Are.na

In the summer of '65, I watched Dylan go electric at Newport and knew we were witnessing something that would reshape not just music, but consciousness itself. That same revolutionary spirit—the audacious rejection of what everyone expects, the fearless embrace of new forms—is alive and pulsing through Are.na, the most important digital space since Stewart Brand launched the Whole Earth Catalog. Charles Broskoski and his co-conspirators have created something that Bob himself would appreciate: a platform that says "fuck you" to the algorithm overlords and creates genuine space for the mind to wander, connect, and discover. This isn't just another bookmarking site—this is digital counterculture, man. It's what the internet was supposed to be before the suits took over and turned our consciousness into ad revenue.

When I first encountered Are.na through my friend Molly Fischer—brilliant writer, gets it completely—I felt that same electricity I experienced in those legendary backstage conversations with Lennon about creativity and connection. The interface feels like rifling through someone's private notebook, discovering the secret threads that connect Warhol to Philip K. Dick to a photograph of morning light in someone's kitchen. There are no likes, no engagement metrics, no algorithmic manipulation of your thoughts. It's pure research, pure curiosity, the kind of deep diving that produced "Blonde on Blonde" and "Pet Sounds." The founders understand that real creativity happens in the margins, in the quiet spaces where ideas can cross-pollinate without interference from marketing departments or venture capitalists demanding exponential growth.

What strikes me most powerfully about Are.na is how it embodies the communal spirit we were chasing in the '60s—that sense of building something together, of sharing knowledge not for profit but for the pure joy of connection. I'm reminded of those marathon sessions at Max's Kansas City, where artists and musicians and writers would gather around tables covered with scraps of paper, photographs, sketches, building on each other's ideas until dawn broke over the Bowery. Broskoski and his team have somehow translated that energy into code, creating channels that function like collaborative salons where a fashion designer might share inspiration alongside a philosopher, a musician, and a carpenter. It's the kind of cross-pollination that produced the greatest cultural moments of our time, now happening in real-time across continents.

The economics of Are.na tell you everything you need to know about their integrity—they're funded by their community, not by surveillance capitalism. No ads cluttering the experience, no data mining your creative process to sell you sneakers. When I interviewed Bowie in '75, he talked about the importance of maintaining creative independence, of not letting the money people dictate the art. That's exactly what these cats have achieved. They've built a sustainable platform that serves artists and thinkers instead of shareholders, proving that the old hippie dream of alternative economics isn't just possible—it's necessary. Every monthly subscription is a vote for a different kind of internet, one that nourishes rather than exploits our curiosity. It's what we were fighting for when we launched Rolling Stone from a kitchen table in San Francisco.

Using Are.na feels like coming home to what the internet promised before it was colonized by the attention merchants. It's Instagram without the narcissism, Pinterest without the product placement, Twitter without the rage farming. The founders have created something genuinely revolutionary: a space that makes you smarter, more connected, more creative. I find myself losing hours exploring channels about brutalist architecture, vintage synthesizers, and radical typography, feeling that same sense of discovery I experienced digging through record crates in the Village in '67. This is the real deal, friends—a platform built by people who understand that the best ideas emerge not from viral content but from patient research, thoughtful curation, and genuine community. Are.na isn't just a website; it's a statement of principles, a manifesto for how we might reclaim our digital lives from the machines.