In Shock: Thoughts About Twitter
I believe in the shared self through writing. It’s a medium that provides an unrivaled openness. I wrote this in hospital, waiting for news on my unwell grandfather who had suffered a stroke. He sadly passed aged 90 and a half less than a week after the event.
The below isn’t finished, but like a short tweet, I don’t think it needs to be a complete piece of prose.
Everything is ridiculously trivial. A vast blanket pulled over you eyes preventing you from seeing the truth. That spilled coffee? You’ll live. The person who bumps into you on the way to work. An accident. The burglary when you were out – things can be replaced. The football matches, the video games, the long nights in the pub.
They all conjoin to make the fabric of existence, but when it comes down to life and death, these trivialities wash away. In a daze you stumble along, unsure on procedure – should you cry, laugh, sit solemn in silence? How about occupy yourself with a book, your mobile phone or your twitter feed.
Pieces of pointless information flying by in the name of social. Anything but. An informational resource, yes, but tangible communication? Try again. It can bring together in ways unseen, but it subtly pulls you apart from the inside
“I’ll see you next week.” Online. Well, you won’t. Even with Skype you’re interacting through a screen, unable to touch. I strug
At this point we were called away by the Doctor and I didn’t finish my thoughts. Thanks for reading.
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