Flow, Stock and the Open Web

Fifteen years ago, one of my favorite writers Robin Sloan wrote about the concept of “stock and flow” as they relate to digital media. His metaphor, borrowed from economics, distinguished between the ephemeral stream of updates (flow) and the durable lasting content (stock) that builds value over time. I stumbled upon this post again this week, probably through a bit of Mastodon flow, and reading it among today’s modern context feels both prescient and incomplete – prescient because Sloan astutely identifies the emerging tension between immediate engagement and lasting value, and incomplete in that he couldn’t have predicted how dramatically over the coming decade the pendulum would swing toward flow.

The intervening years have seen the rise and dominance of algorithms, short-form video, and endless streams of ephemeral content. These are the feeds we come to know and love1 . We’ve optimized our digital lives for flow to an extent that would have been hard to imagine in 2010. The “treadmill” Sloan described has become a high-speed conveyor belt, perpetually delivering new content while whisking away anything more than a few hours old.

I’ve noticed something interesting happening, though. As our digital lives have become increasingly dominated by flow, there seems to be a growing hunger for stock – for content with permanence, depth, and lasting value. You can see it. You can feel it. I don’t think it’s just a notion of nostalgia from elder millennials like myself; it’s an emerging & collective awareness that the endless streams often leave us feeling empty and disconnected from what matters. Even my Gen-Z kids tell me this.

In my mind, the open web is the natural home for stock media. While social platforms optimize for ’engagement’ (read: time spent scrolling) and viral spread, the open IndieWeb creates space for content that develops and appreciates over time. Take this post as an example. It’s referencing a blog post from 15 years ago! When you own your platform, you’re free from the tyranny of flow. Your words can find their audience through myriad entry points, through intentional discovery, through the slow build of genuine connection rather than viral mechanics.

This matters because stock isn’t just about content strategy – it’s about how we think, how we create, and how we build understanding over time. When everything is flow, we lose the ability to develop ideas fully, to let thoughts mature and evolve. We sacrifice depth for immediacy, wisdom for novelty.

The open web provides the much needed infrastructure for digital permanence. Through evergreen protocols like hyperlinks and technologies like RSS, we can create connections between pieces of stock content that grow stronger over time. Unlike social platforms where old content effectively disappears, the open web allows ideas to find new audiences months or years after publication.

Now, we can’t reject flow entirely. As Sloan noted as early as 2010, we need both. But these times call for us to consciously rebalance. We need to recognize that some ideas need time to develop and that some conversations are worth having at a human pace rather than an algorithmic one.

I’ve personally experienced this rebalancing since moving my writing to this self-hosted corner of the internet. Free from the pressure to feed the algorithm, I find myself thinking differently about what I create. I’m more willing to let ideas develop over time, to revisit and refine thoughts, to build a body of work that has coherence and permanence.

The economics of stock and flow have shifted too. While flow still dominates attention economy, I think stock increasingly drives genuine interest and lasting value. In a world of generative AI, thoughtful, accurate, nuanced and human-created stock content has (and will) become more valuable, not less.

I believe we are entering a renaissance of stock media on the open web. As more people grow weary of the endless scroll, I think they’ll seek out spaces for deeper engagement and lasting connection. The infrastructure exists – through the basic building blocks of the open web. What’s needed now is a shift in how we think about creation and consumption.

Sloan was right about the importance of balancing stock and flow. What he couldn’t have predicted was how corporate flow would have evolved over those years. He also couldn’t have predicted how the open web would persist over the decades as a natural home for stock, providing both the technical infrastructure and the cultural space for media that endures.

  1. And by ’love’ I actually mean ‘hate.’ ↩︎

Super cool! Counterforce has published a punk rock guide to Mastodon & the Fediverse. IMO the Fedi is so tightly aligned to the punk / hardcore / underground ethos and I’m surprised there isn’t more of a punk community established. Maybe this is a start.

You can’t post your way out of fascism, writes Janus Rose over at 404 Media:

We don’t need any more irony-poisoned hot takes or cathartic, irreverent snark. We need to collectively decide what kind of world we actually do want, and what we’re willing to do to achieve it.

This is easier said than done. But it’s the blunt truth, and it needs to be shouted, shared and lived.

Ya Gotta Keep 'em Separated

Props to the folx over at The Iconfactory on the release of Tapestry, a unified feed reader that brings together open social platforms like Mastodon and Bluesky, with other sources like RSS and YouTube. The concept of a unified reader like this is interesting to me, but after trying Tapestry, I think I want my social feeds quarantined from my blog/website/RSS feeds.

