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Tycho / on Wed, Apr 23 2008 at 12:00 am

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Le Twittre

Readers asked that Gabriel construct a Twitter to let them know when he was starting up a new broadcast, and in the course of this he was exposed to the sort of thing that Twitter is often used for: identifying which condiment you have recently applied.  We considered a universe where my cohort was addicted to Twitter’s method of consciousness collection, and were horrified by the result.

I can’t keep up with things like Twitter or Facebook for some reason.  I know that I would hate Gardening, and so I don’t begin one, and I think there’s a similar force at work here.  It could constitute the creation, by me, of a system - a dependent system.  I know for a fact that I will only devote myself to it long enough to disappoint people when I quit.  That’s why I never announced it when I started using Twitter, and I’m glad, because I’ve stopped already.  I just installed Twitterific, a perfect expression of the service, and the gardening analogy holds.  It’s all the precision instruments that line the home and garden aisle compressed into a single coordinate: beautiful tools to manage someone else’s life.

It’s not that I don’t get it.  I do.  I didn’t understand the allure until I truly grasped what Twitter’s deep intimacy with SMS allowed - a universally available thought machine, my own Ixian dictatel.  And this with a built in editor, a hundred and forty character cage to excise my worst propensities.  I tried to include them there, in that very sentence: unnecessary poetry and an addiction to verbiage.  A need to analyze my own writing, in writing,  while I am writing it, makes up the third sin.   

I may also have a problem with italics.

The last “tweet” I ever did really explains it all, for me.  I was up in Vancouver, and I put up a message saying so, and what kinds of activities I was engaged in.  After I did it, I heard a voice - my own voice - saying, “Who the fuck do you think you are?  Who are you that you can force your Goddamned minutia on other people, your stupid bullshit, your stone-ground artisanal condiments?  How dare you.  You should be ashamed.”  And I was.

(CW)TB out.

white lines on your mind


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