new writing: are you being sarcastic, or just weird?
an extract from my impending essay/Beat novella:
‘“Twitter? Now don’t get me started on that fucking shit…”
The Social Networking Pheno-mena-mena-doo-doo-do-do-do
(and the time we waste on it, Muppets that we are)’
catchy title, eh?
it’s probably best to stop here if you’ve got a short attention span, or have any semblance of taste and decency remaining…
…and, I'd like to make it clear to all and sundry that if I come across as a cynical, sarcastic, haughty, potty-mouthed, smart-arse know-it-all in this medium, well, that's because I am...
‘So, please don’t ‘Like’ any of my posts, it will only encourage me during periods of boredom to do more…’
‘I KNOW…hil-larious…’
I couldn’t have put it better myself…
anyway, I suppose if you’re going to use this medium, it’s probably best to get buck naked and jump right in there, so to speak, embrace it like a family member, disgraced in a sordid political scandal, just released from the local leper colony…
but, it’s all so shamelessly self-promotional, isn’t it, collecting associations from the flimsiest of connections, people you can, or could in the past, barely tolerate –
‘Who the FUCK cares?’
- in a pitiful, misguided attempt at making yourself feel relevant, worthwhile, accepted?
‘Look, you self-aggrandising social media whore…are you being sarcastic, or just weird? Because I just can't tell…’
‘Thank you,’ I smiled my reply…
something akin, perhaps, to sidling up to some minor celebrity on your first day at rehab, naked from the waist down, eyebrows drawn on with magic marker and an unsteady hand, face puffy from crying…you’ve thoughtfully brought a big box of belly button fluff, nail clippings and other assorted excreta and, while stirring the contents of the box vigorously with an unfeasibly large wooden pan handle, you scream in their face –
‘READ my pointless WORDS!
LOOK at my dirty PICTURES!
LISTEN to my awful MUSIC!
FUUUCKING LOOOOVE MEEEEEEEE!’
- over and over and over again…
surreptitiously at first, you hasten, inevitably, into a brazen masturbation frenzy…all the while, in full view of your horrified family, friends, and the massed ranks of the world’s media…you fall to your knees, spent, and revel in a strange sensation, a potent, intoxicating mixture of self-loathing and pride…
yes…a potent, intoxicating mixture of self-loathing and pride…
yes, like pissing in the face of a beloved, perhaps recently deceased, member of the Royal Family…so utterly compelling, but oh so completely unnecessary –
‘Are you fucking SERIOUS?’
- yes, it’s exactly like that, yes, yes, yes…only without the unwelcome Police attention and resultant custodial sentence…
‘Take me away Officer, I can’t stand this a moment longer…take me away…I’m withdrawing from the human race…’
fin
‘“Twitter? Now don’t get me started on that fucking shit…”
The Social Networking Pheno-mena-mena-doo-doo-do-do-do
(and the time we waste on it, Muppets that we are)’
catchy title, eh?
it’s probably best to stop here if you’ve got a short attention span, or have any semblance of taste and decency remaining…
…and, I'd like to make it clear to all and sundry that if I come across as a cynical, sarcastic, haughty, potty-mouthed, smart-arse know-it-all in this medium, well, that's because I am...
‘So, please don’t ‘Like’ any of my posts, it will only encourage me during periods of boredom to do more…’
‘I KNOW…hil-larious…’
I couldn’t have put it better myself…
anyway, I suppose if you’re going to use this medium, it’s probably best to get buck naked and jump right in there, so to speak, embrace it like a family member, disgraced in a sordid political scandal, just released from the local leper colony…
but, it’s all so shamelessly self-promotional, isn’t it, collecting associations from the flimsiest of connections, people you can, or could in the past, barely tolerate –
‘Who the FUCK cares?’
- in a pitiful, misguided attempt at making yourself feel relevant, worthwhile, accepted?
‘Look, you self-aggrandising social media whore…are you being sarcastic, or just weird? Because I just can't tell…’
‘Thank you,’ I smiled my reply…
something akin, perhaps, to sidling up to some minor celebrity on your first day at rehab, naked from the waist down, eyebrows drawn on with magic marker and an unsteady hand, face puffy from crying…you’ve thoughtfully brought a big box of belly button fluff, nail clippings and other assorted excreta and, while stirring the contents of the box vigorously with an unfeasibly large wooden pan handle, you scream in their face –
‘READ my pointless WORDS!
LOOK at my dirty PICTURES!
LISTEN to my awful MUSIC!
FUUUCKING LOOOOVE MEEEEEEEE!’
- over and over and over again…
surreptitiously at first, you hasten, inevitably, into a brazen masturbation frenzy…all the while, in full view of your horrified family, friends, and the massed ranks of the world’s media…you fall to your knees, spent, and revel in a strange sensation, a potent, intoxicating mixture of self-loathing and pride…
yes…a potent, intoxicating mixture of self-loathing and pride…
yes, like pissing in the face of a beloved, perhaps recently deceased, member of the Royal Family…so utterly compelling, but oh so completely unnecessary –
‘Are you fucking SERIOUS?’
- yes, it’s exactly like that, yes, yes, yes…only without the unwelcome Police attention and resultant custodial sentence…
‘Take me away Officer, I can’t stand this a moment longer…take me away…I’m withdrawing from the human race…’
fin
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