a culture of buzzwords, humming

Buzzwords.

Trendy, flashy, in your face. Each time the magic word is mentioned it is like the striking of a hammer coming down. Hireability! Experience! Success! Internships! Contribution! The list goes on and on as young students look on in a packed room, it is a college admitted students day, and the buzzwords fly through the air with wicked speed.

The topics of every speech are really nothing special or new, “At x university, we pride ourselves on Y and our continuing contributions to the field of Z.” An almost dull robotic tone repeats the pros(and definitely never the cons), going over all the fantastic things a student could do! Study here at our proprietary on campus coffee shop™, we know the art students among you will love that one!

A student panel is brought out. Clearly pre-rehearsed questions are dished out in a manner that could not be less authentic. The crowd raises their hands to ask questions, and yet it couldn’t be more predictable. Hireability? Experience? Success? Internships? Contribution?

Buzzwords repeated in a repetitive, monotonous tone.

There is now tension in the room. The obvious questions were of course those which they were least prepared to answer. A-ha! A genius distraction, perhaps we should play kahoot for cash prizes, kids which clearly have no attention span will love that, who doesn’t love money?

It’s hard not to feel sad, as you see the effects of a capitalist system of education bleed through in the very way these young prospective students view the college as a paycheck, and even sadder how the college views them the same.

An asset. A tool to be used to advance one’s career, kids with no other choice convinced fully that they must play this game and win capitalism. The academy is no longer for learning.

You may be wondering why I’m bringing this up, or why I’m being so terribly negative towards this process. You see, my sibling will be graduating from high school soon, and I’ve been helping with the college application and touring process. I’m simply describing exactly what I’ve been seeing right now in the education system.

A system which I escaped from quite recently myself, and believe me, I’m still working damage control.

As sad and cynical as my perspective may be, I really am no longer surprised to see this.

After the disillusioned speeches are given out from chosen representatives trying very hard to appear either funny or approachable, but never quite sticking the landing on either, the students are funneled into seminars to talk about their prospective career choices.

My sibling is looking to follow in my footsteps as a Graphic Designer (Oh no, what have I done!?), so we are brought to one of the art buildings on campus and sat down to talk about the various art programs.

Now we are face to face with the real professors who teach here, a sigh of relief as the authenticity is breathed back into the dialogue between staff and students. With authenticity, however, comes the awkwardness.

These professors have not interacted with students at this early of a stage much, and that clearly shows. A young student looks defeated after asking a simple question, “how would I, as someone who’s never done any design, begin to get an early start?” he asks nervously. The answer is a confusing mixture of “learning to see design” as well as “identifying good and bad design.” Now we are trying to break design into meritocratic categories before the student is even able to start.

Once again the buzzwords rush on stage, painting the picture of the designer as part of the logocult, an organization which wishes to see the designer as a tool for others with no autonomy of their own.

It seems the process of stamping out the individual is done early, as the many alumnx referenced are never mentioned for their work, but instead who they work for. Accolades are the premier currency here, it seems.

At the local university, I am invited in for a day to overlook students who will embark on their first thesis project. During my time there, I view students at the senior level preparing for the world, and teachers who are attempting to prepare them for this jump.

Many improvements have been made to the classroom and project structure since I’ve been there, but a glaring issue arises. What is a thesis meant to be? Many seem lost, unable to understand what it means to make work based on their own interest or wants. It’s too late to introduce creative autonomy, as we’ve already spent years eliminating it.

Some students decide to ask ChatGPT for answers. Others claim they don’t really know what they’re passionate about in the field in the first place.

Who could blame them, when they’ve successfully been made tools up until now?

This culture of buzzwords, humming.

The caterpillar which never learns to fly, warped and shaped by a cocoon spun with golden chains.

was the internet a mistake?

a coin flip for salvation.

My brother once said to me that the internet either saves a person or ruins a person.

Naturally for me there existed a strong pushback against that sentiment, being born in 99’ and one of the first generations fully immersed in the internet from childhood onwards, I’d always felt that the internet was something of a faithful companion; something I couldn’t live without.

Through a childhood in the mountains of Appalachia and a family with more issues than times magazine, it’s easy to say that spending time at a computer was my own personal means of escape. Not wanting to really engage with many of the people around me, I jumped on the early internet surfboard and found myself meeting and interacting with people globally who I often found way more interesting than those who I met in my real life.

Now, I realize it’s because the coinflip resulted in heads, and I was one of the people who found themselves saved.

But did the internet really save me?

Or has it done more harm than good in the years since I’ve watched it grow alongside me?

Connected In The Age of Convenience
Or; How Convenience Becomes a Form of Burnout.

If you were to ask most people my age whether they like the internet or not, I’m sure you’d find that most have a fairly positive perception of it. To many, the internet has brought simply too many good things to be ignored. And who could blame them? Memes, communities, online safe spaces, and mass access to information all have become someone’s favorite part of the newly formed online culture.

The sheer convenience of checking when a store is open or closed, having anything you need shipped right to your front door, finding a restaurant on Google Maps, or learning a new craft such as leatherworking by having a professional walk through their processes on the screen. It’s true that all of these have contributed to a greater accessibility of knowledge and added to the list of the new innovations provided by modern technology.

But what we see as the internet now lives in stark contrast to the internet I found myself surfing when I was younger. The modern internet feels as if it is an empty husk of what used to be flourishing user-created communities and content. Forums for niche subcultures and topics connected like-minded individuals in what felt like a more involved process, where even the design of a website could feel unique.

Instead, what is felt, is an internet meant to serve the uses of a modern technocratic world. Old user-made forums now find themselves replaced with social media run by billion dollar corporations, the lines of subcommunities blurred by algorithms and hashtags.

This homogenization of online communities has led to what feels like a Library of Babel, the user is flooded with so much new information that it becomes overstimulating, and growing acquainted to this constant overstimulation creates effects such as “doom scrolling,” a modern term referring to a person’s inability to stop themselves from continuously scrolling through an endless sea of posts and wasting often hours of the day.

Included and heavily contributing to this library of Babel is the advent of modern generative AI for both images and language.

How can the user begin to examine reality when realities lines are blurred and indecipherable, and when nearly everything you interact with on the internet is or could be, in some form, fake?

This carelessness about the shape of the internet’s cultural form has significant implications for severe Blowback in the future. The amount of traffic the internet sees from both non-human and human users alike is accelerating the planet towards a grim picture of the future. Modern AI models are highly inefficient, leading to rapid carbon emissions and water consumption, just so a user may ask if it’s okay to add eggs to an omelet.

To make things worse, literacy rates across America have continued to significantly decline, leaving the average adult reading at or around a 4th grade reading level, and only 28% of adults on average read at least one book a year. This is no doubt because of the constant ingestion of media which offers little to no challenge for a person’s mind.

Internet used to be an escape,
now the escape is reality.

According to a theory that exists on the internet called the “Dead Internet Theory,” the internet as we used to know it died in or around 2016. This is because at that moment, half of the entire traffic of the internet was no longer human, whether it was “good” bots which monitored the internet’s status and did quick maintenance, or“bad” bots such as spammers, hackers, and other programs with malicious intent.

The fact that this estimate took place in 2016 is the most fascinating part, as now almost 10 years later, it’s impossible to know just how much of the internet’s traffic is human anymore, as entire social networks are filled with accounts entirely built on emulating a convincing human. All so these accounts can leave falsified positive reviews for products, sell generated content through advertisements, or to inflame communities and participate in culture wars on social media.

Now putting aside the conspiracy parts of the Dead Internet Theory, it really does beg the question of how and why we’ve allowed the internet to come to this point. What has been formed within this new emergent culture?

Perhaps an unhealthy diet for the consumer of these online tools.

Has it created a crave for convenience and shortcuts?

A desensitization to “spam” and low-effort content?

A lack of care for the contents’ intentions and consequences?

This is of course only naming a few potential issues.

The vast majority of online users may say they couldn’t live without the internet, but even if this is said in irony, the fact is it really might be true.

And thus, we arrive at burnout.

What makes us stare at our phones screens and swipe away the hours, ingesting an overwhelming amount of information, but somehow peeling away from this addiction and barely able to remember a single video?

It’s really a curiosity, mostly because I myself know exactly how terrible or bad it is for me, and yet I still find myself accidentally endlessly scrolling through YouTube shorts, the time flying nearer to my morning alarm.

Byung-Chul Han describes in his book “The Burnout Society”, a society which is hyperactivity aware of their own burnout and still yet participates in this exhaustion and tiredness willingly. This society is guided by the ideas of firm meritocracy and achievement, where one compares themselves to everyone and everything based on their own achievements vs. those they observe. The result of this is that every person gets tired in complete isolation, unable to speak about their tiredness and unable to see others’ tiredness as well.

What Byung-Chul Han is speaking on here is not a form of tiredness that comes from failing to pushback against tasks or responsibilities, or from other external factors, but instead an exhaustion formed from overextending your own identity and ego. It is an “overidentification with too many tasks.” Which have already been internalized.

My interpretation of “overidentifying with too many tasks” through the lens of the internet is simple. Everytime we see someone who we have deemed as successful or happy, our rigorous internalized critique of ourselves begins. “I am the same age as this person, why do I not have a home of my own, a successful freelance studio, the money, the fame…” and through this comparison, we become both frustrated with our own selves and accomplishments, and we begin to burnout.

Where the internet, and namely, social media comes into this is that it brings to the user more of these successful depictions algorithmically because of a culture built on “meritocracy,” views, money, watchtime, popularity, successful business, mercedes benz with a 2k gold chain. When a culture becomes purely commodified, one will find themselves inadequate for not having anything they see someone else have. A case of our highly individualist culture rearing its ugly head.

