Dear diary.

Dear diary I know I haven’t written anything here for a while but there’s been a lot going on in what we call the ‘real world’. And I should mention Facebook because I never realised how, for many people, it is the real world.

In staying away from Facebook, I’d imagined it to be like the many other social networks I have made or joined since the beginning of the internet. I felt I could judge it by technical aspects, but the difference between a small town and New York is not in the shape of buildings. If you have enough people and you influence the mob subtly, everything changes. The machinery itself stays distant, watching and silently moving the streets around to guide the parades. I have learned much about breakfasts, worldwide.

fuckthisshit

The first distressing thing I noticed is a clock that says when people last visited. A simple thing and yet it says you just missed somebody, or they are ‘here’ and ignoring you, or that you yourself are desperately avoiding real work and were ‘here’ only a hour ago. It’s a banal evil. Twitter is much better at letting you dip in and out of the water without splashing others.

Seems the other billion users are fine with being confronted by people about whom they have old mixed feelings. I’ve not had that many relationships (I tend to the long term) so I guess it wasn’t such a feat for FB to have them all lined up in my “friends” apart from the one who died and another that it suggested I might go ahead and add to the list OUCH are you kidding me? Was I so sensitive that I found this utterly horrible, and have become so insensitive now that it doesn’t phase me to see them all there in neat order? Plus they all got fat. They think that too when looking at me.

It’s been instructive to watch Bradbury raging at the machine, trying to be as vile and angry as he could manage at the population of Pleasantville, who just smiled and waved at him as they hosed their lush social lawns. He reached maximum vomit and finally disappeared in a puff of smoke, defeated. This instruction led me to try a different kind of rebellion, a surreal mockery of their breakfasts, but that was just as useless, and so I just write whatever gibberish I feel like writing. Besides I am there to test my 360 degree videos and sell some music and that’s working.

Extruding into the real world, a message on Facebook from somebody I last met more than a decade ago. We met again, we have been meeting, and this has become that purgatory of hope and despair we all know as dating. I haven’t dated since my early 20’s and it makes me feel both young and as confused as I was back then. As there are two people involved I can’t be quite as talkative about this as my bereavement, but can I just say that I look forward to the day when I’m not driving through an endless line of emotional crash barriers.

fat crash test windshield.jpg.653x0_q80_crop-smart

Let’s see, we’ve done death of parents, major financial problem, death of spouse, loss of job, new relationship… hmm, I see Christmas is on the list, let’s do that one for some more points.

7 thoughts on “Dear diary.

  1. I couldn’t survive on Facebook because I saw the majority of people I knew who used to be interested in music, art, socialising, organising descended into shit Auspol memes (seriously, I don’t like the Libs either – but your Quality Discourse / seeing Tony Abbott’s face 100 times a day ain’t gonna do shit), baby/lunch/babylunch photos, spewing hatred towards each other because this one’s just too centre to be left, and this one said something once that could be interpreted as such and such so we must burn them and here’s a sexed up version of my unremarkable life outside the Big Banana etc etc…it’s a bit like “Yer dreams are over now kid, put the feedbag on yer face and get shittin’!”

    …the worst part? I couldn’t help but hit refresh 187923189 times a day, even though not dancing that dance leaves me a lot happier/better adjusted. I think if there’s one way to think the worst of people you might otherwise like then it’s Facebook.

    I spent some time on Twitter and realised that I’d lost most of my social contacts by virtue of not being on social media for a long time. Not 100% convinced anything I have to say can’t be internalised like a Chinese burn anyway. So… probably a good time to get into modular or something.

    Also, I’m pretty sure that the best part of any relationship is the early bit where you convince yourself girls (or whatever a person’s thing is) don’t walk around the house in trackpants, smelling of stale fags with toilet paper stuck to their slippers, yelling “I TOLD YOU TO BUY FUCKING GHERKINS. THESE ARE PICKLED CUCUMBERS!” So just enjoy that 

    • Facebook is there for me to sell my gherkins. I found that more people buy gherkins there. But lord above those fucking political memes, they are the toilet paper of thought. As you say, it’s where your friends go for their minds to die.

      The early part of a romance (if there is one, I would not want to pre-empt anything etc. etc. etc.) is utter fucking torture and I am too old.

      • The missus just bought a record player…I’ll ask her for one of your gherkins’n’shit. That’ll buy you a longy and some eggs and bread, surely. Watching her operate the thing makes me wonder if it was ever all that great but I like CASSETTES and yes I’m aware of how dumb that is.

        I’d really love people to stop crashing into me while on their phones, too, but let’s not get too ranty this early in the day or I’m that guy from the Time Machine yelling at the beautiful livestock while books crumble. I miss out on a LOT by virtue of not being on there, events, gatherings, whatever, but if you don’t love me enough to send me an email or a text, then…it’s worse when you’re 31, people assume you’re a nut for not having one.

        When I play Doctor, I play to win… wow, that reads a lot creepier in print. It’s no comfort to know that as you get older, you’re no wiser to what is or isn’t happening in the intimate, but after reading about tragedy and big changes I hope you get cuddles and cups of your preferred beverage.

  2. If it matter, which I am sure it dont, dont. The dialogue now is no longer human I suppose. Or maybe it is? I am unsure, everyone is unsure. The young people I know are addicted to these things not unlike a junkie. The difference being this thing is an addiction that will not kill them.
    In a sad note however, the flurry of undigestable internet rhetoric probably will unless they have that rich uncle daddy/uncle/gradparent. We have arrived exactly where nature has put us. So cruel, so preyed and bounced in the great cats paws. We the mouse/rabbit.
    Either way, thanks Ellard, I have always studied your words, they are better than mine and showing things I wanted to show but couldnt. The airs are with you.

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