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Years ago, I asked his friend what kind of shiny phone he wanted to buy? He paused, a little disappointed. “I do not like to go shopping,” he says. Those words entered my hippocampus, never leaving. She is right! I thought. Don’t buy things! Easy! I have been trying to follow this principle ever since, and it has worked just as well as you expected. Sure, I could spend $ 1,000 on a smartly powered smartphone, but I only do it every three years (shaking my head) instead of every two. This is how we succeed.
The problem is that some types of material only attract more objects. The house is obvious: it needs sofas, sweaters, buffet cabinets, chandeliers. Computers and others; they extend the USB cable. Cell phones disappear earplugs, cloud-based backups, and song records. I envy the people who make them work with the Eames chair, the beautiful ottoman, the best art books, and the innate wealth of nature. Their iPads are empty, just a few apps, while I have 60 terabytes of storage that spreads across a variety of slots because I download large sets of data to enjoy.
I often deceive myself into thinking that the path to small things can have many things. Recently, motivated by a desire for more self-control, I bought a drum machine. It is also an add-on for a portable, customizable studio software for tracking music from old Amiga computers. It has buttons, a steering wheel, and a screen that displays multiple numbers. It’s called Polyend Tracker, but I see it as a Sonic Spreadsheet. Anything you can do with it can happen again, you know, laptop. Importantly, however, it does not connect to the internet.
I bought a Sonic Spreadsheet and just thought of leaving the internet, running away from the middle world I live in, and hitting the back of the house or on the kitchen table. I wanted to look at a small canvas instead of a large canvas, as I do in the back-up. Instead, I just sat there waiting for the front, watching YouTube videos of various nerds showing how they making a beating. Most of their beatings were not ill. Their light was good, however. Perhaps people who are seriously ill are not making YouTube videos.
After several weeks of use, Tracker began shouting: Feed me accoutrements. Boxes began arriving — twisted legs to support, rubber feet to stabilize, a backpack, a power supply battery. Although I had a lot of microphones and headphones, I thought I needed a special microphone and headphones for this item. I then downloaded 100 gigs of audio from the 1990s, which meant I needed to upgrade the Sonic Spreadsheet MicroSD card. (And of course the examples were mentioned inconsistently, so I wrote the code to prepare.) Each item, each part of the item, came with its own, pet – model, foam cover, strings, handbook, small string. case. The supply chain is fractal: Look at your stuff and there are many more, ad infinitum.
The result is that I have no singing ability. I spent many hours cutting and tapping, turning small sounds into complete music, spinning the wheel like a professional, and when I went back to that movement the next night, I still found that I had no single idea to make. The drums of my drums sounded like a nervous rabbit pushing the brain. If you are looking for advanced digital music that can also be Christmas music played by dog barking, I am your person. I’m not a singer. I am in charge of the operation of my digital audio machine. There will be no SoundCloud for me.
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