Living Inside Static

I don’t know exactly when the noise became this constant. Maybe it’s always been there, and I just didn’t notice. But now it’s everywhere — the headlines, the feeds, the unending scroll. The moment you blink, someone somewhere is trying to shape what you think, what you fear, what you care about. And if you don’t notice, it’s already done.

It isn’t about politics. I don’t care about left or right. I care about the way the moment bends perception. The way constant pressure — from media, social platforms, governments, advertisements — warps what people believe is real. I see it in the way conversations happen, the way outrage spreads, the way attention is siphoned. I see it in the subtle shift in people I know — not who they are, but what they spend energy on, what moves them to act, what distracts them from themselves.

Some days, I feel like the world is running on a simulation. I can see the threads. I notice the nudges, the emotional hooks, the stories that are engineered to demand engagement, to claim urgency where none exists. And I want to step out. I want silence. I want to disappear somewhere far away. But I can’t. Not yet. Not now.

I think about what it would take to regain clarity. Maybe thirty days without news, without social media, without constant signal. Thirty days of space to hear yourself think, to notice the world without it narrating everything for you. Thirty days of presence. What would remain? Maybe life would feel lighter. Maybe people would remember how to move through time without being told how to feel.

As an artist, I can’t unsee it. I notice patterns, undercurrents, the way information and chaos twist the senses. And yet, noticing doesn’t give me solutions. It only gives me the awareness that reality is being mediated, constantly, and that part of staying alive — mentally, spiritually — is learning how to choose what to absorb. Learning how to let most of it pass.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have the luxury to unplug completely. For now, I can step back, slow my own rhythm, and remind myself what’s mine to engage with — the craft, the work, the quiet observation. I can practice endurance not just of circumstance but of attention. Not everything deserves my energy, even if it shouts for it. Not everything demands belief.

And maybe that’s enough. For now, the world is loud. But I am still here. Watching. Listening. Choosing.