Simply put: I read Mastodon for a completely different reason than I read RSS.

In Mastodon, I want to favorite, boost and reply to friends, learn what they’re up to and what they think about things. This is done in short order. I’m usually in and out quickly, never spending more than a few minutes cruising the feed. When I come upon an interesting link that requires more time and attention to read, I save it for later in my feed reader of choice Reeder.

Conversely, when I open Reeder, it’s usually for a session. I do this once in the morning and once at night. Blog posts and website articles by nature are longer than social posts, so reading RSS is a conscious decision when I have the capacity to dedicate to longer reading. Even thought Reeder has the ability to unite RSS with open social feeds, I do not utilize this feature.

For me, social feeds are for interaction, while RSS feeds are for deep thinking.

Again, kudos to Tapestry and Reeder for experimenting with feed unification. Perhaps as the feature set grows in each app I will consider migrating over, but for now I will keep my feeds separated.

Affirmations: Be Here Now

This post is part of the February 2025 Indieweb Carnival, where Joe Crawford invited us to share personal affirmations - the sayings and mantras that help guide our lives.

Be Here Now. Three simple words that have carried me through the darkest valleys and highest peaks, both literally and figuratively. This mantra, popularized by Ram Dass, has been my companion through unthinkable loss, through ultra-distance runs, and increasingly, through our algorithm-infused world.

I first encountered these words during a period of profound grief, when the weight of loss made both past and future unbearable. The past was too painful to revisit, the future too uncertain to contemplate. Be Here Now became my anchor, a reminder that this moment - just this one - was all I needed to handle. It didn’t make the grief disappear, but it made it manageable, one present moment at a time.

Years later, I found myself returning to these words in a different context: ultra-running. When you’re 40 miles into an ultra, your mind becomes your greatest adversary. It wants to complain about every ache, project how much worse they’ll feel in 10 miles, replay every training run you missed, question every life choice that led you here. But none of that serves you. The only thing that matters is this stride, this breath, this moment. Putting one foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward. Be Here Now. The mantra becomes a rhythm, a meditation in motion, carrying you through the pain cave one step at a time.

Lately, I’ve found new meaning in these words as I navigate what the internet has become. The constant pull of notifications, the endless doomscrolling, the quantified metrics of our lives - they all conspire to pull us away from the present moment. They fragment our attention and scatter our consciousness, leaving us somehow both overstimulated and undernourished.

This led me to make significant changes: deleting corporate social media accounts, self-hosting my online presence, removing my fitness tracker after nearly two decades. Each change was a choice to Be Here Now, to experience life directly rather than through the lens of algorithms and analytics.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m sharing these thoughts on a digital platform. But there’s a profound difference between using technology mindfully and letting it use us. The IndieWeb movement itself embodies this distinction - it’s about being present and intentional in our digital lives, rather than passively consuming the algorithmic firehose.

Be Here Now isn’t about rejecting the past or ignoring the future. It’s about recognizing that the present moment is where life actually happens, where we have the power to act, to heal, and to grow. Whether I’m processing grief, pushing through physical or mental limits, or choosing how to engage with technology, these three words remind me to return to the only moment I can truly inhabit.

In a world that increasingly pulls our attention in a thousand directions, being here now is both a challenge and a radical act of self-preservation. It’s an affirmation I return to daily, a compass that always points to this moment, this breath, this now.

Is anyone else getting soap opera vibes from all this DeepSeek / OpenAI drama? Time to update my muted terms list…

Blog Questions Challenge

I saw this challenge making the rounds last week and thought I’d give it a go. Back in the day, challenges like this were really fun and helped draw connections between interesting corners of the open web. It’s also a productive exercise for me to reflect on blogging as a practice. From what I can discern, we have Ava to thank for kicking this off…so, thanks! Here we go…

Why did you start blogging in the first place?

I came of age during the dawn of the internet in the mid-1990s. At that time the web was like the Wild West. There was an energy about it. It was fresh and new and it was bringing people together in meaningful ways. I wanted so badly to understand how it worked, so I dove deep under the hood of my favorite sites to learn how semantic code generated pages.

Onramps to the Open Web

Jared White articulating quite clearly the biggest obstacle facing the Open Web:

…never before has The Indie Web been such a glorious platform for building anything you might dream of and sharing it with anyone you like, yet never before has The Corporate Web been so awful and damaging to the body politic. I wish I knew how to deal with this cognitive dissonance, and how to convey to mere mortals out there that the The Indie Web is alive and kicking, and that The Corporate Web doesn’t have to define their experience of being online.

