Cascading

Their phone chimed on the table next to them, almost simultaneously, a notification swung down from the top of their laptop screen, “Re: Project Proposal for Social Media Content Contributor”. A moment of contemplation, then hesitation, accompanied by that Hitchcockian psychological zoom, pulling all the possibilities and potentials forward, but dragging with it a feeling of unease. A decision had been made and, in a moment’s time, this episode that has been tucked away with crossed fingers, just out of mental frame in the peripheral zone of “cautious optimism”, would conclude, for better or worse. They read on.

“Thank you for your proposal to the Social Media Content Contributors project. After careful review…”

This sounds all too familiar, they thought, as the mouse subconsciously began its journey towards the upper-right corner where X marks the spot of subduing negative thoughts.

“…you have been selected…”

Walking into the attic for the first time in years, the usual carpet of dust, crumpling boxes labeled, mislabeled, relabeled larger, bolder. All this left-over stuff, multiple generations of outdated music devices, enough assorted dark wooded furnishing for a small apartment, cameras no one knows how to use anymore.

Now, notifications did not casually drop down with the empty regularity of apps trying for attention, they cascaded onto the screen at a thrilling rate. Creating content as part of a strategy for greater community retention ticked all the boxes, and the ripples they had hoped to make surged back like a strong ocean swell.

Analyzing the data from the incoming correspondence, their prior research was paying off. Demographics were pinpointed. Strategies for engaging titles, word count parameters, questions and calls to action were refined. Post frequency and regularity were scheduled. Over the weeks and months of the project, the blueprints for attention, retention and engagement developed into a systematized, self-sustaining routine that could practically function autonomously. Algorithmically.

Rummaging around there were some gratuitous museum catalogues, a few small kitschy paintings of rural scenery, perhaps of land the family has long since bargained away, ordinary scraps and cuttings from books. Lifting the box to set it aside, the bottom gave way spilling its contents as well as a little black book that had evidently been hiding flat underneath the others.

The communities being fostered thrived off the implemented routine of input and, in time, began to delineate themselves based on shared interests and philosophies and gather their own momentum. Showing solidarity was as easy as replying with one of a few curated emojis, the rudimentary currency for demonstrating fondness. The re-posting and reproduction of content was dynamic, and it was rewarding to see that their work was helping connect individuals.

The pages were overflowing with familiar handwriting, scattered scribbles, webs of circles, sketches of… are those nudes? The notebook rotated on its axis attempting to discern the figure’s frankly acrobatic orientation while simultaneously repressing any hint of an idea that this might be a close relative.

One small but recurring nuisance was the occurrence of dissenting commenters. These individuals, while a minority, persistently interjected their contrarian opinions. When examining some of the reported remarks, they felt many comments, while usually reactionary and unfiltered, had a logic of their own. Perhaps their perspective came down to a difference in ideology?

Needless to say, these individuals did not last long on their own. Being vastly outnumbered, one could only agitate and contest alone for so long before finding no solace or change and leaving on one’s own accord or being blocked out. Nonetheless, the project’s priority was to develop harmony. Consequently, they had to screen and filter out anyone likely to cause disturbances.

The notes were uncategorized, unfiltered, unabashed musings, the weight of their conviction literally pressed in, creating a braille-like tactile experience with every turn of the page. They would find no qualm in today’s rhetoric.

Once their test communities had gotten up to speed, the job became less about instigating positive content and more about screening the negative. The cascade of notifications was no longer a cheerful babbling brook of possibilities, they began to clunk, like watching rocks slowly sink underwater. That same underlying feeling of dread that accompanied each incoming email during those long months of applications and faceless template rejections seeped back in.

Was this screening or suppression?

Regardless of any ambiguous feelings, the project was going successfully, so much so, that one day the client expressed their satisfaction by offering a full-time position within the company and a $20,000 signing bonus. The stability of full-time employment and the additional amenities often boasted about by friends working for similar companies was too tantalizing an opportunity to pass up.

Reading deeper, the writings seemed at times defensive and angsty, boldly combing through societal dogmas against grain. It was fascinating to get a glimpse of philosophies still in the tumbler, being polished with contemplation, intuition, confusion, frustration, research, persistence, self-assuredness, and gliding ink.

They wondered, was there was an application in this world for that kind of freedom of expression?

Heading back downstairs to their laptop, each step reverberated through their body, shaking loose any lingering high-minded ideas. There was no time to think about self-determined moralistic relativizing or whether their morality can be bought.

But, the bottomless inbox, the endless firefighting, typing, analyzing, posting, reviewing, drafting, deleting began to take their toll. The work seemed rewarding. Money was propagating, the communities seemed content in their unchallenged ecosystems, work provided access to ergonomic, aesthetic, consumable creature comforts. But what was there to show for it? Every post, idea and correspondence were sent off into the digital void. Is there an attic of the internet? Will their little black eBook be discoverable for some indifferent but impressionable relation? Perhaps not, but there was a solution creating a slight rectangular crease in their left pant pocket.

The laptop took a gentle bow and exhaled with a soft gush of air as the two halves came together, the notebook opened to empty page, all they needed was a pen.