And because we see so much success in these strangers online, packed into short form content where every 10-60 seconds a new envy is unlocked, we simply want to do everything. We over-identify with too many tasks, and when we fail to meet the results we wished for, we feel as if we aren’t doing enough and need to work harder. We internalize the problem.

I’m not immune to this, in fact you’ll find the topics of this packet are entirely because I am currently attempting to bring myself back from the edge of this exhaustion.

Internalizing the problem here is a key issue because we are attempting to internalize something which is, more often than not, not at all our fault in the first place. By making the source of the problem ourselves, we ignore a thousand separate factors on why we couldn’t accomplish a certain idea. (For example, we feel we haven’t saved enough money or worked hard enough to own a house, but ignore the state of the housing market and economy which prevents us from owning a home at a young age while hammered with student debt and grocery costs. Is it really our fault we can’t save money in the first place?)

This goes as deep as the notion of laziness itself, something which was born out of a capitalist culture which demanded labor and work from us. The true idea of laziness does not really exist, and instead is the culture of “not doing enough” crawling back into our internal critique of ourselves.

Byung Chul-Han also tackles the case for the importance of idleness and meditation in our lives in Viva Contemplativa. He argues that idleness is necessary in our lives (and by that, he means true idleness, not the modern notion of hyper-stimulation through constant exposure to new or old media.)

Perhaps we need to downsize.

Human society was never meant to be as large as we have come to be, in Ecology of Freedom by Murray Bookchin, he argues that humans have subverted first nature, which is the concept of nature in its original or untampered state, and instead have created what he calls second nature.

While this statement might be considered obvious, something I often think and question as an anarchist is how things have managed to not only form into this configuration of society, but also how we have successfully been convinced that any other form of society is impossible. It’s only natural to push back against criticism of what you’ve seen as the default since you were born, but there comes a point where the denial of alternatives becomes more intention than subconscious.

Now imagine taking the entirety of the world and putting it into a convenient box that is always carried in your pocket. It’s simply too much, the system is beyond its load capacity both in an individual and collective sense.

It’s quite possible that the very fact that the internet was kept in smaller pockets and communities across individual websites and forums was the glue keeping everything together. Now that social media has taken the place of that glue, the house of cards is falling down with not much intervention.

Stepping outside of the internet in this case, I believe that this is also necessary in non-digital society as well. Humans as a species have always done better through small communities which form trades and other exchanges with each other. It’s not that a better society on a massive scale is impossible, as it most assuredly is, but it certainly becomes much more difficult to maintain each person’s individual needs when you are actively attempting to factor in 300 million, for example.

This massive online connectedness has instead led to a culture of loneliness, where we may have most people in the world at our fingertips, yet have never felt more alone. Solid proof of this is the covid-19 pandemic which spread throughout the world in the 2020s, as we all were locked within our homes and unable to leave, those who could spent almost all of their time online to attempt to replace their previous social lives.

Instead, most people found themselves feeling depressed and disconnected, even with all of their friends a phone call away.

So, Was The Internet Good For Us?

Possibly? Maybe?

Definitely not. Yet Definitely?

The internet has gone through so many shapes and forms since its inception only a short time ago, and it’s really impossible to say exactly where it’s going. Being a hopeless optimist, I would like to say that we can come back from all this and make the internet a good place again.

The internet was created so that techies could share code and access databases online. Then, it became an open source wild west, maybe even a society of thriving anarchism, as the lack of rules formed many communities and cultures.

Even the design of the time was extremely experimental and fun, it was a different era.

One could say it stands to reason that the internet was probably not good for us. Just like Icarus to the sun or the researchers of Babel, our endless want for knowledge can often be our undoing.

At the same time however, it doesn’t take too long of a search to find the well of amazing and wonderful things we’ve managed to create because of it. I certainly wouldn’t want to give away my days as a kid playing minigames in online games like Garry’s Mod and Runescape, finding friends in digital cities like Chernogorks in Dayz, or telling stories and sharing laughs in Counter-Strike surf lobbies.

Now I realize that I was simply “failing upwards,” to try to put an expression to it. I was lucky. I interacted with the good communities, found nice people, had great times, and learned a lot of life lessons on being part of a community and being good to the people around me. I think I came out alright given my youth was filled with a lot of problems.

I managed to be saved by the internet.

For every kid like me, there were others who fell into alt-right pipelines and became hateful. Others who were relentlessly bullied, and that didn’t stop in digital or physical spaces. Others who were exploited or fell prey to many scams and schemes. Others who found themselves influenced by rampant “incel” culture.

Others who were ruined by the internet.

It’s no exaggeration to say that I view these times with such nostalgic senses, but everywhere I go I hear less of my story and more of those who are ruined. It leaves me conflicted, like I experienced something special that nobody else really got to be a part of, and it’s sad that this era is gone now. Kids on the internet or gaming now are met with a consumerist culture.

Buy Buy Buy.

Skins, trash-talk, competitions,

and $20 Fortnite gift cards.

If you asked me 10 years ago if I’d ever hate the internet, I’d probably have said no.

“There’s no way I could hate all this!” I would say surrounded by an old Dell PC and a messy room, “Just look at all the fun I’m having!”

I would have never expected to become so anti-technology as I grew, but as I said before, maybe it’s not me that’s changed all that much, but instead what I watched grow alongside me all these years.

Untitled, Unventured, Unknown

What do you do when something is both,

when there are so many nuances and complexities?

When it can cause so much damage,

but also bring so much happiness?

Do you cut the cord and count your losses,

knowing that there’s some who might never find their escape?

Or do you leave it be,

hoping one day it improves?

Will it ever grow to be a utopia,

one which we always dreamed of?

Or will we continue to exhaust everything we have,

in pursuit of that utopian dream?

design without hierarchy

wha

t

could

de sign

wit hout

hier archy

lo ok

    like?

But wait, maybe we’re thinking about this wrong? Would an anarchist attempt to create a form of visual design without hierarchy, or is it that hierarchy itself is intrinsic within the eyes of those who perceive art? 

Is visual hierarchy actually the problem in which a young anarchist designer might find themselves at odds with?

Hierarchy, especially that of visual hierarchy, still exists within most work. What an anarchist in the design field might be more interested in working against is the organized structure or hierarchy that is used authoritatively to create power imbalance. Rather than viewing design as a system without hierarchy, perhaps we should view it in which we attempt to make the act of designing a more democratic process for those involved?

When I first set out with this question, I remember being asked the question “What would it look like if you designed a book without hierarchy?” At first, I was entertaining the idea of how that could be done. Would said book have the same font size throughout? Maybe it was done in all lowercase? Maybe it played with color to replace traditional hierarchical form?

Yet something was nagging at me, that this question, although a fun thought experiment, wasn’t getting to the bottom of the nature of my thoughts and work in this space. I started to view the question as a fundamental misunderstanding of anarchistic thought and narratives, no doubt due to society’s current lens on the “anarchist” as a violent or subversive force for radical change.

Thomas Pulliam says this about Anarchy’s modern perception in his 2021 article “Anarchy Against Hierarchy”,

Moving forward is impossible unless we learn each other’s language. In spite of all our similarities, all our shared wants and concerns, misunderstanding convinces us we are enemies. Emma Goldman wrote, “Someone has said that it requires less mental effort to condemn than to think. The widespread mental indolence, so prevalent in society, proves this to be only too true.” Words with multiple definitions that change drastically according to context, group, and setting—like anarchy, communism, nihilism, etc.—contribute to this discord. When most people hear “anarchy”, they will often imagine violence and refuse to listen. This hostility frustrates the anarchist, who views it in terms of cooperative, horizontal living.

In saying so, Thomas concludes that the most common agreement that you can find among anarchists is that our theory would generally be more popular if only it wasn’t so tragically misunderstood.(1)

I can’t help but agree with this sentiment as I hear the word Anarchy uttered in reference to chaos, conveniently ignoring the mountains of work created by anarchism and anarchist-adjacent modes of thought that announce a profound form of equality, peace and community not unlike the original configuration of human society.(2)

This isn’t to say that violence is absent in the arsenal of the Anarchist, but instead a challenge of understanding what situations might have caused such violence to have arisen in the first place. For my modern understanding of Anarchist Theory, I find that violence in this sense nearly entirely surfaces as a reactionary attempt to halt some form of oppression or restriction of another’s freedom.

This could take the form of a protest against the unjust killing of a black man, or as a fight against the restriction of rights, and yes, even as the attack on a person spouting hateful and damaging ideology. Yet this form of anarchy which is often misappropriated by media outlets and misconstrued as radical violence or even terrorism.(3)

But, in a world where oppression by the hands of power did not exist, would Anarchists simply disappear?

The answer to that question, of course, is no!

Taking this necessary yet reactionary form of violence within Anarchy away from the modern lens, ironically, would allow Anarchism to be seen and understood as its true form as the advocation of a lifestyle focused on the basis of personal autonomy, equality, freedom, and the flattening of all hierarchy in societal action.

Yet it seems that this form of “anarchist design” is absent within the lexicon of both the canon of design and of design history. Relegated to being simply considered a subset or part of the punk aesthetic, or represented by splotchy paint and the symbolic letter “A” hurriedly sprayed along the underpass of an American highway.(Fig. 1, pictured left)

Where are the Anarchist designers at? Surely there must be more representation than posters from the Spanish Civil War era?(Fig. 2, pictured below)

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Fig. 2.1

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Fig. 2.2

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Fig. 2.3

This emptiness is particularly felt within the academic space, where I commonly find the same classic misunderstandings among fellow designers I am in community with. The negative connotations associated with the term Anarchism alone has caused some to even suggest attempting to find new rhetoric or identifiers to replace the usage of “Anarchy.”

To replace and censor in this sense would, in my opinion, go against the very idea of the subversive nature of my goal as an anarchist within this design space.