The Open Web has a messaging and onramp problem. There’s no shortage of brilliant technical and engineering minds working on it, but where are the designers and product strategists who might craft the ’easy enough’ onramps for those who don’t really give a shit about ActivityPub and just want a healthy, constructive and friendly place to share online? Who is communicating the value of the Open Web in compelling ways and using language non-nerds can comprehend?

The recent growth of Bluesky is proof of a collective appetite for something more. Full disclosure, I don’t think Bluesky is the answer, but they definitely understand the onboarding assignment of making the experience easy without introducing dark patterns (yet).

The foundation for a scalable Open Web is here, thanks to the dedication and great work of the developer community that’s gotten us to this point. But to truly realize the potential and impact a universal open web, we need to augment the engineering focus with two additional legs of the stool: design and product. Only then will we be able to understand the problems and needs of the users who aren’t yet here and build the open, accessible and welcoming web of the future.

Layers of Interpretation

In the shifting landscape of our digital commons, the words the leaders of these corporate social platforms use have become shapeshifters, their meanings bending like light through murky water. As we witness the transformation of our shared online spaces, I find myself creating a new dictionary for these times—a translation guide for what remains unsaid.

When they say “free expression,” I want you to hear “the end of community care.”

When they say “algorithmic neutrality,” I want you to hear “the automation of amplified harm.”

When they say “marketplace of ideas,” I want you to hear “a colosseum where truth wrestles with virality.”

When they say “content-neutral platform,” I want you to hear “we’ve chosen profit over protection.”

When they say “open dialogue,” I want you to hear “we’ve removed the guardrails.”

When they say “reduced content moderation,” I want you to hear “we’ve dismissed the digital gardeners.”

When they say “user empowerment,” I want you to hear “you’re on your own now.”

When they say “engagement metrics,” I want you to hear “behavior we can monetize.”

When they say “democratic discourse,” I want you to hear “the loudest voices win.”

When they say “digital town square,” I want you to hear “unmoderated chaos.”

These aren’t just semantic games—they’re the architecture of our new digital reality. Each phrase is another layer between what we’re told and what we experience, between the promise of connection and the practice of division.

I find myself returning to the early dreams of the web, when we imagined digital spaces as gardens to be tended, not markets to be exploited. It’s time to reclaim not just our platforms, but our very language—to speak plainly about what we’re building, what we’re breaking, and what we’re willing to sacrifice in the name of unconstrained growth.

The web I want to inhabit still has gardeners. It still has carpenters and caretakers. It still believes in the power of boundaries to create safety, and the strength of moderation to cultivate community. Most importantly, it still understands that true freedom comes not from the absence of constraints, but from the presence of care.

my general rule of thumb is to avoid use of any social platform that’s run by an oligarch resembling either 1) a fraggle, or 2) a toad

I Can Haz Your Copyright?

Even though I’m curious about the potential for AI and exploring small language models (SLMs) at work, it’s stories like Noor Al-Sibai’s reporting for Futurism’s The Byte that give me pause and feed my internal conflict:

OpenAI is begging the British Parliament to allow it to use copyrighted works because it’s supposedly “impossible” for the company to train its artificial intelligence models — and continue growing its multi-billion-dollar business — without them.

To me, this is simple. OpenAI is correct. They can’t continue their growth trajectory without exploiting books, blogs, feeds, websites, images and other content that’s under copyright. This is a flaw in their business model. The machine is hungry and needs to be fed. Public domain content will satiate its hunger for only so long.

But copyright is copyright, and copyrighted works should only be consumed and distributed with the consent of the copyright holder. My advice for folx writing and publishing online? Update your robots.txt files to prohibit crawling from known AI origins. If you need an example, here’s mine.

I’m an techno-optimist. I think we can figure out how to responsibly and ethically leverage AI in our lives. Perhaps the key to doing this is to slow down, and scale down. Take a slow web approach to it. That’s why SLMs are so interesting to me, especially in my specific professional use cases. You can be thoughtful with the application and actively monitor the impact.

I’m interested in your thoughts. Do you think there is any hope for a measured and throttled AI future? Or is this 10x-mindset train already barreling down the tracks toward dystopia?

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing an entire society that the “For You” feed was actually for them.

