Yes, I am lamenting the loss of spaces like 2009 twitter, tumblr, cyber cafes, vine—I am just realizing now that I’m not even lamenting actual, physical space, I am lamenting post-internet era levers of capitalism and wow I feel worse than when I started this, welcome to my thunderdome.

Because where am I supposed to complain about the NYT’s amplifier far out space songs list not including Dr. Octagon/Kool Keith’s HalfSharkAlligatorHalfMan!?

Where, tell me WHERE am I supposed to put that?

LinkedIn!??!???

P.S. The authors of the NYT amplifier are dead inside.

But so am I because I still use LinkedIn.

Half of the reason why I am so depressed during the day is because I am surrounded by mediocrity because I work in a mediocrity based industry that produces a deluge of absolutely mediocre content where mediocre content “CREATORS” (how dare you) get applauded for creating prompting Sauron to spit out mediocre content. Fuck me.

Would it be different if I were a journalist? A flower arranger? A septic inspector?

That’s a no on the septic biz. My studio is connected to Chris-Co Construction, and I can hear the receptionist screaming everyday about “fucking [insert the R-word, plural] who don’t want to work for a living” so all set there.

But hold on. Now I’m curious.

What are the physical spaces I miss? Why do I miss them so much?

• Smoking at the Red Oak Diner.

• The basement of St. Mary's of the Assumption.

• Shauna Cody’s bedroom with the broken window.

• Smoking at the Skylark past midnight.

• Smoking at HiFi on Delancey Street before catching a movie at Sunshine Cinema.

• The smell of popcorn and linoleum floors in the grey interior of Philadelphia Sales.

• The paneled walls of the American Legion during Friday night Bingo.

• Smoking at Rolando’s…ok sure, there is a theme here answering my why.

Lest you be casting stones, please know that (in addition to smoking being harmful, stupid, and yes, racist) AI is gonna kill me long before tobacco.

Probably.

Well, what I am certain of—absolutely certain of—is that I currently refuse to relinquish my Parliament-flavored-self-destruction or my em dashes.

So let me out of my head and into yours.

I’d love to hear about a space you miss. Tell me. Let’s lament together, please?

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I don’t wanna be here, but I don’t want to be alone.