Just Stop It · 16 October 2001
I swear to god if I see one more self-styled bolshevik of the user experience whose grasp of the arrangement of matter in space, of elegance, structure, the curiosity of the eye, focused meaning in wide context, narrative, vital writing, potent imagery, the vast expanse of quietude, the rush of chaos, all that is brought about through compression, speed, clarity, neurosis, grace and the sounds humans make in and out of love is clouded, so clouded; if I see one more would-be guru tagging along on a rickety late-period goldrush line up unsupportable declarations (lookit me) to pique the five or six remaining executives (lookit me, sir!) to be convinced however temporarily that the web offers exciting ways to separate people from their money, and who have the UNSPEAKABLE FUCKING GALL to infantilize the work of individuals into an avoirdupois commodity called “content” and dare to patent innovation and repurpose and run rampant charging fees to lightly rearrange the ideas of others, to hop bandwagons, to make outrageous claims to expertise whilst pissing out sham “manifestos” about “markets” being “conversations” and whose only goddam ideas – those greasy cynical half-truths of lowest common denominators and woebetide he who underestimates the stupidity of the public – have been known by CEOs and admen since the dawn of capital and long, long before the laff riot of boo and petopia, I’m going to have no choice but to fall like rain from the sky and call out that you, sir, are irrelevant, irrelevant, irrelevant.
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