Running Away from Quantified Self

A man's arm with a bare wrist next to an COROS watch

After two decades of religiously tracking every step, every mile, and every heartbeat, I’ve decided to take off my fitness tracker. My health metrics tracking journey began in the aughts with a Jawbone (remember those?), then evolved to a Fitbit, an early generation Apple Watch, and then most recently to a COROS Apex as I got more serious in my endurance pursuits. The journey has been enlightening, but perhaps not in the way these devices’ makers intended.

For nearly 20 years, I’ve been a dedicated member of the quantified self movement. Most mornings began with checking my sleep quality, each run or ride was meticulously recorded and posted to Strava, and most days ended with a review of my stats. The progression through devices—from the simple step counting of early Fitbits to the comprehensive health suite of the Apple Watch and the endurance-focused metrics of the COROS—reflected my growing appetite for more data, more insights, and more control.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

I started noticing how the numbers were shaping my behavior, and not always for the better. A relaxed-pace run wasn’t just a chance to enjoy fresh air and sunshine—it was a disappointing pace stat. A rest day wasn’t a conscious choice for recovery—it was an unfortunate break in my activity streak. The quantified self had become my qualified self, where the value of my activities was determined by what my watch thought about them.

The irony wasn’t lost on me: tools that were supposed to help me become more in tune with my body had actually created a layer of digital abstraction between me and my physical experience. I was no longer running to feel good, riding for the freedom and wind in my face or climbing for enjoyment—I was doing these things to feed the algorithms.

This realization led me to question the role of tracking in my life. Was I measuring to help me improve or was I becoming digitally dependent on the metrics? The constant stream of data had overshadowed the simple joy of movement, the natural rhythm of rest and activity, and the intuitive understanding of my body’s needs.

The decision to stop tracking wasn’t easy. My COROS was a loyal companion. It was with me through countless miles, crazy adventures, my first ultra, and with each new bouldering grade. It witnessed my growth as a runner, cyclist and climber, and provided the data that fueled my progress. But sometimes, progress means letting go of the tools that got you here.

Now, when I head out for a run, it’s just me, my breath, and the trail ahead. There’s no GPS track being drawn, no pace alerts buzzing on my wrist, no stats to upload and analyze afterward. It feels both foreign and familiar—like running to a home you’d forgotten you had.

I don’t think this is a total rejection of tracking technology or the quantified self movement. These tools can be incredibly valuable, especially when working toward specific goals or managing health conditions. But perhaps their greatest value lies in teaching us to eventually listen to ourselves again.

As I adjust to this new, untracked existence, I’m rediscovering something that no algorithm could quantify: the simple pleasure of moving through the world, unchanged by sensors and unmediated by screens. It turns out that sometimes the best way to move forward is to leave the numbers behind.

Jason Koebler – focusing on platform independence – for Nieman Lab’s Predictions for Journalism in 2025:

Media companies that replace their writers with AI, continue to chase traffic by doing the same articles everyone else is doing, and focus heavily on appeasing social media platforms will continue to struggle. Media companies that invest in quality journalism that is not easily replicated by machines and who treat their audience with respect by giving them articles, video, and podcasts that respect their time and humanity will earn readers’ trust and subscriptions.

What happens when an AI company goes out of business and the robots they built to help autistic children begin to go permanently offline? Parents are forced to have truly modern conversations about death with their kids.

I hate linking out to Substack, but Kyle Chayka’s New Rules for Media are fantastic. One of my favs:

  1. The traditional metrics of success don’t matter. Don’t rely on the old regime to recognize the achievements or potential of the emerging one.

Hot tip: If you hate Substack too, you can subscribe to any Substack newsletter via RSS.

Your Bluesky Posts Are Probably In A Bunch of Datasets Now (via 404 Media)

This is an insightful perspective from Benjamin Sandofsky that’s part history lesson about dying networks and part analysis of the three-way race between Bluesky, Mastodon and Threads to pick up the text-based social network baton.

For the love of God, make your own website:

I have my own website, and it is mine, and I get to own it completely. I hope someday soon I can visit your website.

I love this thoughtful take and internet history lesson from Gita Jackson at Aftermath.

This is crazy. 404 Media is reporting that X has filed a legal complaint against The Onion’s purchase of InfoWars, claiming they have ownership of the InfoWars X accounts. A great reminder that unless it’s decentralized and portable, you don’t own anything you post online.

John Gruber piling on the anti-Substack thread by focusing on the platform’s homogeneity & lock-in:

I really don’t get why any writer trying to establish themselves independently would farm out their own brand this way. It’s the illusion of independence.

