On Twittering

What is the point of  “twittering”?

Birds twitter. I don’t know how this is even an option for humans.

Oh, I see. This is a way for people to get noticed by saying something in short bursts. My semiautomatic in Iraq had a burst feature, but we never used it unless we were goofing off at a fort in the United States. Therefore, short bursts are very difficult for me to do. If you’ve seen the backlog of this disaster of a journal, then you already know that I have decided to drop the gun and unload a dictionary into a helpless bystander.

I much prefer to kill with a word, people hate it and it doesn’t go away. It’s like a shoulder shot from my aforementioned gun-you can patch it up but you will NEVER find a way to lose that scar. Believe you me, I have had my share of scars in a desert that had died a thousand years ago; regrettably, all I caught was a foodborne virus and a round of severe dehydration. Oh, I forgot, I also got my ass hit by a random SCUD while I waited in Kuwait for the Air Force and the mechanized brigades to blow the ever-loving shit out of any resistance from the Iraqis, and I can assure you that there was none. The desert was so quiet you couldn’t even hear the sand. Some people threw up, some people shit in their pants when the chemical alarm went off. Me, I held my gas mask on as tight as I could and got under my cot in the hopes that the desert wind would take the gas somewhere else. I asked myself the ultimate question:

Is this how I am going to go out?

There was something strange about the way I reacted to that mental query.

I didn’t prepare for what was going to happen next. Anyone who has had invasive surgery knows that you sure don’t want to go under, but you must in order to live. I think that’s how I looked at it. What was the gas going to do? It was going to kill me without me noticing. Oh, sure, other people would be a bit distressed at the fact that someone was seizing and writhing and tearing his body from his skin, but essentially, my brain would be in too much shock for “me” to notice. Oh, I would be dead all right, but no one would know that I was if they saw me. They would only see me die.

Which is worse? Death or seeing it?

How many of you medical folks have seen a guy go and the pronouncement is death?

I am not a medical person. I should not have seen that. I was not mentally prepared to know that death was forty feet outside my door. I did not train to see death, I was trained to pronounce it.

And now, now that I have left, oh, I have a pronouncement for all of you. But I am not an insurgent. I was a trained killer, now I am a writer, which I have always been. I have decided to inflict pain on people I know, quite a bit.

But you know people! They say “you don’t know me”.

Hah! How could I not know you? You are alive.

Heck, some of my favorites from yesteryears are still at it, kicking asses and taking names while I struggled to find enough synthetic heroin to keep up with the patient load. In a sense, we have all been kicking some ass, but I wonder how many of us are taking names, as if using a roll call to check on students.

Nope. None of you are here in history class. You will get a D until further notice. Some of you can pass.

Hmm. I wonder what I did to frighten students.

Twitter! Yes! Let’s criticize Twitter because no one else has said anything about it. This is not entirely true;  most people are saying a lot about Twitter, about how good it is. But it isn’t, because people get caught being dumb.

Someone help me here: what is the point of Twitter when Facebook exists? When people are on Twitter as well as Facebook, isn’t that double duty for the same thing? Facebook is for short, random sentences of utter bullshit, as is Twitter. People get caught up saying very bad things on Twitter, because the easiest way to look at someone’s thoughts is through their mouth, usually. Twitter is people twittering.

Why do people not get vilified for saying things on Facebook? I think I know why. Because on Facebook, your bullshit is everybody’s news. Now, follow me carefully. If you are going to post on Facebook…why would you want people you “don’t know” to see what you are up to? You say you know someone, which you have because at some point in their periphery they have seen you, but then when you know someone again, you do not want to be friends anymore.

Then you “de-friend” them in public. Alternately, you yell at them for saying something that you care about, and you say someone is ruining your thread. That is how you make an acquaintance, not a friend.

Well, what can I say? You must not know me anymore. You prefer to “hide” their posts so you do not have to see them anymore. This can be very uncomfortable, it’s like pretending you are not someone’s friend anymore. I have done this in high school already. It is bad and I am always to remember what I did to the shunned. They now shun me by not wanting to see me again.

I get my just desserts for this. It doesn’t taste good.

Basically, my point is this: stop twittering on Facebook. That is why they invented Twitter so you could do it there. Facebook, last time I checked, is for friends. Pam Spaulding reminded me of this, because she is always looking for people to put their foot in their mouths on Twitter and then showing Facebook how stupid they are. I raise a cup of tea to her for making me say this, because she likes coffee as far as blogging goes. Pam is the meanest blogger I know. I am merely the meanest person I know, because all I can ever know is how awful I am. None of you will know how bad that feels.

About The Head Seminarian

I went to war, I went to father, I came, I saw, and it is a mess. I wouldn't have it any other way. Shitty people amuse me, people who act like human volcanoes fascinate me like fine art. Life is beautiful, and it is under attack in a manner heretofore unseen in history. I might be writing a blog. Yes, that's all I am doing, now that I think about it. Even I forget sometimes, so we're cool.

Posted on January 16, 2011, in postaday2011 and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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