This is why we’ve arrived at the first volume of “Unsolicited Design”, and in this section we will inspect anarchy from differing perspectives to answer the question;

Where are the anarchist designers?

The Elephant In The Room

Addressing uncomfortable truths;

I think it’s important to note in this conversation that due to the nature of the design field in its current state, that is, a highly consumerized and commodified field centered around brands and advertising, that the prominent presence of graphic designers with active knowledge of anarchic theory is unfortunately uncommon.

It’s hard to imagine that many of the artists within this bubble would willingly choose to participate in the field of art which is essentially the most close to capitalism in its modern usage.

This is not an admittance of defeat, however, as I choose to believe that Graphic Designers may exist without the need of markets and profit margin. This is simply a thought that crosses my mind when wondering aloud, “Where are the Anarchist Designers?”

This is reflective even in myself as well, as I gathered and bolstered my political senses and theory, I slowly shifted away from traditional work in the graphic design field. I became uninterested in work for clients and corporations, lost my passion for the design field, and then had to regain that passion once I allowed myself to view design from an entirely different angle.

That led me to the pursuit of education as a means of allowing myself the freedom to both work within the field I’ve dedicated myself to, but simultaneously hoping that my perspective brought to the classroom could change (and hopefully heal) some of the ailments I see so commonly in young, disillusioned designers leaving their undergraduate programs.

This is also reflective of the anarchists focus on individual communities and contributions to small organizations across the world. The collective action of anarchists focusing on contributing art to their causes happens often away from the public eye of the media. This could be for many reasons, a social algorithm that represses anarchistic values, a government keen on keeping collective action hidden, or the grassroots nature of the cause itself, to name just a few.

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Fig. 3 Issue of Anarchy magazine from July 1968, this issue is focussed on the events of May 1968 in Paris.

libcom.org/article/anarchy-089

When searching for modern anarchist graphic designers, typically the results appear very dry. Searching the term “Anarchist Graphic Designers” or any variation will usually yield the following few names repeated; Rufus Segar(Fig. 3), Dennis Gould, Jamie Reid(Fig. 4), Aleksai Gan, Clifford Harper.

Many of these artists have direct ties to what we see as anarchist related design now, ranging from 60s era traditional magazine creation to the album covers of the Sex Pistols. When looking at the body of work created by these artists in their times, it’s easy to see a guiding light which moves from the original roots of constructivism and revolutionary art all the way to the development of modern punk aesthetics.

It’s also impossible not to note Anarchism’s influence on some of the most famous artists discussed today, such as Pablo Picasso, Camille Pissarro, Georges Seurat, Man Ray, Robert Henri, Wassily Kandinsky, Rockwell Kent, Frans Masereel, and even Mark Rothko.(4)

Many artists who’ve had this connection to anarchist levels of thought or influence have typically had their anarchistic roots whitewashed for the sake of the narrative being told. Even today we can see the political nature of figures such as Einstein, Orwell, or Martin Luther King Jr. be conveniently changed or left out to teach a more government favored version of our history.(5)

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Fig. 4 Gould designed this poster, based on several of his own poems, during the anti-nuclear protests of the early 1980s. Published by the Freedom Editorial Collective and typeset and printed by Aldgate Press in Whitechapel, 1983.

www.eyemagazine.com/feature/article/the-creative-anarchist

However, in this association of Anarchism with these artists, we may find ourselves slowly attempting to categorize these artists into the idea of what anarchist art and design might look like. David Graeber says in his Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology;

…if one compares the historical schools of Marxism, and anarchism, one can see we are dealing with a fundamentally different sort of project. Marxist schools have authors. Just as Marxism sprang from the mind of Marx, so we have Leninists, Maoists, Trotskyites, Gramscians, Althusserians...

Now consider the different schools of anarchism. There are Anarcho-Syndicalists, AnarchoCommunists, Insurrectionists, Cooperativists, Individualists, Platformists... None are named after some Great Thinker; instead, they are invariably named either after some kind of practice, or most often, organizational principle. (Significantly, those Marxist tendencies which are not named after individuals, like Autonomism or Council Communism, are also the ones closest to anarchism.) Anarchists like to distinguish themselves by what they do, and how they organize themselves to go about doing it. And indeed this has always been what anarchists have spent most of their time thinking and arguing about. Anarchists have never been much interested in the kinds of broad strategic or philosophical questions that have historically preoccupied Marxists.(6)

Graeber is speaking here on why there might be more Marxist based thinkers present in the academy rather than anarchist thinkers. Although this writing is not particularly to compare Marxist thought with that of anarchist, I see a value in bringing this up when speaking on what an anarchist designer who is present in the academy(other than myself) might be thinking.

The Neoliberal Punk

So do Anarchists even have a “style?” 

Immediately you may be drifting off to The Clash’s London Calling album cover (Fig. 5), diving into cut out text, gritty pattern work, handmade illustration, and poppy colors. When we think of the stereotypical idea of the traditional school punk, a rebel in leather who does graffiti and hates authority, is it correct to call them an anarchist?

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Fig. 5 Clash (Musical group). London Calling. New York, NY

Epic Records, 1979.

This is especially present now, where media literacy is at an all time low. A teen within the city may spraypaint the anarchist A on a wall. Then, putting on their store bought pre-patched leather jacket(an example of anarchist patches found across the internet) and studded jeans, they will go to a party and tout their punk and anarchy. Meanwhile, said person may have absolutely no idea why the punk movement even started in the first place, or the historical significance of the circled A they drew earlier. Have they ever visited the Anarchist Library and read theory? Likely not, yet it does not stop them from calling themselves Anarchists.

So no, the school punk isn’t any more anarchist than the average school student if they lack the knowledge and theory of what makes anarchism work. What I’m describing here is the illiterate use of symbols, or essentially, a neoliberal understanding of Anarchism. The chasing of “punk” and “anarchy” as an aesthetic over an actual political theory.

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Fig. 6.1, By Seth Tobacman

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Fig. 6.2, By Clifford Harper

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Fig. 6.3, Unknown Designer, hootenanny.indiemade.com

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Fig. 6.4, Unknown Designer, Chat Noir Class War Patch

We, as designers in the trendy hustle culture of consumerism are no different. When a modern design student logs on to Pinterest in interest of looking for “visual influence”, they may come across a grunge or punk poster design and think “wow, cool.” Next day, they arrive at the critique with a poster highly reminiscent of James Reid’s punk style (Fig. 7), but they have no idea why the poster was made to look that way in the first place.

They have taken an aesthetic shortcut, arriving from point A to C without the process of point B, which is the knowledge and understanding of the history and process behind the design. This part is extremely crucial, yet in my experience almost entirely absent due to the nature of how we work in the digital age.

Unfortunately for us as educators, modern design students want those shortcuts. They want to copy the trends and “good” designs imprinted on them by their professors, make it through college, and get a decent job. To win capitalism.

I’ve talked a lot in the past about the nature of the classroom driven by personal aesthetics, which can be found on my blog, but why am I bringing this up?

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Fig. 7 The artwork for the Sex Pistols’ single God Save The Queen, designed by Jamie Reid. It was designed in 1977, during the height of the punk music scene and in the year of the Queen’s silver jubilee, making it a very topical and controversial piece.

All of these contribute to the cultural understanding of what makes an anarchist. When the teen punk touts themself an anarchist, they are directly associating themselves with Anarchism and, by extension, creating a cultural image of what an anarchist is. When they make a mistake or commit a crime in their youth such as vandalism (through graffiti, the smashing of windows, or any of said nature) that same image is projected onto all anarchists as violent or vandals, yet most would not even consider the teen an anarchist at all. News and media grapple onto these small stories and blow them up to paint the anarchist as violent. Parents watch the news, teach their children as such, the cultural cycle continues.

The internet reinforces the same ideas, as it can be a space where you can find and interact with real anarchist thought and theory, yet most will find themselves at the surface level, never diving deeper and simply seeing anarchism from the lens of google results and twitter posts.

This extends to the designer who is looking to create something for a project. When searching online for inspiration, they come across an aesthetic that uses blacked out lettering and prints made with older techniques. They like the style, they make the style, they sell the style. Is the style anarchist?

Are they now an anarchist designer?

Who even is an Anarchist Designer?

Okay, but seriously, who even is an Anarchist Designer?

Am I even an Anarchist Designer?

Well, I know Anarchist theory,

I call myself an Anarchist, and I make designs,

so I guess there’s no question right?

Does that make subverting hierarchy in design a necessity? 

Or would it be more naturally anarchic to simply make whatever I feel like making?

I think the answer lies in that last line. Anarchy is a theory in which every person who identifies with it will come to a slightly different conclusion, something that makes the idea of anarchist communities so beautiful in the first place. Can we really attempt to categorize and bundle anarchist artists together by visual style, or should we instead attempt to focus on bundling them by their belief in anarchism in the first place. As David Graeber says, we are dealing with a fundamentally different form of project.7

Fig. 7 Issue of Anarchy magazine from July 1968, this issue is focused on the events of May 1968 in Paris.

libcom.org/article/anarchy-089

For myself, there is this weirdness in between. I am in love with the visual style of the post-modern punk, the maximalism and grunge aesthetics are like candy for my eyes. Yet, I also love the minimalist look of modern design, the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright (Fig. 8), and even the Swiss style that I learned to use throughout my undergraduate degree. (Fig. 9, 10)

What if I reject those labels, what if I design with hierarchy but against hierarchy? Would it be metamodern?8 Would it be hypocritical? Would I not be practicing the ideals I preach?