A Shield Against Enshittification

I’ve noticed a lot of talk about hyperlinks lately. A post from Nilay Patel initially caught my attention yesterday and it was followed by a wonderful article from Anil Dash about the ways corporate social media platforms like Substack work hard to co-opt open protocols and keep users inside their respective walled gardens. Key to his argument is the fact that people are now referring to their email newsletters as “their Substacks.” Dash writes:

We constrain our imaginations when we subordinate our creations to names owned by fascist tycoons. Imagine the author of a book telling people to “read my Amazon”. A great director trying to promote their film by saying “click on my Max”. That’s how much they’ve pickled your brain when you refer to your own work and your own voice within the context of their walled garden. There is no such thing as “my Substack”, there is only your writing, and a forever fight against the world of pure enshittification.

Email is email. Writing is writing. Personally, I’ve worked hard to establish a POSSE approach to publishing my thoughts on the internet. The way it works is this: I publish everything on this website, where I own the domain and the content that lives here, and then I choose how and where that content gets delivered. You like email newsletters? Cool, that’s an option. Are you old school and want to subscribe via RSS? Yup. Do you spend your time on Mastodon or Bluesky? Posts hit those platforms as well. I even do this for shorter, in the moment posts that appear as if I’m posting from within the platform itself. This way of working is my attempt to shield myself from the eventual enshittification that is inevitable on any platform that needs to create a return for investors1.

A lot of folks are really enjoying their time on Bluesky right now. They’re harkening back to their glory days of early Twitter when the firehose still existed, reverse chron was the only feed, influencers hadn’t been born yet, and the social web was like the Wild West. I’ll admit, I am caught up in the nostalgia a bit too.

Bluesky is is a corporation, however, and it’s raising a lot of money from private equity. Eventually the platform will need to generate revenue and there are really only a few ways to do that in the context of social media. All of those ways will typically make platforms worse for users.

Hopefully I’m wrong and Bluesky becomes a social platform that honors its users at scale. Let’s enjoy it while it lasts, but I’m not holding my breath. If and when enshittification does come to Bluesky, and there is a mass exodus to the next big social platform, at least the POSSE philosophy will have served me well.

  1. This is why my heart still belongs to Mastodon. It’s completely decentralized and servers are maintained by individual admins. This environment does bring onboarding, usability and discovery challenges, however. ↩︎

Quantified self is a myth. Aspire to be equal parts science and soul. Thanks for attending my TED Talk.

Manuel Moreale thinks we should celebrate smallness. I agree.

Slow Web Now

I’ve spent the last week detached and disconnected from political discourse. This is different for me. I’m normally extremely pugged in and engaged but I just can’t follow this train wreck of a transition. I can’t watch the news. The podcasts in my queue remain unheard. My initially-deactivated accounts on corporate social media platforms are now officially nuked. I’ve muted certain words on Mastodon to keep the one remaining feed I actively monitor friendly and chill.

Several friends and family members have asked me in recent days what I think about the election results. The truth is that I am not yet ready or able to talk about it. I just can’t go there. I realize how privileged that is. I realize how others, who actively live the fight and endure assaults on their rights each day, don’t have this luxury.

Mentally, I think this is the only way I’m going to be able to handle what I fear is just going to get worse.

And while I hope I may find the strength to tap back in and rejoin the fight someday, I’ve taken comfort in this slower life – and this slower web – recently. Without the constant onslaught of negativity and endless doomscrolling, I’ve found time and space to write more. I’ve been able to connect with thoughts in more substantive and reflective ways than I typically do. Of course I’m getting out on the trails, but I’ve also started a strength training program. I finished a book. And started another. I’ve been binging The Diplomat, which while political, lands far enough outside of reality to feel like fiction.

I’m also rediscovering at a deeper level the personal independent web that exists below the corporate surface of the internet. This website is emblematic of it. Thousands of other homegrown websites exchange hyperlinks to form it. Some of my favorite discoveries lately are Erin Kissane’s new Wreckage/Salvage, Naz Hamid’s wonderful site, Ben Pobjoy’s newsletter chronicling his epic adventures on foot, The Shrediverse, Cory Dransfeldt’s wonderfully built and artisanal corner of the web, Craig Mod’s Roden and Ridgeline, Robin Sloan, and of course indieweb staples like The Marginalian and Kottke.

All of this is convincing me to build out a blogroll-type list here. Maybe I will. But for now I’ll continue to bask in and admire the slowness and thoughtfulness of the hand-crafted web. The slow web. If you have a site or newsletter or post somewhere free from surveillance capitalism, hit me up. I’d love to check out your stuff.