Tuesday, October 28, 2008

I'm Back, and I Hate Twitter


A round of applause for Simon Dumenco, who inspired me after an eight month hiatus to write. What outrageous act lifted me from complacency into the painful performance of tapping my fingers into a gunky keyboard? 

Read it here: adage.com

For the past eight months some virus has festered under my skin, attacking my brain - abstract and disgusting. Then Dumenco put it into words. There is something fundamentally wrong in the latest developments of the information age. I've always hated the hyper-activity caused by mass instant access to electronic type, and now I can see the gooey cell: and it's name is Twitter. 

What's wrong with Twitter, besides the financial aspect outlined in Dumenco's article?

Twitter is Yuppie Crack. 

Computers are the pipe and cell phones the flames for white people's addiction. Unable to join society due to their workaholic alienation, they seek escape, some easy, cheap, constant delusion. They Twitter. The twitter a hundred words and call themselves modern. The carve away at grammar, style, analysis, and say they are informed. 

Why hail these lazy idiots as brave riders of a new technological wave? All that's new is not good. Let's say there's a new trend that dyes your shit green. Will we praise those who do so? No, because it's a useless, mindless trend. 

That newspapers and reporters are "grasping" this trend, which is little more than a toilet  for word spewage, shows how desperate the older generation is to connect to us kids and our damn-fangled new contraptions. If news sources want to compete in a larger market, they should focus on more IN-DEPTH coverage, with context and analysis, rather than this shallow notion of constantly being connected. I could repeatedly lick my fingers and stick it into an electrical outlet, but that doesn't make me a scientist. And reporters or citizen journalists or student journalists can repeatedly be witnesses to the news, typing out simplistic sentences to cover the events; but it doesn't actually make it journalism. 

It seems counterintuitive to use blogging, a product of the internet and a favored yuppie hobby, to issue a tirade on another product/hobby. There's a difference, however. Blogging has been accused of showing a journalistic facade while containing only opinion, has been accused of lying, bias, and lazy reporting. All of these are true. BUT, bloggers are also capable of the highest caliber of journalistic integrity. Just like a blank sheet of paper can be used to either create a Tom Clancy novel or a Shakespeare play. Twitter is only capable of one thing.
 
Guess.

Twitter is yuppie crack, the product of an age that pushes  kids to take SAT prep courses by age 10, snort adderall to get through high school, and live your adult years constantly wired to the news, markets, and consumerism. It's an Ultra-Puritan drive for hyper-activity. Gotta be perfect, gotta blog, gotta Tweet, get on the Blackberry, check your email, check your stocks, LIVE IN FEAR WHEN IT ALL FALLS APART. 

The problem is this drives creates single-minded, one-dimensional people. I fear the new age of human beings, the ones that'll make the Diana Christensen character from Network look like a Renaissance woman. 

I know every generation has berated and feared the next for its idiocy and laziness; that's not what I seek to do here. I am drawing a line in the sand:

on our side is the internet, blogging, cell phones, and digital television. On the other side:

Twitter. 


Tuesday, January 8, 2008

New York V. Berlin


New York...

-didn't meant to hurt your feelings, but has to figure out a lot of things right now
-can't commit
-doesn't want to be tied down
-didn't know that was contagious

Berlin...

-is slightly drunk and ready to make out
-is so fucking hot
-just wants you to have a good time
-likes to party
-will still feel like it tomorrow
-wants you to make the first move

Excuses, excuses...


Dear Prof.,

WasRaw cannot come to class today, as she had a seizure, produced from a 10-hour marathon session of watching electro-indie music videos.

As you know, WasRaw had previously spent a semester in Berlin, where extensive clubbing and exposure to electroclash turned her brains into undelicious cereals. She has been in a state of constant deterioration. She struggled with simple mathematics - no longer knowing the value of a hard-day's work.

This led to a series of bad decisions, including a desperate but vain search for a place to "dance" in NYC, and dating several drug dealers for a constant supply. A steady diet of coffee and cigarettes, along with youtube access, lead to over-stimulation.

We all knew it was over when she formed the band DRUGWOLF, an "avant-garde-electro-terrorism-experiment," as she coined it. It did her in.

WasRaw is not kept on a hi-def life support of CSS, The Knife, Justice, and Simian Mobile Disco; just long enough to harvest her organs.

After that, she will be given a cocktail of crushed-up adderall and ecstasy, and let loose on the German capital. It is suspected her soul-less, organ-less body will haunt such death magnets as Kaffee Burger, Cookies, Weekend, Cafe Moskau, Berghan, and Tresor. If she has any sort of sense left, she will abstain from Watergate, and keep in mind Cake is really only a bar.

Pity WasRaw, another victim of the scene

Citizen's Cafe


Who said New York is lonely?
There are so many blank pages here.
So many ink pens.
I would say this place is rather crowded.

***

The old man removed the pipe from his mouth before continuing to berate conventional wisdom, and the Victorian adages that left his reproductive system crooked.

He wanted to be part of the mime show, part of the circus. But you know how parents are and how life takes you, and one day you end up a professor.

Nacht in Munchen


There's music in the back room/
an ugly face behind the bar.
The glasses are dirty/
the women, old.

It's another night in Munich/
I never thought I'd be so alone.

Sans Title

I once had a girl/
she told me she loved me/
but I don't know what love is.

She couldn't keep her shirt on/
I still don't know what love is.

She said,
meet me in Buffalo/
but I've never been to New York.

Monday, January 7, 2008

Mountain Man


I was depressed.

Then I discovered Nick Cave,

and God,

and a stack of old cassettes in the back of the closet.

Now I've forgotten where I placed my book of T.S. Eliot poems.

I want to keep it that way.