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Fig. 8 “08 weingart”,Tübingen, Germany. Kunstkredit 1978/79, 1979, Museum für Gestaltung Zürich, Poster Collection

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Fig. 9 Beethoven Poster, Josef Müller-Brockmann, 1955

Design Against Hierarchy, With Hierarchy

Wrapping around from the very beginning, what if you design without hierarchy? Although it is most certainly possible to do so, and I see that there may be room for the usage of such tactics in the future, I choose to remain designing with visual hierarchy. I don’t believe this makes me less of an Anarchist at all, in fact, to simply make what I feel like making is the highest reflection of freedom I could give myself.

I choose, out of my own freedom and autonomy, to use hierarchy as the pendulum between the modern and postmodern as my design swings back and forth. It is not a case of the master’s tools.9 I say this because I reject the idea that the master in this case may own our art or design at all in the first place. Designers may be lost in the complex web of capital, but we will break free of these chains one day. 

I believe that, eventually, something beautiful is going to happen.

---

1 - Thomas Pulliam, “Anarchy Against Hierarchy” 2022

2 - “We are usually told that democracy originated in ancient Athens—like science, or philosophy, it was a Greek invention. It’s never entirely clear what this is supposed to mean. Are we supposed to believe that before the Athenians, it never really occurred to anyone, anywhere, to gather all the members of their community in order to make joint decisions in a way that gave everyone equal say?”
- David Graeber, “Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology”

3 - US Government Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene introduced a bill in 2023 which would deem the organization “ANTIFA” a domestic terrorist organization and would permit “the use of all available tools to combat the spread of such terrorism (done by) antifa.” This, of course, is an attempt at silencing the voice of the anarchist-based organization and its outreach as a form of government control. (https://www.congress.gov/bill/118th-congress/house-resolution/202)

4 - Josh MacPhee and Erik Reuland, Realizing the Impossible: Art against Authority
(Oakland, CA: AK Press, 2007). Page 4.

5 - “They attempt to silence his cries for a more monetarily equitable society. They deliberately obscure the final few years of his life. This sanitized, “white-washed” version of King, presented in everything from children’s textbooks to internet memes, purges the intense radicalism of the strike-leading preacher.” 50 Voices for 50 Years Series, Poverty, Racism, and the Legacy of King’s Poor People’s Campaign.
By Keri Leigh Merritt

6 - David Graeber, Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology
(Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2006), Pages 4-5.

7 - David Graeber, Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology
(Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2006), Pages 4-5.

8 - The “metamodern” is a form of design that I have done research on before. It is the consideration of what comes after postmodernism, where designers are now finding an intersection between the postmodern and the modern. By oscillating between these two like a pendulum, the metamodern takes advantage of irony and authenticity, fragility and cynicism. This creates a new form of design synthesized out of all of these concepts, one based on empathy and connection.

9 - “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house” is a quote by Audre Lorde, a Black lesbian feminist writer and activist. Lorde said this in 1979 at a feminist conference in New York.

echoes of appalachia

Kerosene

The kerosene heater is warm

A soft orange glow flickers silhouettes on walls

Beckoning me close, radiating comfort

A familiar and strangely sweet smell

This new home was old and brittle

Much work needed to be done

Heat came mainly by warm glow of fire

The arrival of winter, kerosene sparks again

A child in blissful ignorance

I danced in the incandescent glow

Wrapped in the bulk of a blanket

I lie as close as courage could muster

My gaze floats along the heaters warning label

Drifting away into youthful dreams

I awake to a dizzy stir and pounding head

At the time I never understood why

Screen Doors

The screen door creaks open in cold winter

Carrying groceries through it, repeatedly

“I’m not paying to heat the outside” I hear distant

She stands idly while I squabble back and forth

Defiance leaves the body, I hurry to be done

The cold bites through gloves as I work

Shovels and salt scratch still time endlessly

The screen door screeches a scream in vacant air

“There better be no snow when you’re done”

And I know you mean it

The morning air is sharp and dry

The screen door shuts closed with a loud whack

“I know you’re faking it, you better be on that bus”

I stumble through snow with a cloudy head

Later, a nurse sends me home

What would it take to only listen

To remove the walls of a Matriarchs castle

To tear down the screen and see with lucidity

We viewed each other through screen doors

Two different worlds away

Oh, Appalachia

An old door frame silhouettes

The front porch of an ancient home

Duplexes project a golden era long past

Black soot collects upon their windowsills

Like the snow of a cold, harsh winter

No apple pie waits for you there

Instead, the aroma of burning rubber wafts

The bent road sign, a pothole the cause

Roads abandoned like families who grew here

At the dinner table, ideology is served

Gods are made of men

Carelessly they pack up industry

A region left jobless overnight

The hills rise up like bars of a cage

Trapping those left behind

Oh, Appalachia

A town in a coma, sleeping quietly

Rust and soot take over gradually

It continues to collect slowly

As the residents dream of days long past

Sinister

In this land where I was born

Something cold and sinister is brewing

Hearts of black like lungs of ancestors

Generations of snuffed out kindness

A passing street, a dirty look

“Mind your own business” the clerk whispers

Smiles less common than skill games

Paychecks disappear like hopes for a better life

The town known only for destruction

In a land known for the much of the same

Yet both have affected the people here

How lucky am I to have escaped this fate

My home in which I feel least welcome

I pay for my gas and walk away

Flags decorate the streets with abundance

Pride for that which has given them nothing

Railroad Street

The exit of 219 brings about strong feeling

A theme song of home like trumpets of surrender

Although I live far, still in-between

Emotions flow like creeks and tunnels

Following along the view, Railroad Street

Down the sulfur crick and through the valley

A scenery so grey, meant to be beautiful

I see childhood through landscape

Packed bags and an emptied room

Leaving my hometown, hoping never return

I saw only hate in a land of darkness

Distanced myself and swore off culture

I grew and changed, my eyes now shifted

From the scowl of hatred to the soft of sadness

Reasons for which hate has fostered

People whose struggle was never ending

Found myself in songs of ancestors

Complicated stirrings of heritage

I see you now with clarity

For I am coming home

is dystopia dead?

When broken windows and rusted cars litter the streets of rural and urban areas alike, a cabinet of oligarchs worthlessly barks orders down the line of a government quickly collapsing in on itself. What used to be the early warning signs of a potential future danger now seem laughable for how close to home they often hit.

Is dystopia dead? Killed by the bullet of capitalist realism?

When working on a collection of short stories set in a far off future entitled The Wanderer, I couldn’t help but think about the world I was crafting and its relation to reality. It’s hard to really call what I’m doing “Dystopia”, and really, I feel it’s hard to call anything “dystopia” anymore.

The reality of our world is that when we view these classic pieces of dystopian fiction is that we always perceived them with this level of wonder or amazement, a certain opposite of immersion and suspension of disbelief which created the ability to feel as if we were simply an observer of the commonly terrible lives lived in these fictional worlds.

This way, when we saw the Mood Organ from Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Read of Electric Sheep, we would think of how ridiculous it would be to simply dial a mood or feeling and let that overwrite our entire personality regardless of our previous mood. Then, we developed medicines, patches, or drugs that were capable of very similar attributes to the mood organ.

Similarly, we used to view the idea of our lives being monitored or tracked daily as something beyond horror, a level of existential or even cosmic form of horror seen in the likes of Orwell's “Big Brother”, which was inspired by Foucault's Panopticon.

Now, our governments can access information on exactly every action we’ve made in society whenever they feel the need to access it, our texts, what we have bought, where we have been. Surprisingly, instead of feeling horror, most actively support this. We upload our lives to social media to be viewed willingly in the eyes of the societal panopticon itself.

Perhaps something which scares you is propaganda and the nature of indoctrination, where you can look no further than Huxley's Brave New World, where children are separated into social classes from the moment they are born. Most live laborious lives in unsettling discomfort as the higher class of society enjoys rich lives filled with luxurious soirees, higher standards of education, and total individual freedom.

Authoritarian regimes, environmental crises, fascist control, lack of bodily autonomy, class disparity, social manipulation, etc. etc. etc. It’s just all too familiar now, isn't it?

So how do you write dystopia when the world you live in is dystopic? What new and crazy concept about totalitarianism or authoritarianism can even begin to be weaved from the future, when the thread is already in the past?

In my opinion, I think this is a major contributor in why we have fallen out of love for dystopia, or why it may feel overplayed in modern culture. We feel sad when engaging with dystopia now simply because we see ourselves in the mirror of what was supposed to be fiction.

This is why the time for dystopia is past. But what comes next?

Would the world be better off if we turned the lens inwards on an introspective journey through the disasters of our own creation?

When the world as the pianist begins their final performance, how would we tell the story? 

Would it remain a sad and dreary piece which travels across notes weepingly as it swims in minor chords?

Would it be grandiose in nature, exploring the bombastic yet short existence of our history in crashing percussion and screeching violin?

What if it was a soft melody, a concert gracefully exploring our diverse history, playing both the good and bad of us in acts?

What if the leitmotif of the world carried with it sprinkled accents of hope?

Maybe then we will have begun to see a post-dystopian world.

the failed anarchist

I

I don't think I have the ability to change the world. 

None of us do, In the end it's all about surviving.

The dull, monochromatic delivery of words,

so many times repeated. 

The fire of hope and determination,

Once burned in ashy eyes now dead and black. 

Snuffed out like cold charcoal in abandoned fireplaces.

How many times have we heard this? 

That change is impossible, 

That the world is too far gone, 

That all we have left to do is wait for our turn,

To die on a cold, spinning rock we call earth?

II

For this is what the failed anarchist said to me,

As he drank himself away in an old stuffy bar.

This old anarchist past his prime parading,

Streets in black jackets, sits now in bitterness.

For those who feel this way, 

life is better lived disconnected from the world outside. 

News feeds filled with dystopian levels of warnings 

Flooded by continuous waves of scrolling.

His flame burned brightly with new rage,

But lacked the flicker of introspection,

As his old anger towards systems directs outwards,

A flame all but died out, drenched in brandy.

