The Attention Reaper


Oh I see you…

Like a rat in the dark waiting to feed on the scraps of what was.

The Attention Reaper has come and sucked just enough soul without the privilege to claim, going unnoticed to the gods of this plain.

 The subtle art of consumption, leaving zombies for dessert to the pact that had been made.

 A deal with the technological devil, a social butterfly, a hungry lust for the mind..

 Nothing else kills creatives quicker than this guy.

 And I watch this gluttonous supernatural shadow manipulate it’s way through dopamine highs.

 While I sit here with the artist who tries.

 “Long-form content” they call it, subtle division of the attention.

 Cast out, favoured, by that chemical extraction.

 Junkies drooling with depletion, contributing to solve life’s biggest mystery:

 “how do we make them consume even more?”

 So the reaper and the devil get to action with thier invention, creating more with less at the cost of even shorter attention.

 Equally they both are laughing at me, because most of these zombies stopped at the first few lines of reading my piece.

 But at the end of the day, that’s okay, for we do not create our art for others, we create for ourselves.

 It’s the secret sauce of attention-reaping prevention. A personal remedy for when the soul-sucking commences.

 An unlimited supply of inspiration, so much that even pop-eye would trade spinach for this treasure.

 And for my actions, well.. i’m supposedly penalised.. with a ban on popularity by that algorithmic pet.

Enslaved with heads to keep talent held back from the cellar to sweet-attentive wonder

“ooo don’t we want that?”

 For access is granted to those who measure correctly by the numbers, and who confuse talent with validation..

 Ponzi-schemed into submission.

 Even with the 20 souls I have left from playing roulette with the universe,

I still wouldn’t trade one for such an illusive luxury coined by the system itself.

 If the world is the living dead pretending to act normal… Then I’ll roam with a limp just to be left all alone.

 And while I’m under the radar.. where no scythe or hellfire can grab my creative expenditure.

 I’ll post subtle messages within my words,

robin hood-ing the souls of these victims, letting them ride the wave of creative literature to freedom.

 To challenge the idea that digital popularity is an illusion, chaining your creativity and allowing it be bent by ungodly rulings.

 Creativity stems from the word, creation, from the word create.

 It is the universe in a box packaged within a skull for each and every one of us.

 And so..

 The world is now housing the walking dead, dreams dying with every 15 seconds shared.

 Catching up with tinder on swipes, hmm, I’m not even sure if porn is worse anymore?

 If you’re a creative with dreams, remember this theme. For attention reaping demons are living, breathing, technologies.

 They will rob your soul, leaving you trapped in a system that feeds you comfort and ease.

 With reaped souls come technological possession. And then you see creatives, cut short, to keep up with making a living.

 Recycling their dollars for data with more attention-grabbing activity.

 And before you know it, you’re too old to ever dream again..

 And your only regret will be that you wished you owned back your attention and created a whole lot more with it.

 For reward comes to those who create without expectation. So my friends create, and screw the algorithms.