The internet abolished closing hours. The new wave is abolishing the pause. Both moves are economic in origin and psychological in effect. Both promise convenience and deliver a different kind of cost. The first cost was paid in time. The second is being paid in attention. How that arithmetic finishes is the open question.
The mute button on the top of an Amazon Echo of a certain vintage is supposed to disconnect the microphone. A small icon of a crossed-out microphone sits next to the button, and pressing it turns on a red LED that confirms the disconnection. Software controls this button, which means the microphone remains electronically capable of capturing audio after the LED turns red, and the only thing preventing that capture is a line of code in the firmware. Security researchers have documented the capability and the manufacturers have acknowledged it. Whether the capability was ever exercised in practice is a separate question that the user pressing the button cannot answer from the front of the device. Bloomberg reported in April 2019 that Amazon employed thousands of workers worldwide whose job was to listen to Alexa recordings, and similar contractor review programs were acknowledged by Apple and Google for Siri and Assistant later that year. Subsequent Echo models added a hardware microphone disconnect that physically interrupts the microphone circuit when the mute button is pressed. Press the mute button on a smart speaker without that hardware disconnect and you are pressing the third kind of button in this series.
The cultural and political conditions under which my new book RelationShaping: Field Studies has been published are not the conditions I would have chosen for it. The book is an argument for sustained attention, long apprenticeship, and the slow acquisition of perceptual capacities that operate below the level of declarative description. It enters a culture where the dominant economic logic rewards short attention, fast turnover, and the substitution of automated outputs for the trained reading those outputs are supposed to approximate. I make the case anyway, because the case needs making, and because the people who recognize what the book is describing will recognize it whether the cultural moment is favorable or not.
Continue reading → The Conditions Were Not the Ones I Would Have Chosen
This week I published The Claimed Body: How American Institutions Divided the Human Organism Among Themselves. Fifteen chapters, 559 pages in paperback, 349 in the web edition, a Kindle ebook, and a wraparound cover that took the shape of a parcel map of the body. The book is out on Amazon and through BolesBooks.com. Readers who have followed the constellation for any length of time will recognize the argument before they finish the first chapter. I have been writing toward this book since December of 2006, when I first used these pages to ask a question I did not yet have the vocabulary to answer.
In July 2009, Amazon reached into the Kindle devices of thousands of customers and deleted copies of George Orwell’s 1984 and Animal Farm. The company had discovered that the third-party publisher selling those editions lacked the rights to distribute them in the United States. Amazon issued refunds. Then it erased the books. A high school student in Michigan lost his annotated copy mid-assignment. A class-action lawsuit followed. Amazon’s CEO called the decision “stupid, thoughtless, and painfully out of line with our principles.” The company settled and promised not to do it again, unless a court ordered it, or unless the company determined it was necessary to protect consumers from malicious code, or unless the consumer failed to keep paying.
Continue reading → The Rental Life: What Happens When You Own Nothing and They Own You
The digital landscape of 2026 was supposed to be a golden age for the independent author, a time when the friction between a creative vision and a global audience finally dissolved into a seamless stream of data. We were promised a world where high-quality production was accessible to anyone with a story to tell and the capital to invest in professional craftsmanship. Instead, we have entered the era of the Great Audio Laundering, a sophisticated and predatory systemic failure that is currently hollowing out the marketplace of the Audiobook Creation Exchange. For those of us who operate with integrity, who pay top-tier Price Per Finished Hour rates to ensure our listeners receive a soulful human performance, the current state of ACX is not just a disappointment; it is a calculated insult. We find ourselves in a bizarre technological purgatory where honest creators are flagged for using their own voice-clones while a growing legion of digital miscreants successfully masks synthetic slop as human art, pocketing thousands of dollars in a heist that the platform seems either unable or unwilling to stop.
I did not set out to write a book about technology. I set out to understand an empty shelf. The shelf is at LaGuardia Community College in Long Island City, Queens, mounted on a corridor wall beneath a sign bearing the universal symbol for Deaf access. The shelf once held a TTY, one of those text telephones that gave Deaf people their first access to instantaneous distance communication. The TTY is gone. The smartphone replaced it. The sign is still there, pointing to something that no longer exists. I saw it during a workshop break, in a hallway I had no reason to be in, and for the next several years I could not stop thinking about it.
Continue reading → The God in the Wire: The Book That Began with an Empty Shelf
You must be logged in to post a comment.