III

And what could I say to him?

Hope was burning bright in our younger selves.

We have yet to have given up,

Yet do we see our own future in him?

“No!” I scream, I reject this idea,

I will not become chained to nostalgia.

Viewing the past with rosy glasses,

Refusing to acknowledge the changes we’ve made.

A black jacket and molotov is not an ethos.

Did he wear the colors, spew the language,

But lack any understanding of his ideals?

For was he even an anarchist at all?

logocultism (writing)

The experience of contemporary education in graphic design can often feel like a “Logo Cult,” that is to say that we are taught from a perspective of client based work being the supreme form of design. When in my undergraduate education, focus was placed on each designer's role in the corporate setting.

We were shown examples of the many different studios or agencies creating bright, flashy and vibrant work. Nearly every single studio introduced focused either on freelance client jobs or creating for large name brands both local and international.

Something that always felt off to me was the lack of mention or even perspective towards “real world designers”, those who worked in company structures doing daily jobs such as creating infographics, or those who used their degrees to create endless pamphlets and signage for the corporation they received minimal pay from.

It makes perfect sense to me why most Professors in academia would not like to mention this lifestyle. It wasn’t glamorous, it didn’t support the “American Dream” of stardom, success, and high salaries that many young students enter the field expecting with complete naiveté. 

Instead, we completely ignored the fact that nearly every student in an average class will end up at those boring corporate jobs, if they are even able to find an in-industry job at all. 

It seems most modern academic settings view a students ability in corporate branding as a measure of their value to the field, it is given utmost importance. Classes focus on branding on various different levels: Branding of the self, corporate identity, packaging, and often even more.

We throw out other forms of design careers, cutting off the “fat” in an attempt to bring students up to date in the real world of design. Who dictates what the real world of design even looks like, especially when it is based on the singular individual experience of one teacher? 

When this “real world of design” on offer too often leaves many feeling lost and confused when entering a field completely foreign to their four years of education?

No, instead we are indoctrinated into the Logo Cult.

One day, I was sitting in the corner of the graphic design lab at my university, which I worked for as a monitor to keep the lab clean and open. The lab itself was a small room with a handful of macs, some various printers, and a few cutting workstations. It was decorated with past student work in the form of posters, branding, stickers, etc.

A few students from my cohort came in to work on their books for our publication class, which required that we physically build the books we designed from scratch. Many would complain why we had to do this, citing that the modern design world would never require this level of craftsmanship. 

There was validity in this claim, as most professionally done books would usually be printed at a print shop in bulk order. However, there was also legitimate use of being capable of creating your own prototypes, not to mention the practicality of expanding our abilities and having a new skill at our disposal.

While having a conversation about the class with them, the topic of whether publication design is even useful also came up. One student remarked that her ability to create book layouts was unnecessary, as she would be a logo designer anyways. That meant it didn’t matter if she wasn’t great at making books as long as she could create good logos. Many agreed with this sentiment, viewing publication design as more of a “niche” within the profession.

At the time I found it strange that there was such a pushback against publication, but I always had a bias towards creating books and layouts myself. The irony, however, is that many of those cohorts now work in corporate design fields, and engage with brand guidelines without any say in the branding itself.

There are many other occasions where I’ve had similar experiences of a general denial of design outside of brand identity. It seemed that many undergraduates were entirely convinced that the role of the designer was simply to create brands, and all other forms of design were to support the creation of brand identity.

Typography, for example, was emphasised in many classes. With rigid rules and examples of “good and bad” forms of type. Although the beginnings of typography focused on posters and forms of expression, it seemed type was taught as a means to the end of creating support for a logo or brand identity.

This couldn’t have been more obvious at the end of our undergraduate education curriculum when we arrived at Practicum, where we emulated design studio culture and took on pro bono work in small teams with rigid structures. We used corporate management tools similar to Monday.com, and assigned roles such as “team lead, creative director, and communications manager.”

Playing house like this continued to affirm what the role of designer was in education. Almost every client who flies through the beehive looks for brand work, often because of the fact that it is free which leads them to take the cheap route for the sake of “helping kids.” 

I think the funniest part is that even when working for clients, the teacher gets final say on what designs go through to the client, not even managing to escape the personal aesthetics of the classroom. It becomes a parody of itself, playing out a stage play of idealized client work with a complete disassociation from “real world design.”

If a designer felt as if they wanted to branch out and develop further skills after graduating, perhaps it was because they felt their portfolio was lacking in meaningful projects because of the abundance of rushed projects in undergrad.

So then the designer could turn to online classes and digital platforms such as skillshare and youtube, which a quick search returns results such as Logo Design with Draplin: Secrets of Shape, Type and Color by Aaron Draplin, or the latest video from popular design centered youtube channel “The Futur” ran by Chris Do, Why Most Creatives Will Fail in 2025 (Unless They Learn This) alongside their other videos such as Want YOUR Logo to Stand Out? Watch This Now!

The Logo Cult is all around us, slowly but surely it has taken over every mainstream aspect of our field.

Frankly, I don’t believe the field consigning itself to becoming a factory for the tools of corporate propaganda is really a good look. Why is it that most students aren’t allowed to flesh out or explore their personal journey as an artist until they reach the graduate level? 

Do we really fail to trust young adults with information beyond the rigid conformities of a formal education in graphic design? Why is it the first mention of “place” happens in the graduate level, rather than at the origin point of a new artist's story?

I’ve tackled the idea of whether creativity is dead before, but perhaps the invention of the word creativity itself could have marked the concept for doom. When we’ve distilled our ability and consciousness towards the arts down to skills and attributes to be harvested for personal gain, maybe the rise of the logo cult was inevitable.

Furthering the removal of freedom in education subconsciously, we are actively failing the students who enter our classrooms. As educators, it is our responsibility to show students the joys and fulfillments of the field we teach, and our role in it. However, it is also our responsibility to prepare them for the reality in which they have decided to place their careers. 

It is of utmost importance that we are transparent to them about the failures or problems with design, to show them the branching paths of the career, and to prepare them with the tools to step out into this world with confidence.

We need to correct the way that we teach from a logocultist -centered perspective, the same as we must avoid the eurocentric canons of design history. 

Logocultism is becoming a canon in and of itself.

kakistocratic lullabies

The young child lays in bed

Awaiting a story

Rhetoric slithers slowly 

The naivety of new life

Lullabies whispered gently

Unto ears unaware

Governments and leaders 

Wars and power

Dreams of youth poisoned 

Sinister true intentions

Relax, breathe, rest easy

Slowly close your eyes

An all too familiar scene

Our work here is done

We transition comfortably 

Into fascism

the classroom and personal aesthetics

The Classroom

The classroom sits dry and quiet, where a usually casual atmosphere is now rigid and tense. The occasional shuffling of feet can be heard as the students fidget in place. 

The collective anxiety of the room can be felt by the professor, yet he dismisses it. The real world is harsh, the students must learn so themselves. It is my responsibility to do so. He thinks to himself in a self-asserting manner.

It is critique day in the Two Dimensional Design class.

Professor Rush, who has been teaching for 33 years now, is considered essential to the curriculum at his university. Many of his peers view him as “the one who wrangles in students,” his pedagogy revolves around tough love and harsh criticism, but inside he feels that he truly deeply cares about the students he teaches.

It is not uncommon to hear tales of happenings from his classroom, students do love to gossip after all. 

“Professor Rush was talking to Sarah about her use of the grid, and he was getting pretty livid, he started yelling pretty loud and Sarah left the classroom crying.” says Jenny at lunch to her fellow peers. 

Interestingly enough, these stories, although usually horrible sounding for the student within, are always viewed with a level of “Well, that’s just how he is.” as a resignation to this method of teaching. 

Some may have personal issues with it, but it gets results.

“I honestly feel that if I hadn’t had Rush early on, I wouldn’t have gotten my shit together as an artist” Violet says leaning back into the uncomfortable cafeteria chair, “I was the best in the art department at my high school, so he gave me a dose of reality. I would have been an egomaniac if not for him!”

Something students always felt they took away from his class was a recognition for the arts. Professor Rush was quite adamant about what was art and what was not. He enforced rigid definitions of “good” and “bad” in his classroom. A slightly off skew line or perspective would be cause for beratement in front of the rest of the class.

Traditional art was the cream of the crop in the Professor's eyes, he quite regularly talked down on digital arts and abstract forms of creation. He would often call out Graphic Design and Animation majors for even daring to take him, claiming they would be better off with different, more “sensitive” professors.

What was art and what was not? It seemed Rush had a very clear answer, and that to question him was absurd.

It is no surprise that many had ended up dropping out towards the end of the first project. Many left the class crying and never returned over the years. If the project a student created was wrong in his eyes, they would have to redo it until it was right, sometimes upwards of 10 times. The workload was strict, after all it wasn’t Professor Rush's problem that the students were taking 18 credits of classes. 

Rather than adjust his curriculum, the professor instead chose to blame the students who left for not being strong enough.

“I remember that after Sarah dropped out, Rush made fun of her for not being able to handle it. He said she’d never make it in the real world!” Said Maurice to another student sitting at the study table.

Professor Rush believed students should be grateful to even earn a B in his class, as almost nobody ever gets an A. He believed in standard grade deviation with students, enforcing the meritocracy of ability over improvement in the classroom setting.

Only so many could be graded high, and just as many must be graded low. The scales must balance. It was only natural.

It seemed that, even those who were often mistreated or bullied by Professor Rush's words, the class often found themselves viewing the class as a necessary step in their career. Rush knew his stuff, and although he was often apathetic and intolerant to the students' conditions outside of the classroom, he was just showing them a slice of the real world.

