The Algozrhythm Wants Me Dead and I Just Wanted to Make Nordic Music

I woke up with that fake sense of peace — the kind that lasts exactly until you open your feed.

So I opened it.

And there it was, the entire contemporary world staring back at me with LED eyes.Glowing clickbaits, headlines screaming “BREAKING!” even when the news was about a pumpkin with a funny shape, corporations tearing each other apart in million-dollar lawsuits, and — of course — perfectly polished playlists looping soulless, mass-produced tracks from some obscure Siberian Data Farm.

Meanwhile, I was just sitting there with my lukewarm coffee, still believing I could simply summon a Nordic breeze.

That’s all I wanted:a cold pad sighing like an Arctic wind, a lonely flute echoing through ancient stones, a ghost of Skye drifting over imaginary cliffs.

But the feed had other plans.

It looked at me with the arrogance of someone saying,“Oh sweetie… today we’re working with apocalyptic corporate fiction, bot farms, and mystical clickbait thumbnails, okay?”

I swear I saw a channel that didn’t exist yesterday and somehow already had 300,000 views on a 12-second loop of a harp that has definitely never met a real harp.The aesthetic was so immaculate it felt like a personal insult.

It was basically whispering:“Aw, look at you trying to put soul into music… adorable. Meanwhile, here’s my perfect template and zero effort.”

And there, in the corner, were my videos — made with instruments that actually exist in the physical universe — gasping for air with 7 views, 1 like, and one suspicious comment in Cyrillic.

That’s when it hit me.

One of those cynical epiphanies that only appear after 11 a.m., when you’ve already given up on the day but haven’t yet earned the right to go back to bed.

I thought:“What if the algozrhythm actually wants me dead?”

Honestly, that’s exactly how it behaves.A silent creature analyzing my creative attempts with mathematical contempt:“Hm… this video has soul. How unpleasant. Let’s bury it.”

Meanwhile boosting to the stratosphere, a bot-farm loop paired with a thumbnail of a glowing monk holding a bowl of neon-blue enlightenment.

Here’s the tragic part:

I never asked to compete.I just wanted to make Nordic music.

A sad breeze, a gentle drone, that soft feeling of “I’m alone on a mountain negotiating with my destiny.”

But no.The feed decided today is the day for intergalactic battles between corporations, influencers, bots, and esoteric clickbait monks.

And there I was, trying to be a normal human, suddenly wanting to pack a bag and disappear into a cave in Skye — where no algorithm can measure the value of a sigh.

And here’s the tragicomedy:for a few seconds, I genuinely considered it.

I imagined the scene:

Me, sitting at the mouth of a cave, wrapped in a wool blanket, drinking hot tea, listening to real wind — not Wind Pad # 27.

No metrics.

No charts.

No “weekly consistency.”

No thumbnails.

No silent threat of the algozrhythm judging me from afar.Just me and the noise of the living world.

But of course… I turned off my phone, sighed, and went back to work.

Opened Suno, typed “Nordic ambient with wind textures and…”and prayed that the algozrhythm — by some mystical, merciful glitch — wouldn’t bury me this time.

Maybe I should become a bot farm.

But then there’d be no Nordic wind.

And without the wind, nothing makes sense.