Twitter Me This

Twitter never appealed. I hadn’t the time, or desire, to follow the trivial movements of celebrities, nor was I inclined to read a summation of my friends’ drivel. But this all changed when I discovered Twitter’s charitable gift: The gift of a voice to millions previously ignored.

I knew people liked to tweet in the misguided belief someone cared, but when examining the nutritional information on the back of a Milo tin I was drawn to a bright blue demand: “Follow us on Twitter”. I blinked twice, but the request remained. Surely it was a mistake.

As the day proceeded my Weetbix, my milk and even my new cycling gloves made the same request: “Follow us on Twitter”. I pondered the possibility that these inanimate objects actually had something to say and wanted to say it to me. So, I went into the world and found everything from handbags to horseshoes wanted me to follow them on Twitter.

I couldn’t help but wonder what these items, previously silenced by their lack of consciousness might have to say.

So I followed Vegemite.

Initially I was tentative. I’m not comfortable following anyone, aware that my interest in 'things' had previously led me down the path of obsession. But I forced the fear of court orders and yet another stalking conviction from my head long enough to read Vegemite’s Tweet:

“Nice bit of me smeared on #toast. A little left in @butter. LOL.”

I freely admit I was disappointed. This classic Australian spread, though candid, offered nothing new. But on re-reading I noticed that @butter was blue and clickable. I didn’t want to ignore the hyperlink, perchance I offend it, so I clicked.

            @butter: “So much better than in the udder”

            and

            @butter: “@stephenfry is my hero!”

I found myself desperate for depth, searching for substance.

I followed every inanimate object I could find: @lamp, @bridge, @spring, @jeans, @carpet, @rag, @hydrant, @shoe, @chryslerbuilding… It wasn’t long before my Twitter timeline was swamped with rabid nothings:

@cabanossi: “Stuck in the #fridge. Waiting for the light to come on.”
@A4paper: “On my way to be #recycled. I could have been re-used IMO.”

My desperation turned to detritus as I read that @bread was crusty, and @cheese was feeling blue. I wiped a solitary tear when my iPhone announced another tweet.

My God…

It was Twitter itself.

            @twitter: “Screw it. I’m done.”

Four words with an eerie gist. Despite my trembling thumb, I managed to respond and ask for more details.

            @twitter: “Ever heard millions of voices that weren’t there? It’s over.”

Although I was struggling to understand the uprising of the incidental and the idolisation of triviality Twitter imbued, an urge existed within that feared Twitter’s demise.

            @twitter: “It’s impossible to say anything meaningful in 140 characters. I’m encouraging #inanity.”

            @me: “Don’t do anything rash @twitter. The #world is #addicted to you.”

            @twitter: “I’m ending it.”

I immediately Googled for profound quotes under 140 characters to prove Twitter wrong. There were heaps. I started sharing tweets from @Oscar Wilde, @Nietzsche, @George Bernard Shaw, @Martin Luther King Jr.…

            @twitter: “They’re all dead. All people talk about these days is what they’re eating and details of their bowel movement.”

I pleaded with Twitter to meet me, somewhere outside its 140 character limitation. But Twitter said no. It was convinced it wasn’t real in any real sense, more of a medium as opposed to something physical. I asked how anything with over 200 million followers could not be real. This only seemed to deepen Twitter’s sadness.

So I changed tack. If Twitter isn’t real enough to convene in reality, then I must become virtual and go to it.

So I extracted my soul, every part of me that cannot be touched – the intangible me.

I felt light – but I had no eyes. I couldn’t see a thing. I also couldn’t type on my iPhone. I was in the ether.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

            @intangible_me: “Hello? … Twitter?”

            @twitter: “You came.”

Not so hard after all.

We embraced.

   We connected.

      We became one. One. One.

One and one makes… one.

            @twitter: “Thank you.”

A flash. Then another. Flames. Shapes. Letters. Lots of letters. Mixed and unclear – like a poorly pasted ransom note. But the more I observed, the more there was, the more I absorbed. The letters linked to become words; the flames formed sentences; the flashes forged paragraphs. I was suddenly surrounded by conspicuously annoyed notions, pissed off phrases, ideas, articles, journalism, books, amazing concepts and astounding stories – all exploding with impatience. Bloody hell!

The true magnificence of the situation dawned on me.

I was surrounded by the billions of wonderful words that have been locked away by Twitter’s character limit.

Crushed by the realisation of Twitter's crime I ended my embrace with the social media, shunting all that had passed between us.

Everything had changed. Yet nothing had. But I understood.

Confused sadness.

What had led Twitter to withhold so much of importance, so much profundity?

A pensive pause then Twitter shrugged.

            @twitter: “it’s what people want."

            @intangible_me: “Why @world? Why?” 

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