Personal Aesthetics

At this point you may have wondered why I am telling you this story, or why I have decided to create this fictional professor at all. Except that I have not created a fictional professor, but instead told the story of a real tenured professor I have encountered in my educational journey. Only with randomized names for privacy sake, of course.

“Professor Rush”, in my opinion, operates a pedagogy that is not only damaging to the students who take him, but also to the educational institution as a whole. A professor once told me that there is no such thing as bad pedagogy, but instead just differences in teaching styles, as no one teacher is the same.

I can’t help but disagree, specifically when I think of Professor Rush. The apathetic approach to the students of the classroom creates a disengaged learning environment where students are taught the wrong lessons.

Being one of the first professors ran into by an incoming student in the arts, students are met with a crushing template which breeds a rigid conformity into what they view as essential for “good work.” 

Masked as “teaching the students the real world” the professor crushes and squeezes students out of every last drop of creativity and individuality in favor of reproducing artistic machines. Those who create only to please the professor who claims unwavering authority over them.

Overloaded in work and removed of any creative choice, the students suffer through an extremely dense syllabus of black and white, lifeless work. They emerge into many branching art programs ranging from painting to graphic design already molded into the template, the rest that comes after is simply a continuation of the process. This barcode is transplanted into the DNA of each artist early.

This method of teaching also reinforces Paolo Frieres “Banking model of education,” as Professor Rush views each student as an empty or hollow shell that must be filled with information. There is no room for the student to offer their own suggestions or feedback. They must not speak out against the master of the classroom. Education is no longer a practice of freedom.

This damage is so small and yet so overwhelming, students now understand that to enter the classroom environment is to please “The Master”. To look towards the professor and create what is wished for, not what could be their own creative identity.

The classroom is now dictated by personal aesthetics.

we have failed you

In the streets, we have failed you

Warm meals, thrown out still full

Vacation homes rest empty, still warm

Yet you suffer and weep on cold sidewalks alone

While doctors turn you away

Appalled by your appearance

Scaring away the good customers

You are bad for business, to exist

Justifications for your existence

Chased from place to place rapidly

Medical conditions out of control

Oh, how close we all are to being you

Yet the most we do is see your story

We feel bad for you, reading in our comfort

Complacent in your warnings, gracefully

We have failed you, just like we have failed ourselves

election night

Here we stand on the edge, below us a rocky and perilous cliff face with which survival is impossible. We have willingly chosen to make this leap, smiling as we fall into the dark below.

That darkness is fascism, to be blatantly obvious about my own analogy, as if that wasn't obvious already.

Today has been unprecedented and honestly unexpected in the arrival of a complete red wave, and while sitting and watching coverage of the election I could not help but wonder about the moment we have found ourselves in and its consequences for the future.

It feels as if vivid images showing crowds of mass deportation signs are masking the intention of an America clad in white robes. I believe this will be studied for generations to come, as the early signs of the fall of the planet's biggest empire.

I know I can be quite “doom and gloom” in my writing style, however I find it hard not to see that we are accelerating at near the speed of light towards both an inevitable rise of true, terrifying fascism and the subsequent end of our nation that comes with it.

What lies beyond this end? 

After the fires have died out, what will the flowers that grow here look like? 

Will the roses of revolution bloom in fields of freedom? 

Will the echoes of an empire in decay signal the end of an era of capitalism?

Or will history repeat its vicious loop, revealing our inability to learn?

Where will I be in this future unwritten? 

Selfishly, maybe I view this insanity with excitement, a feeling that freedom is coming that allows my escape from this cage. Perhaps what should be a feeling of fear is instead replaced with a drive for change?

I am not as naìve as to think that everything will all go perfectly. I know there will be struggle, I certainly know that the bad will come many times before we can even begin to arrive at the good.

But in the end, I can only hope and believe that we will be alright. I choose, even if it's in contrast to my written character, to have faith in humanity. 

I choose to see a future written in hope and love.

mulligan

Food is the essence of culture

The food of Appalachia no exception

Hard times forced about new recipes

Big families needing to be fed

Currency in the form of Coal Scrip

Struggles create stories and warm meals

Oatmeal sat out overnight on the radiator

The childhood joy of sugar toast

Simplicity in melted butter and egg noodles

But none other more loved than Mulligan

A Miner’s Stew hearty and cheap

Meat, Potatoes, and Onion was all it was

Served with store bought italian bread

Generations later, the whole family still gathers

News of Nana’s Mulligan brings them in dozens

Laughter shared over a large boiling pot

Tales of coal times passed on

Of swimming in sulfur creeks

Of selling leftover scrap for pennies

Of exploring railroads and tunnels

Of all the hard times and the good

those who have given up

Let me begin this short writing with an acknowledgment of those who have no choice but to be slaves to a system that has reaped them no reward or leisure. To those that find 3 jobs barely enough to support a starving family. To those that work for the hope that comfort might be awarded for once in their life.

This criticism is not aimed towards you who are oppressed in these chains by creation of capitalistic, imperialist colonizers. You are beautiful, may your liberation one day come.

In every sense of the phrase, all power to you.

Throughout the years of my short life I’ve encountered many personalities and attitudes, many share unique perspectives and thoughts on what it means to be alive.

All around me, so many seem to have given up. 

In Appalachia I see towns which have given up on eachother, communities lost.

In schooling I see teachers who have given up on educating, passion lost.

In design I see workers who have given up on being artists, creativity lost.

In society I see citizens who have given up on making change, freedom lost.

But the most frustrating part of this is when those who have given up focus their attacks onto those who haven’t, treating them with contempt for wanting change. 

We who see things that are not yet real and ask ourselves how to make it reality.

We who dream for better life and greener pastures should not have to sit idly by as we listen to the complacent tongues of those who have given up.

It seems that, to those who have given up, to love something is seemingly to have no issues with it whatsoever, as if love something lives only inside a margin of black and white. 

I am asked the question “If you don’t like creating, or making design, then why are you pursuing a masters in design?”

To lay out my feelings on the design field as a posed answer to this question in any short time is impossible. It is a more complicated relationship with that.

Is it wrong to critique something you love, something you feel empathetic and passionate towards? That which you have dedicated so much time and effort into understanding?

And when I look around, I see many things to be critical of. I see a eurocentric educational system which touts the qualities of the modern designer as a reproducible tool which should follow the cookie cutter form of modern design. 

I also see the beautiful, talented work of peers making beautiful design solutions. I’ve said before, in my glorious hypocritical tendencies, that the very corporate design field I attempt to undermine does not stop me from looking at a brand on a shelf and going “Ooooh! yeah, that’s very well made!”

How common is it to see those who claim empathetic quality conveniently choose how their empathy can operate. Or, those which understand the importance of empathy actively claiming they lack enough to care about this problem you pose.

I was raised in that system which told me to be that student who worries about nothing but hire-ability and logocultism. I once saw myself, young and bright eyed at the prospects of working my time away at a studio 9-5 each day.

I snapped out of that trance when I realized how unhealthy the design field has become to the people who sycophantically worship this career path. 

I chose not to give up on a healthier life as a designer. 

This is my mantra, my essence. If you attempt to beat me down, I will fight. I will burn brightly in my defiance until my last breath. I am an eternal flame, an infernal engine. I’d rather suffer an eternity in the hell of knowing this world than live in blissful ignorance of its truths.

I recognize fully that I am not like others in this sense. To clarify, I am not so naive as to believe that I will most definitely make change in the world. This does not stop me from spreading my ideas and thoughts in hopes of improving this field which I’ve dedicated much of my time, energy, and money towards.

I do not look down upon those who have given up, however. 

Feeling dejected in a system which is built to remove your autonomy and choice, this is simply by design. This is the modern society working exactly as planned. In other words, I know exactly what has caused this “epidemic of giving up” and am empathetic towards that.

However when you are actively trying to shut down the words of those bringing issues or criticism to power, perhaps it is time for you to sit by and listen while those who have not yet given up speak for the hopes of a better future.

Perhaps in time the fire in your eyes will ignite again, and you will find yourself fighting for a better future in which so many of us attempt to envision.

logocultism (poem)

With digital tools I carve myself

For society to look upon me

The panopticon of social media 

Gazing coldly down, judging my worth

Creativity crushed by consumerism

I navigate through Metamodernity

Without monetary gain I cannot live

I research trends and copy styles

I read metrics to distill my personality

Cutting away pieces with sharp scissors

My worth grows more through followers

I filter my life to appear perfect

With this brand, I become a slave

Oppressed by tools which declare freedom

Born of creativity, dead of design

I am the modern designer

do designers dream of vectored sheep?

A designer gets home, work long and dull

Excitements from the past now forgotten

Instead the thought of bed brings glee

So the designer lay down, sleep drifting

Deadlines pervade this peaceful moment

Even here we must be problem solvers

Begrudgingly awake, the designer counts

In attempt to force about quick rest

Vectored sheep leap along illustrator files

Vaulting over fences of em-dashes

The counting is displayed in Helvetica

A quick glance finds the pen tool outlining clouds

Our designer awakes in cold sweat

They can’t help feel the forming of tears

Spending so much time in love with this field

And now they cannot escape from it

tales from the sands

The drumming beat reaches across the expanses of a valley of metal. The whistle of the crowd brings about a small contempt and discomfort, but laughter and joy pervades this atmosphere. This is a vibrant and colorful festival, contrasted starkly with the rolling wastes of sands and ruin. 

Here we find our wanderer, still surviving in this harsh reality.

Festival season is here, the wanderer thinks to themself. A tradition as long kept as the wanderer could remember, the purpose of these festivities is the yearly departure of a new exhibition team.

Habitable locations are harder to come by nowadays, and so the community sends out this group of adventurers in hopes that they can find new areas to expand modern civilization. Housed within the small areas that have been left unphased by the encroaching end perhaps these festivities are another way to cope.

