I haven’t been on my blog for a while.
I’ve been consumed like many others by the pointless task of growing Twitter ‘followers’. Well, watching the Blue Bird self destruct at the hand of The Mars King, I’ve also been thinking about the whole weird social media contract we’ve willingly bared our arses to these past years. I joined the Twitsspace convinced that it was what was needed to grow my platform and authority as a ‘writer’ – ahem, more on that later. I even wrote a book about it…don’t worry, I’m not going to shill it here, because it’s only 2 years old, sold a handful of copies and is already monstrously out of date, given the current circumstances around the Mars Kings petulant Twitover. The good parts of the twitching were great. I made some great friends, had some interesting interactions with people I admire. I got a thrill out of being ‘liked’ by my writing and scientific heroes. I carefully curated a timeline. I posted. I flatlined at @ 405 followers. That was it. No matter what I did, that was the magic number the algorithm had bestowed upon me. But that’s ok. Because I don’t give a damn anymore.
So here we are, everyone seems to jumping to Mastodon but to tell you the truth, I’m too fucking old and tired and cranky to be arsed to learn another platform. I setup up an account and just thought, why? What’s it matter really? I’ve seen writer’s I admire publicly humiliate themselves with public fretting about follower count and interaction. What is the point? Really? Now that the Mars King wants to charge $8 for the experience, it seems a bit tawdry. I tried hard for years to get one of those little blue validation ticks. Surely my work and public profile would prove I am who I am? No dear reader, not even close. Now, any fuckknuckle with $8 a month to spare can get the Twit tick. So that’s it for me. I’m out.
So, back to the future. I started blogging back in the days of the Gulf War (version 1). I was outraged enough to vent my spleen in public and found great catharsis in getting my writing mojo out. I found a small tribe of like minded souls who agreed with me. Nowhere near the lofty 405 followers that the Twit algorithm deemed me to be worthy of, but they were my tribe.
Now, I wan’t to get back to just writing what interests me. About my writing, about culture, music, anything really. I want to write once again about what takes MY fancy without worrying about interaction or engagement or yoikes…the serotonin spike of anonymous likes. I want to find my tribe again. So off the twitsphere and back on the blog. Let’s see how this goes.
I’m not going to delete my twitsville profile, yet. I’m still kinda curious to see how it’s all gonna burn down. One thing, I’m going to stop posting on it. Because it’s just been an enormous waste of time for me.
So, sign-up to my musings, or don’t. It’s all good. Just think about why and what and where you’re on the socials. Do you really need your existence validated by an anonymous like and share? What does having hundreds or thousands of social ‘followers’ actually even mean? It’s a bit creepy when you think about it. Be nice to each other. Be kind. Spread joy. Above all, don’t be a cunt.
Over and out