I keep thinking about a recent essay in Popula by Danuta Hinc, “Beneath the Black Rocks,” where she writes about her mother’s death — and how she just left. I think of the underground mountain, how it expands towards the center of the earth, how it pushes deep into the waves towards the horizon, andContinue reading “iGoodbye”
Poetweet generates poems (sonnets, rondels, and indrisos) from your tweets. It might take several tries to create one that makes nonsensical sense, if that makes any sense. They are silly, but sometimes you’ll read a line, or a combination of lines, that works in some strange way. Credit card See them — William Carlos Williams For aContinue reading “Poetweet”
Sifting through my digital detritus
some rare moments of light
of the weight
I wish to escape
What we post in these moments of proclamation on a site like Facebook is a byproduct, a projection. Instead, life happens between status updates.
I think of the expiration dates we stamp on produce at the supermarket. How when we place items on shelves, we instantly date their freshness. I think about tweets in the same way: once unleashed for all to see, how long can they sit before they’re irrelevant? Before they’re kicked out of the conversation of now?
Sometimes I envision my Twitter feed as rushing water: my presence is a dam, and each tweet is debris making its way downstream. It’s now a challenge to let information simply flow—to let tweets swim by without me seeing or interacting with them.
But on Twitter, it’s different: favoriting is less about someone else and more about me. The process is about plucking the juicy bits from others’ minds and imaginations and tossing them into a cauldron—a volatile place that mirrors my headspace at any given moment.
I was delighted when our very own fog, @KarlTheFog, was recently listed among TIME magazine’s 140 best Twitter feeds of 2012. I decided it was time to reach out and befriend this unique being, a muse of sorts, that makes San Francisco and the rest of the Bay Area what it is.
For those of us who mingle virtually with avatars in the same room, and who embrace Twitter as meaningful and three-dimensional, I wonder: If one is not interested in Libya, or Wisconsin, or the Superbowl, or Egypt, or Planned Parenthood, or the Grammys, how do we whisper about something else? How do we tweet politely about our day when others are distraught, angry, or in need?
What have I done? Or the current question: what am I doing now? I read the passionate, desperate tweets from brave protesters on my computer screen. I am deeply inspired, I comment on other’s tweets, I share articles on Facebook. I feel like I’m participating.
But, I am not.