Regardless, not one of the exhibition teams have ever returned.

After grabbing a kebab from a local stall, a street food made of pungent artificial recreations of meat(which has become the main protein for the people of this metal valley), the wanderer sets out back to the wastes to once again search for collectible scrap. They’ve never been one for festivities, especially these.

So they set out into the wastes, a place which feels more like a home to the wanderer than their home itself.

“Maybe I can find some stuff for Cypher” the wanderer says to themselves, much more comfortable to speak out loud in the rolling dunes. Since our last checkpoint with the wanderer, they have become close friends to the gleeful old man with an oddly large understanding of old world objects.

Despite our wanderers origin (a tale for another time, perhaps), the old man has met them with nothing but what they perceive as kindness and warmth. It doesn’t hurt that he pays fairly for anything new I can get my hands on, the wanderer continues the thought in their head.

Cypher has given the wanderer a curious lead, moving them towards an old abandoned facility entrance which can only be assumed was created in the time of the ancients. Miraculously, the door was indeed there at the wanderers' arrival.

The exploration of this place felt as if opening of an old tomb, preserved perfectly and hidden away by sands of time. The wanderer thinks semi-jokingly about the idea of unearthing a horrible curse, much like the old folktales they heard growing up, but then swipes the thought away with the shake of their head and moves on.

Within the first few rooms lay a scattered arrangement of wrappers and ash, leftover echoes of communion over campfires in a place where shelter was needed at dead of night. This created an unsettling feeling for the wanderer, at the thought that they may not be alone here. Logic takes over after a few moments and reassures them that whoever made this is now long gone.

Like many in the valley of metal, the guests which stayed here seemingly held no interest in this place which gave them roof and warmth. Doors to the deeper confines of the facility were left locked or closed without signs of disturbance. 

The constructs of the ancients were mostly viewed as something to be avoided by the world outside, especially considering most couldn't even step foot near them in the first place. It was generally agreed that the ancients brought about ruin and ravage to the world and land. Thought to have caused their own demise, guaranteeing an eventual end for everything. 

Is it surprising for many to want to avoid the doomsday clock set right in front of them, ticking away?

Instead, study and understanding of ancient culture was left to select few thinkers known as Scholarites, who’s curiosity led them towards a pursuit of understanding the cursed world which the ancients created. Scholarites typically gained no fame or valor for this, and so they hid themselves away and cast modern society aside in pursuit of the past.

However, there were a few eccentric fellows like Cypher who just liked the idea of collecting old and intricate machines.

The door they set their eyes on, which seemingly was rusted shut from years of idle abandon, comes open with the use of a small torch device powered by Neothene, a synthetic fuel material made of fungus grown in the region. Stepping through the doorframe the wanderer is met with a stale air, taking caution not to step on shards of broken glass and metal strewn about randomly.

As much as the feeling of exploring this place was both creepy and claustrophobic to the wanderer, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the curiosity of it all. Subconsciously, a smaller sense of familiarity was beginning to eat away at them.

While exploring the facility, a slight thud sends the wanderer forward tumbling. Looking back at the cause, they find a person

Well, perhaps not a person, but instead a synthetic one. 

Time has been cruel to this mechanical body, the wanderer thinks to themselves. 

To their surprise, and momentary terror, this humanoid machine seemingly clicks to life.

“Oh, hello, I wasn’t expecting visitors.” The unexpected voice rings out in a feminine tone, paired with a slight glitching noise. “Could you tell me a story?”

At first The Wanderer is taken aback. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A story. Of anything, really.”

Taking a second to think, the wanderer agrees to share a moment. After all, it was the least they could do to ease the pain of the unimaginable time they must have been left here, alone.

The wanderer shares tales of past travels, of CDs with music, of many different places they’ve seen.

“The world outside has really changed a lot” she says with a thin smile in response, thinking to herself. “Thank you.”

“Wait, how about you?” the wanderer quickly says, not willing to let go of this moment. “Do you have any stories to share?”

A brief air of silence falls over the conversation, leaving a feeling of anxiety in the wanderer. Maybe I am asking too much of her, maybe she doesn’t have any memory left in the first place, they think to themselves while only the ambience of rust and ruin can be heard.

“I was created to be used and thrown away.” her voice interrupts the silence. “AI-29f “Secretary” Model, code “Hex” 762490, my purpose was to help the people here with research on the climate of our world. In hopes that we could reverse the damage that was done. My handler was named Marie, we were good friends.”

“Eventually,” a pause hovered over her as she shifted among thoughts of the previous statement in her head, “we realized that reversal wasn’t possible. We could only delay the inevitable. So we worked, until the end finally came.”

Although her body could no longer move, you could tell her soul was staring away into the distance, longing for days well past. 

“A part of me always believed that Marie would take me with her when she left, that maybe our relationship went beyond being some… synthetically made assistant.” You can tell that these heavy words are being shared through pain. 

“The EnBio Corporation, who we worked under, decided it was too late. The day was almost near that it was time to pull out. Then, all the people left with the lights still on.” 

“Since we were a small facility I was the only assistant from the beginning.” she explained, echoing her loneliness. “For the first hundred or so years, I continued doing the research in hopes to find something, any solution. Slowly, rust began to take over as lights went out and sections of the facility collapsed. I couldn’t continue my work.”

“Then I was purposeless.” She let those words hang in the air for what felt like an eternity. “I just wandered around what was left until my body could not move. I was always afraid that leaving would ruin the chances of Marie coming back to get me.”

“And so I’ve stayed here, as my body withered and no longer could function.” The Wanderer looks over her with sad eyes, wondering if they could possibly get her operational again. 

“I put myself into dormant mode to conserve what was left. You bumping into me reactivated my systems.”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you” The wanderer replies.

“It’s okay, I’m happy you did.” She says back with a warm smile. “You gave me so many stories to think about.” She pauses.

“I always have time to think.”

Again, silence rests over the conversation. “You know, you told me about that CD you found. Marie had a favorite CD too, so I kept it nearby. Would you grab it for me?”

“Yeah. I’d love to. just tell me where it is.” replies the wanderer.

After describing the location, the wanderer cautiously navigates through the ruined facility and finds the CD, along with a music player. They’ve gained a newfound understanding of this machine since they met Cypher, who's been sharing his own favorites with the wanderer when they visit.

Setting up the machine and placing the disc into the hatch with a small click, the wanderer looks over to the broken android. 

“You ready?” he asks, awaiting her response.

“Go ahead, I’m ready.”

The whir of the machine brings about the soft melody of an acoustic guitar and rhythmic drum fills the space. The sound immediately feels melancholic or nostalgic, leaving an air of sadness in the tone.

There are no auditory glitches in the sound of the disc, unlike many found in Cyphers collection. Perfectly preserved with love. The wanderer sits back into the metal hallway wall as the lead singer's soft voice starts up.

𝅘𝅥 

L.A., why you're so complicated for me, twilight

Waiting on the planet to turn to me, dark side

If loving you's a felony now, then I'm a renegade, riding

Trying to find tomorrow ain't easy 'til you dive in

Why you rolling waves over me now? That's all I need, dreaming

Waiting on L.A. to come find me, be forgiven

I'll be a regular guy for you, I never said I'd do that

Why you looking so beautiful to me now when you so sad?

I will always think about you

That's why I'm calling you back on my way through

I wanna stay with you for a long time; I wanna be stone, love

I wanna see L.A. in your eyes when I'm leaving with your love

I will always think about you

That's why I'm calling you back, 'cause I got to run soon

I will always think about you

That's why I'm calling you back on my way through

A tear rolls down the face of the old, broken synthetic person laying motionless in front of the wanderer. No words were shared for a long while. Instead the lyrics of the song lingered within minds of both wanderer and android alike.

It is not that nothing is left to be said. 

Instead, perhaps in moments such as these, the act of speaking could ruin such a moment.

Notes on The Wanderer

Something about this wanderer I have been dreaming up feels special. The world I envision, the stories I can tell with this theme, I feel strongly that this perhaps could be with much time and hard work a full book. I have been thinking a lot about worldbuilding and atmosphere.

There are changes and retcons in this that lead to inconsistencies in the previous writing, but I imagine that is simple to iron out with the idea of stretching the content to become a real piece. 

The main question I need to reflect on is whether the use of real music from our time should be kept in, is it a good theme, or does it feel forced after the first time?

I want to see what world I can create. I envision a dim but beautiful world which knows its own end is in sight. A wanderer who goes from place to place experiencing the stories, cultures, and people who were there past and present, finding relics of the past that emphasize those feelings?

Detail oriented descriptions of the tiniest objects and places. Centered around a protagonist who doesn’t understand themselves, who may seem distant, for reasons I wish not to spoil.

This world is coming together in my head, but what is the purpose? Is it to show the light of a humanity that knows darkness is descending? To illustrate a hypocritical world of wonder mixed with the harsh and ugly reality of our actions?

What lessons would this world have to teach us, what signs can lead us to experience empathy for a world not too dissimilar to our own future? I am very excited to continue and to find out.

do you have creative freedom?

I

Do you have creative freedom?

This thought stirs in the back of my mind, never-ending. 

Every time that I look at work made in the modern lens

I begin again to see; the surreptitious intention, 

slipped behind every logo which we have been trained to view

as if it was with X-ray vision.

Within this mechanical operation of human life; 

One can only pretend to shout the answer into an abyss, 

filled with the answers of many before them. 

Future generations left to survey like archaeologists,

finding forgotten writing long past.

When we arrive at this point, at the singularity of creativity, 

At what point can we call our work unique?

Is it creative in the first place? Is creativity dead, 

killed by this quiet and everlasting hum of consumerism?

Is it just a tool for modernity and capital?

Told we are unique, the pioneers of the future,

we carelessly let our design ego take over.

