Cover of The Next Billion Seconds

Theory is good, but a constant diet of theory produces a vaguely unsatisfied feeling. Yes, we say, but what does it mean in practice? Although liberally illustrated with examples, the last six months have been nothing but theory, theory, and more theory: The theory of hyperconnectivity. The theories of hyperdistribution and hypermimesis. The theory of hyperintelligence. The theories of hyperempowerment, hyperochlocracy and hyperpolitics.

That’s a lot of theory.

With the theory out of the way, THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS could have become a deep exploration of the mechanics of hyperpolitics and hyperempowerment – these being the most singular outcomes of hyperconnectivity. While such a digression could prove interesting, it would simply be more theory. Over the next billion seconds, as hyperpolitics becomes a prominent feature of our culture, there will be much more to write about. But not yet. It’s too soon. All of this is still too fresh.

Toward the end of the research for this book, another possibility began to open up, where – intriguingly – all of this theory could be put into practice, tested against real-world situations. THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS open with a story about markets in Kerala, Kenya and Karachi, and it has become clear that all markets everywhere have been fundamentally transformed by hyperconnectivity. Economics has become hypereconomics.

Hypereconomics gives the theory of hyperconnectivity some teeth; businesses which harness hyperconnectivity operationally have already proven to be stellar performers within a decidedly lackluster global economy. This is no accident. Conforming to the way things work now, these ‘hyperbusinesses’ make the most of every opportunity, trampling their competitors, disrupting markets, and generating products and services at a blistering pace.

Although THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS had been planned to span a hundred chapters delivered over the whole of 2012, that work has reached its natural conclusion. Even so, the writing project will continue for the entire year. It’s a pleasure to announce HYPERBUSINESS, the successor and companion volume to THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS.

HYPERBUSINESS explores the fundamental economic forces that have emerged from hyperconnectivity to transform markets, labour and capital. Delivering practical knowledge in weekly installments, and loaded with ‘use cases’, HYPERBUSINESS provides a wealth of ideas and models that businesses need to succeed in a hyperconnected world.

HYPERBUSINESS will launch on the 7th of August, at its own website, http://hyperbusinessbook.com/

THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS is currently at the printers, in a ‘Preview Edition’ strictly limited to 50 copies. Books will be for sale at the Australian Singularity Summit – where I invite you to join me for a talk about what comes after THE NEXT BILLION SECONDS. When the copies have arrived, individually numbered and signed volumes will be available for purchase.

The last six months have been a wonderful journey through a world of ideas, but now it’s time to get our hands dirty, putting all that learning to work. “All knowing is doing, and all doing, knowing.” We know a lot more than we did at the start of the year. It’s time to see what we can do with what we know.


Of course I found out over Twitter. Sitting in my cafe, settling in to write another chapter, I found Mark Scott, Managing Director of the ABC, tweeting about the changes just announced at Fairfax, Australia’s oldest news publisher. Twenty percent of the staff sacked – including a large portion of editorial – plus the transformation of flagship broadsheets Age and Sydney Morning Herald into cheaper-to-produce tabloids, and migration of most web-accessible content behind a metered paywall.

I found out over Twitter because Mark Scott posted the tweet, then half a dozen people I follow retweeted that tweet, and more retweeted those retweets, a Katamari-like snowball of awareness that encompassed nearly my entire tweetstream for a few minutes. This is breaking news in 2012, and how news gets broken: One person, somewhere, sees something and shares it. Once shared the dynamics of salience take over. Everything is shared according to its degree of perceived importance. Something unimportant, or important only to a very few, will not be shared widely. Something of immediate import to 22 million Australians will receive an almost immediate and universal response.

Twelve million Australians walk around with smartphones connected to mobile broadband and wifi, hyperconnected and sharing, hyperdistributing everything that comes their way and catches their fancy. It could be the report of a car accident, sighting of ticket inspectors at the train station, a brush with a television personality, or almost anything else. It happens all the time, everywhere. It’s a completely natural behavior, a form of gossip which has only recently been amplified to global scope by hyperconnectivity.

The national broadsheets (and indeed, newspapers everywhere) consider themselves threatened by the migration of the ‘rivers of gold’ advertising to specialty websites like Seek and Craigslist. They now repent of their decision to offer their news freely through their own websites – realizing that the aggregation of Internet eyeballs provides only a small percentage of the profitability of print, and will place themselves behind a locked door, opened only for a fee.

Newspapers will suddenly become invisible, but Australians will not care, because they will not notice. In the era of hyperconnectivity, the news does not come from newspapers, does not rely on reporters, has no editors, needs no printers or publishers. The news is simply what’s being shared by someone, somewhere. If that sounds banal, well, it is until something like a tsunami or a financial collapse or an unexpected moment of utter tenderness reminds us of the hegemony of salience.

That which is meaningful captures our eye. We share the significant, and if it is important enough, news comes and finds us. Everything else is habit. All of the ritual and regalia surrounding journalism, all of its traditions and practices, however venerable, are now meaningless in the specific even as they approach a universal application.

We may be drowned in observations – the price of the Age of Omniscience is to be aware of too much – but we do not rely a newspaper to tell us what is important, or interesting. We expect that information to come from our relations. They tell us ‘look here’ and we look.

None of this speaks to truth, of verifiable facts from reputable sources. It speaks instead to passion, and this militates against wisdom. Hyperconnectivity and hyperdistribution open the door to demagoguery, but no more than many a newspaper, baying for blood while banging the war drums: “You furnish the pictures, I’ll furnish the war.”

We are left where we started, but without the institutions that supported the amplification of ideas into policies and passions into prejudices. These we do ourselves, using the tool at hand – our mobiles – paired with the power of hyperdistribution. A mobile on its own is not enough. Twitter on its own is not enough. Bring the two together and the hybrid energy released gives us a permanent and growing situational awareness, but – without so much as an afterthought – it also blows down institutions we consider essential both to our democracy and our culture.

We can’t outsource the work of situational awareness to an institution, however constituted. Hyperempowerment means doing things for ourselves, using our extended and extensive capabilities to manage meaning and salience. We each filter for one another, we each forward matters of salience along to one another, and we each find things – because of who and where we are – which demand to be shared. Every one of us is now journalist, editor and publisher, and not in some lofty, theoretical sense, but in our actual, immediate practice. Every time we share something, we make news.

Making news was until recently a protected province, powerful and impregnable. Publishing was an artifact of the information asymmetries commonplace to all power structures before hyperconnectivity. Now hyperempowered, everyone outside the publisher knows more than the publisher, who suffers in a state of a relative ignorance, less aware and less connected to the world than the putative audience.

The hyperempowered can not be served up as an audience; they can only participate. They may choose to watch, but even viewing will not be a passive activity. They will connect and share and learn and act as suits their purpose. There is no institution, anywhere, just the actions of hyperconnected, hyperempowered individuals, hyperdistributing everything salient. This is not publishing, nor journalism, because it is not a job, simply an activity, an awareness of the moment extended across an entire planet now collapsed into a single point of connection. The global village has become the global nucleus.

This is not the end of people telling us what they think we should know, or believe. But it does represent the end of one form of that telling, an artifact of the time before the last half billion seconds. Before we were all connected. A newspaper is disconnected, isolated, and singular. We are none of these things, and find ourselves losing any connection with something that bears so little relation to what we have already become. The newspaper is an antique artifact from a past so recent it looks familiar, yet so alien we now come to wonder how it ever worked at all.