when I didn’t have to check on my Facebook or Twitter accounts. I continued to view Instagram and YouTube for my personal entertainment, but I told myself to only do it once or twice a day. At certain times I was so driven to post a thought that I broke my rules and did so, but for the most part I stayed away. The important step was to not go back and look for comments or Likes.

I stayed far away from Facebook and found a lot more time in my day. I was 20 minutes early every morning and my evenings were filled with finding things to entertain Me with. That was when I discovered the key and the point. The Social Media platforms have reprogrammed everyone to entertain each other. There are so many people now doing what they do for others to see that they have lost track of what they might want to do for themselves.

Much like myself, other people have become so busy thinking of what to post and then check for Likes that it’s all they are doing. Look at me! Like me! Follow me! Then just like drugs you have to find a larger dose for the next time. What’s the next post going to be and will it trump the previous? Do I post now to get more Likes or is 2 PM better? Finally, why doesn’t everyone Like me? Because we’ve always wondered that. Social Media has held a mirror up to the caveman traits inside and allowed them to come out. It’s helped people act like spoiled children. It has convinced them to be Liked just by being, instead of doing.

I want to be Liked for what I’m doing. We have too many folks thinking they are simply special snowflakes. They do not need to do great things to be treated greatly. We are deceiving our children into thinking that “just being” is totally OK. That mentality where everyone wins First Place because they don’t want to admit anyone is less than. You should not be able to make it in this world without creating something and showing your skills.

I’m old enough to realize that everything is a farce, nobody gets it, and the last thing we should care about is what everybody thinks. I might as well do what entertains me. This brief Social Media break has shown me that what others think does not entertain me.

My new rules are to post what I do. To post what I think. To share my life as a live it. I am happy to setup all of my posts, pictures, tweets, twerks, and tumbles to propagate to your walls, readers, and devices. But I do not want to be bound into daily checking for Likes, Loves, and critiques. I have to take that needle full of Facebook Likes out of my arm now. It’s holding me back creatively. It depresses me to read other posts and see how lost everyone has become. It makes me sad to see that the content creators have become drowned out by the pictures of dinner and the latest manicure. Something that may be most disappointing is the absolute struggle I see some go through when they do yearn to express themselves but realize it’s no longer the in thing.

If you want to come along for the ride and enjoy the things that amuse me, then you are more than welcome to watch. If you would like to talk to me and have a real conversation (something else that has gone away), then by all means send the message. It’s time to realize that another underground has been unearthed. It’s time to find the next underground. It’s time to go underground again. My people … my people …

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The Artist D, September 2016

Tales of my Tail

Time is like a film strip in one of those old film cans stored away on a shelf. You can go back in time, but only if you can find the right can and hold the strips up to the light. Time is not like a movie which can be rewound and watched again in complete here and now detail. Film strips and bright light is all I have for my memory, but it all feels like it was yesterday.

It was yesterday when I moved to a beautifully small town outside of Atlanta Georgia to write my memoirs as I knew them to be. I planned to do a lot in Georgia and stay for an extended period of time, but instead the universe had other waves for me to ride. Instead of doing all that much I wrote myself silly throughout the spring of 2009.

It was the only way I could get it down on paper in one epic tale. Any distractions would have set me in a spin as I had the most difficult time stringing the film strips in my mind together. I wrote of my birth and childhood. I brought out some very special torturous memories. I had thankfully come far enough to view those moments with disconnected reverence. I wrote from morning to night, got drunk and did it all again in the morning.

The point of the book was the making of the Internet’s first super star. I was and will always be one of many Internet super stars. I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t even know it after the Internet and my image, my words, had made me bank. I did know it after it all had come to a curtain fall. Atlanta was the end of Act I, everyone please come back after intermission.

In the book titled In Bed with Myself I told stories of our antics in the late 90’s and early 21st Century. We had so much fun being webcam whores, living our lives on Internet camera. The crazy amount of travel and human connections that were formed thanks to it all. I talked about the struggle to have my art known. I discussed the many who retired early, gave up the ghost and became ghosts. Some of them died so very early and so very tragically. We had our own little VH-1 Behind the Music and nobody even knew about it, about us.

I’ve still got tons of copies and I don’t know who has read the book. It’s always a bizarre interaction when I find it on someone’s coffee table or hear that someone I didn’t know actually enjoyed it. I did a great big marketing push and poured the money into the machine as I left Atlanta. I returned to the west coast which viciously welcomed me back into its loving money-driven arms. I’ve sold hundreds of copies and have given away hundreds more in hopes that a story about my early life journey will be recorded.

Writers don’t make any money unless you’re one of those writers. I’m not Stephen King or Ann Rice with a nice down payment by the publishing house for my prolific words of wisdom. I’m just one of those human beings whom had an experience. I don’t write to sell books. I write so words get into books, into minds and remain archival monuments of the human I had the chance to be.

It’s been a long six years since I wrote that book. Those six years forever ago are as clear as yesterday to me. I can see the film strips of my past very well when I hold them up to the light.

In Bed with Myself was recently published on the Amazon Kindle platform for anyone with a tablet or installed reader. I’ll probably always be one of those people screaming the praises of print on paper in bound archived stitching. But the world now reads books on digitized leaves and this is the way things go. The story of the Internet’s first super star returns to where it began, the Internet.

The meaning to life is to live it fully. The secret to immortality is to etch yourself into the memories of everyone you can. Our images and our words will never completely survive if we do not have the power of word of mouth to back us up into the brains of our fellow creatures.

In Bed with Myself, The Making of the Internet’s First Super Star is at Amazon.

The Artist D, Cover shoot for In Bed with Myself, 2009 at 130 lbs nearing the end of Act I

The Artist D, Cover shoot for In Bed with Myself, 2009 at 130 lbs nearing the end of Act I