Let me preface this by saying that I have never, ever understood Facebook. I don’t think I ever will.
I don’t even know how I got on it. If I had to do it again, I’d get angry and not do it. Walking in circles in your living room is more productive than using Facebook. By extension, running my computer chair out into a busy road near a blind curve with me in it is probably something I would do before I had to learn how to use it properly. This concern, that I can’t understand how to get you to “see” me, stems from the idea that I would like to write creatively, and would like you to enjoy what I enjoy doing. So I want to figure out how to share my stories to my friends and new friends. Anyone have any idea how to get me off the ground?
There are many problems that come with using something and not knowing how it works. Example:we could abolish half of the economy if we knew how our industrial machines behaved. That is because no one in their right mind would go near them if we really knew what they did. If you as an employee knew the catastrophic harm that EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR COMPANIES WAS DOING TO SOMEONE OR SOMETHING SOMEWHERE, you would not answer your alarm tomorrow, and become a muddy, oily puddle of depression and self-loathing. Thankfully, we often do not know, and your employers pay you for your silence in the matter. That is why you make 20 lousy dollars an hour, which really only amounts to rent, electricity, some modest entertainment for your rapidly growing and active family, and a few decent meals full of nourishing food and some alcohol when you break it down for your forty hours of soul torture per week. That is why you would prefer to bleed from the eyeballs for a month straight if it meant you never had to go to stupid work again, crying in red why god why god, eli lama sabacthani? All because you need to keep quiet about the affair, so you can stave off cell death and whore yourself for these terrible people. Street walking is more noble than straight jobs. At least you know who you’re fucking, at least you know who the benefit goes to, because you know that at least there is no harm done with an orgasm.
What the hell was that? I was trying to discuss why I can’t fucking work Facebook, and I channel a drunk materialist philosopher in the 19th century instead. This is one of the difficulties of being bipolar, and it is also one of the difficulties in following a bipolar’s logic. Because at any moment, I will turn on myself and you, say bad things and bellow like Linda Blair shot up with rat poison.
You never know where your posts are going on Facebook. It’s a mess. You have no idea what winds up on other people’s pages or if they are even winding up there. You have no idea what to say to people you used to know because… everyone and their mother, literally, is on Facebook too, watching your every move like the sick person she really is because you never told her what a fuckup she turned you into. You have co-workers there who do not know what an asshole you truly wish you could be and you are afraid to show them your dark side because people talk! They do! Unemployment is just a “damn” away! Excommunication from your family is right around the corner dare you say “fuck” because some event has finally made you have a genuine feeling.
Facebook is like having the world know you are shitting, and THE POPULATION is cheering you on, handing you extra rolls through the door as if that is any more fun for them than it is for you. And you will never get out of the bathroom, and you will die like Elvis.
I wouldn’t even do this in my college years for a laugh. What we are all doing on Facebook daily is FAR more perverse than saying “fuck” every now and then.
There I go again! I want to know how Facebook works! I want to “share” my stuff. I want to “like”, but I don’t know how to do it. (Most of what I say has a double meaning, just so the slower of you can catch up.) (Aside: word count hit 666 just now, so I know I am making sense.) But I have to be careful what to like. I have to “ask permission” to be a friend. What the fuck kind of maniacal shit is this? What the fuck kind of Nazi mass programming project are we really plugged into when we say things like “I am sipping a coffee” and expect ANYONE to enjoy saying “Me too! I need Starbucks every day.” Like! “Love ya, Nancy! We so share the same head sometimes. I can’t wait for Friday! Gail will be waiting and we can try the new drinks at Fafner’s! Kisses!”
I have to ask permission to listen to you go on like this?
Oh, we’re alike alright. We are alike in the quantity of pain we hiss at each other by just being numb and not saying anything of real import.
I’ve fucked this up again. All I want to know is how to be read by people who I like alot and I’d like to put it on the biggest platform there is. We spend hours on that damn site daily, we should know how to use it. But no one can answer any questions about how Facebook really works, and it is the best way to get noticed- so I am screwed. But you know, the big bitch of it all is that everyone is on Facebook talking to Gail, not trying to read a tiny but pugnacious blog by someone they have known for years who might have some talent.
Don’t take this personal. I’m only saying EXACTLY what is in all of your heads. You all have some talent somewhere, and I bet you are wasting it just like me. Someone knows how to use Facebook. Will you show me? I’d consider myself indebted, and always grateful for your expertise.