A danger in and of itself, ego becomes the designer. 

We pack our field into a meritocratic hierarchy,

we convince ourselves that our work is most important.

So why does it feel meaningless? 

Why create work with eyes glossed over, submitting our talent

to the panopticon? In exchange for only enough to live? 

As if to be an infernal engine perpetually fueled by

preservatives and microplastics in which we consume happily?

II

Do you have creative freedom?

Social Media opens its gaze upon every aspect of our lives, 

with which the panopticon looks upon us,

It extracts our personalities and thoughts with little biases,

struggle or joy crunched into 1s and 0s.

Chained to our phones we march towards the singularity.

Potential unlimited, the young mind is handed the tablet.

Like the battery of this device, the potential drains out,

No longer is the classroom required to create this loop.

Machines create machines out of humans. 

Meanwhile humans work to let those machines create art.

This escapism plays a deep role in the new wave human.

So we dive into devices which hold the library of Babel,

Bred in an endless scroll of nonsense, mixing overstimulation and data, creating perfect potions of idle complacency.

Drowned in an overflow of information, how do we begin to think?

An endless sea of doors is set out in front of us,

But oh! The happiness! The work is already done!

We follow the brightly illuminated line to the door,

That which was already chosen for us.

This is simply how it should be, do not question it!

What is reality? What is right? What is good?

Frightening existentiality creates horrible anxiety, 

anxiety which brings us back to the vicious cycle. 

And so we dance in this loop for eternity,
Forget those painful ideas rather than confront them!

III

And so the child, eyes now dulled, sets off to academia,

yet the root of the word is no longer its purpose.

The assembly line has functioned well until this point,
there is no intention of stopping it now.

When passion is gone, a paycheck replaces it.

And with the pursuit of pay, the landscape changes,

Competitive markets, high value clients, broken designers.

No longer is this field viewed upon as art,

“visual marketing,” Aesthetics diluted by accolades.

We copy only that which will only make us more efficient.

Distilled mixture of designer, refined into corporate gain.

Art now twisted, intentions; shifted towards the needs and wants

of a personified company which dictates value.

Designers are not part of this process, instead tools used to

increase gain until they are dried out like natural resources.

Working tirelessly, meaningless careers,

Wearing burnout as a badge of honor,

Teetering on the precipice of happiness and despair.

The world is in motion, so why do we pretend it has stopped?

Maybe we do not see reason in fighting an uphill battle.

Years of cultural conditioning, our shells left empty.

Forcefully giving up hopes and dreams, we are tired.

Perhaps a spark is needed to ignite these fires within,

would that begin to let us start anew?

To be reminded of our uniqueness and ability?

I ask again, do you have creative freedom?

the role of designer

The Designer sits in their comfortable office, happily preparing a Nike advertisement. Never once have they thought about the shoes they happily design for.

The digital png of “Air Max” mens shoes has never had to be produced by human hands. The seams are not real, never sewn by an exploited worker in a factory.

This is nothing out of the ordinary. This is what we have done as designers since the days we first designed. Tools of industry, pens for the ruling class, entities of global consumerism, we have perpetuated capitalism and its systems.

What does an escape from this look like for our Designer?

Will they ever pack up their office and leave, sickened by the company in which they work?

Could they ever make a decision like that without first having the security of a comfortable home and warm food set out for them? 

When that time comes, The Designer notices they are chained to the desk.

Human instinct, the need to break free. The Designer struggles for a while in vain. Eventually they give up. There is a family waiting for them, a good life of comfort and conformity. It’s not like they’ve seen the exploitation firsthand.

Besides, they are just a designer for Nike. It’s not actually the designer who should be held accountable.

The moment of critical thought passes as the machine in front of them hums. The designer rests their hands on the mouse and keyboard, and returns to work.

the news feed

I wake up to check the days news.

Biolabs burn and pollute the air, thick pentachromatic smoke rising into the gray still sky.

I scroll.

Floods ravage homes as instinct leads bears to treetops. Families denied food and supplies by authorities in the chaos.

I scroll.

YouTube creators bicker over the drama of a copycat brand of lunchables, making childish songs about one another.

I scroll.

Children are asked about their ambitions, with glinted eyes all of them reply with money and fame.

I scroll.

Another foreign child dies in the arms of their father. Lost to wars and powers they don’t even understand.

I scroll.

Frustration. We live within this system where we are actively watching everything fall apart, the daily news becomes just another little pastime for the scrolling eyes. We are unphased as death, pollution, destruction, and sadness enters our eyes and our brains at unbelievable pace. 

Is it really a wonder that we can’t see the signs?

A society that would rather hide from these truths. It is uncomfortable to realize we are the ones perpetuating this system. We distance ourselves. Find comfort in complacency and blissful ignorance. The truth nests further and further deep into our consciousness until it is essentially lost.

And so instead we forget and we live happily. 

Dystopia more near than distant fiction

what are the signs? and “the attention economy”

In the late 90s, a young musician by the name of Jun Seba sat in an underground record store he opened himself named Guiness Records in Japan. Formally trained in Graphic Design and digital production, he makes the decision to start making music by releasing single remixes he made himself. 

Adopting the artist name “Nujabes”, Jun slowly began to integrate these singles into his own record store. He would press the vinyls by hand and then place them within the bins of the artist he remixed, with customers not knowing that the owner himself created these beats.

Many years later, after he was taken from this world too early, he would go on to be known as one of the most legendary hip-hop producers in the world. Mixing elements of jazz, rap, spoken word poetry, and hip-hop. Now referred to as the godfather of the modern genre “Lo-Fi Hip-Hop,” Nujabes garners millions of monthly listeners on modern platforms.

To describe the music is a challenge in itself. Distant and serene, melancholic yet hopeful, the use of hip-hop drum loops with the talented features of various rappers, jazz instrumentalists, and hip-hop icons brings you to a world that draws you in with meaningful lyrics and emotions.

In 2005, Nujabes collaborated with the artist Pase Rock for a song on the album “The Sign(feat. Pase Rock”. The song combines spoken word poetry with distinct foley sounds and a simple piano and drum accompaniment.

A small group of jazz musicians stands upon the stage in a ritzy club. Guests chat on as their drinks slosh around in their glasses, laughing and enjoying the world around them. 

Preparing to start their set, the singer in the jazz band clears his throat, preparing to cue in on the drummer and pianist. His hand rises and the soft melody of a piano begins, followed by the light loop of the drums.

The crowd doesn’t so much as flinch, encapsulated in their conversations, stuck in their own worlds. 

The jazz singer begins to speak; The drinks continue, the clank of ice in hard liquor drowns the words of the young musician.

𝅘𝅥 

You wanna watch it all fall apart?

Every time I walk I watch

I look, I notice, I observe

I read the signs

And the signs are pointing in the wrong direction

The signs are not naming the streets

Or leading you to the highways

The signs are naming names

Tombstones to mark the death of children not even born

And I don't mean abortion I mean what is to come

The signs are telling me to turn back around

The signs are telling me to research my past

The signs are telling me to learn from my mistakes

The signs are asking me questions

Do you wanna watch it all fall apart?

Do you have any control?

Is there anything that you can do?

Both of the previous examples are warning signs in the form of music that is used to convey a message to an audience. One talks about the complacency and lack of care from those listening. The other speaks on environmental crises such as global warming.

These “signs” as referred to by Pase Rock are no different from the stories and speculative futures we have seen through history. Yet with the times as there are, it feels as if the understanding of these signs is taken with less urgency.

Laughed off, seen as purely fiction, or denied their true meaning. We now turn these messages from the overtly political and raw to something entirely different. 

We cast them astray, alienize the concept. 

Even something with such surface level ideology such as the songs I’ve used as example can be twisted into something else with weaved narratives that suffocate the original meaning.

This is intentional, however. To live within a society where we are free to learn and consume as we please is a threat. There is nothing more dangerous to a government than differing opinions, the reason we do not truly live in democracy.

And so we arrive at the idea of “Media Literacy”. To give a simple definition of media literacy, it is the ability to view a story's intentions and themes critically and analyze the messaging dwelling beyond the surface level of the work.

Media literacy is a fundamental skill that allows any individual to view a piece of media and take from it the lessons and stories being conveyed. This is backed by the idea that all art, and media by extension, is made with intention. 

If media is “the signs”, “media literacy” is the language of understanding those signs.

And those signs are not vague, they tell the tale of the fall of an empire. Humorously we cast them aside,

“We are the greatest nation to exist at the greatest time in history. We are the exception.”

“The Attention Economy”

When people stop reading further into these signs and asking questions, the flames of curiosity are stamped out.

Commentary on complex political issues don’t change, but instead the people consuming choose to ignore in favor of segmented stories. Narratives dissected and turned into short form content. 6 second videos take over the internet.

So instead we adapt to that content, as designers and as people. We create advertisements with catchy colors and funny concepts. We explain that people do not care to look at our content for more than a few seconds, and we reinforce it.

In bed we lie** for hours, scrolling through unimaginably large repositories of digital content. Monotonous AI voices like the ferryman of the river Styx, as time folds in upon itself.

So much information travels to the brain in short periods that it becomes overwhelming. Stimulation becomes less effective. Now we need more. How about multitasking? You can watch 2 movies, play a game, and listen to music all at the same time!

On Tik-Tok, videos of complex topics are split down the middle with a person playing with sand. Dopamine becomes the new algorithm. “Satisfying” videos of someone cutting soap are paired with reports of a mass shooting in Florida.

People just don’t want to listen to someone talk about conflict anymore, instead they need their brain to be stimulated during it. Everything becomes faster, everything becomes consumerized, everything becomes splashed with vivid colors and catchy songs.

We are trapped in the attention economy. Our eyes gloss over as we stare at the screens that hold us prisoner.