Title: Dead pixel in Google Earth
82 x 82 cm burned square, the size of one pixel from an altitude of 1 km.
photo: Jeroen Wandemaker
By Mark Lewman
I prepare trend reports for fortune 1000 companies.
I am paid to play
the disenfranchised against the disrespected
make the F1000 feel connected
to the cognosumers who reject them,
stuck in the cultural crosshairs.
I package the questions and organize the answers,
emailing the butcher, blackmailing the baker,
sharing the bone marrow with clandestine video game maker.
I tell them about funky black barbers in Memphis
using fire to cut hair.
Swedish teens bored to tears
soaking their tampons in vodka
to get juiced in school.
Crispin Glover joins the Wu Tang Clan
and nobody bothers to understand
but everybody says
dude that’s cool.
is a bunch of white kids
addicted to database pollution
yelling slogans, brandishing upside down crosses
bearing inverted icons;
Pillsbury wants to update the dough boy and make butter ‘younger’,
stick that fucker with a fork and call your mother,
scrape the lard from the fat of the land
and leave it smoking in the pan.
And some guy in a conference room in Ohio says into his speakerphone:
“Tell me more about the Krautrock movement and the abstract bands.”
I spit out details to counteract,
and wipe my face with my cuff,
generating more fluff,
without concentrating on the end result,
just the next step which is an orchestrated effort to tap into tech step
to sidestep the fact that all packaged goods are the same,
only the name changes.
and the game rearranges and the world Wayne lives in
can be divided into stages, phases, trends, fads, and crazes.
Declare a war on a demographic,
paying top dollar for a guerilla campaign of street posters placed in prime places
where kids congregate and pedophiles masturbate to juvenile faces,
services provided by an eco-terrorist graffiti artist specializing in revitalizing heavy metal.
His brandalism spreads the viruses we peddle:
Kids in custom vans should crave candy and chemicals, rejecting morals and resting on their laurels,
making fun of Pauly Shore
as they get addicted to death and keep whoring for more.
And some guy in a conference room in Ohio will smile. “This is teen cool AND mom cool.”
What’s hot, what’s right, what’s not in the spotlight?
Hold a focus group and retool, train the pilots to tame the planes and get ready for a midair refuel.
Do kids really think black is the new brown?
or is platinum the new black?
Who do we assassinate, and what era is ripe for a comeback?
Do you trust me to keep the world on track?
It makes increasingly less sense even to talk about a publishing industry, because the core problem publishing solves — the incredible difficulty, complexity, and expense of making something available to the public — has stopped being a problem
So the next time you hear an old dude banging the business model drum, or worse, the sounding the “monetization” bullhorn, let him know the 20th century was yesterday. Today’s challenge is building a better economy – not hawking the same old mass-produced, toxic, self-destructive junk slightly differently. Challenge him with this: you’ve got a business model. But do you have any ideals? Because without the latter, the former is worth about as much as Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers, or Detroit.
First there this:
And then this:
This sort of behaviour, ladies and gentlemen, is why I worry about the future or Twitter, and any social network that becomes too popular.
“The marketing term for people like me is “slash/slashers.” Like, I’m doing the yearbook plus my blog and making videos and working at a communications firm called Naked. We don’t want one path—we want to get involved in lots of creative projects. It’s like, “Oh, you should holler at Harley to go D.J. your party!” or “Holler at so-and-so to shoot your short! He’s also in a band!” I call us the New Pop Culture, which might sound bold, but I believe it. We’re more influenced by what we’re up to—our own creative outputs—than what Karl Lagerfeld is up to. We are more interested in reading our friends’ blogs than Style.com. My friends and I don’t care about Lindsay Lohan; when we see a picture of a celebrity like Kanye West, we want to know who’s standing behind him. It’s cooler to be a real person. It’s our turn now.”