Often when I find myself particularly alienated as I scroll through my Twitter feed, I note that this is not because I disagree with the particular content of what my contemporaries are saying. Quite often, politically, we are very much on the same page. Where we differ is only in our understanding of what we take social media to be good for. I take the expression of substantive political opinions there to be something like the expression of substantive political opinions on, say, Fortnite: an absurd proposition, as whatever the opinions are, they are interrupting the flow of an otherwise engaging video game.
Twitter made possible the best thing that has ever happened to me. The algorithm put me on her feed. My philosophy of social media will forever be shaped by this profound and unbelievable occurence.
Still, I have largely left Twitter. I am weak — I have not the constitution for Twitter. I barely have the constitution for the internet. Lived most of my life addicted to the thing, wired up to various fan forums, subreddits, MMOs, and esports before getting hit with an image of my potential middle-aged self, still logging in first thing end-of-day. At its worst, Twitter diverted my thoughts onto topics based on nothing but the fact that other people were discoursing on them. I caught the bug and desired an audience. For a time I wanted to have takes, incisive takes, beautiful takes that penetrated through that discourse and would bob like an apple into the jaws of some larger account, taking a bite and retweeting.
That’s all fine, for some people — they’ll play the game. On reflection, I am incapable of games like these and wasted a great deal of energy by vaguely attempting to brand my TL. The discourse would invade my palate first thing in the morning. All I could taste for the rest of the day was the salt of whatever was irritating the swarm. I find, away from the feed for a few weeks, I enjoy much more the normal trot of my thoughts. There’s things I think about regularly, abstracts and concretes, without being prompted by a feed.
This is certainly not the case for everyone, as many have developed broad audiences and maintain admirable engagement, but my typical mode of interaction as poster was one of hesitancy. I did not have many takes — because, in truth, I do not want to have takes. Takes are an end of thought. I cannot seem to reliably reach the end of any of my thoughts to produce a take, let alone thoughts imparted to me by someone else’s posts. Lack of nuance is an oft-wielded critique of gamified social platforms, and it is a sharp one — takes converge to witty rhetorics, authoritative dispensations, or the most extreme ends between whatever poles the discourse is likely operating within. Nuance can be hacked out in replies but rarely does it find space in the post itself. I am too full of nuance, I think, and I mean this as reflexive criticsm: My thoughts rarely lead to definite conclusions that are then crystallized into convictions. To bring the feed into this schizoaffective neuroticism is to add far too many vectors; the wind in here becomes unbearable. There is no release, either — as an autodidact by nature, it is not instinctual to post through my thinking; it’s a chore, a self-imposed pressure that I can’t be bothered to hold onto anymore.
Much the same with my convictions. Why post? I cannot suss it out it. I’ve seen arguments for high-volume posting both as a way to challenge yourself and your thinking by soliciting objections from the swarm, and to ‘light the beacon’ and attract like-minded people to your flame. As to the former, as I mentioned being autodidactic means the social is an optional, final step in my learning — and the quantity of people potentially included in that step are countable on one hand. A brutally public forum for my gestating thoughts sits poorly in my stomach.
To the latter, well, I think I have managed to do that, as alluded to in the first lines here. That beacon was lit not first with a post but with an essay, on this dinky little static site. The algorithm delivered me to her, but it was the essay that was the signal to the most like-minded person I’ve ever known. Essays are a medium that agree with me. This platform, this lovely little platform all my own, does not demand authoritativeness or witty rhetorics. It’s a sandbox that’s only slightly more than private (It’s not SEO, metadata was only eventually added for prettier Twitter links, as it were). This is where I essay; this isn’t where I post. I don’t post — I’m not a poster. I lost. Twitter is a game that I’ve little talent for — I quit!