There has never been a better time to be self-obsessed. There are so many ways of try to get others obsess about that self through the library turned narcissist’s polished mirror of the world wide web. This is why I am taking a break from twitter. What was once the sluice for thoughts I could not volubly share due to my solitary touring lifestyle, a safeguard to prevent the wax in my ears shooting under the pressure of my inner babbling, has been my latest alibi for wasting my time. I am easily distracted by the inconsequential, most of my life has been spent deftly avoiding a sense of achievement, and twitter has become the most recent time robber. Once death takes me by surprise, I won’t have a gravestone, just a twitter feed #justash&boneshards.
What should be throwaway lines become obsessions. “how many times was that RTed?” “what was wrong with that tweet? it remains without response or RT.” “ah good, when I should be attempting sleep or, at the very least, lying still and staring upwards while contemplating my toes, I am instead arguing with someone who has misunderstood my intentions”.
Twitter has become a depressing reminder of the cognitive dissonance that keeps us all presuming we are sane. Here are the critical thinkers who lose all of their faculties when the criticism is of their pet ideologies, the writers I admire who RT people saying they are clever or handsome or hilarious, me excessively reminding people I am playing Aberystwyth, Aberdeen or Leeds or punctuating a sentence into a new and obtuse unintended meaning.
I also like twitter a great deal. I like the communication you can have with audiences and people you admire, this more than makes up for the trolls and sniggerers, the po-faced and the puerile defecators of slurs and taunts.
Now I will place my medicinal ego patch on my forearm and see how long I can stay away. Time to read someone else’s book rather than checking how many people are reading my sentence.
oh internet, why are you so alluring, engrossing and yet so frequently pointless.