“In The Ayer” by Flo Rida
The world is polluted by talent. Too many people with too much of it. Soon no one will stand out, even though they are all great at something. Those who are not great, but can still pull it off pretty good, now “broadcast themselves.” Live. For the whole world to see. In real-time. So we see less of the great things and more of the mediocre stuff. An endless view into hell, which seems to be full of grotesquely composed michael jackson montages that are so painful to endure and so far from what you were actually looking for, that it makes the thought of tuning into the street view of the user’s neighborhood sound appealing.
This started out as a poem, but I went back and changed it. It became a rant, which is what you are reading now, in its present form. But when I wrote it the first time, I did something that started this whole little train of thought. I read some poems by other people. Some poems I “stumbled upon” that were good. Really good. Written by names that I recognized, and that I’m sure others would recognize. That’s how it starts…
Like a lost little sheep, I stumble. I read. And enjoy. And then, I think I’m inspired. Since whatever I write in response goes in my own blog, it can suck all it wants, because in my mind I’m hired! And then I have the choice to not only drag it out forever, but I can also set it up to automatically and oh-so-arrogantly post it to a book I keep with all my little friends. Every single one I’ve ever known. Even the ones that I forgot existed and never even liked. They’re all there. It kinda creeps me out because before I ran into them there, I never thought or cared about them, but now I get to find out what time they wake up every day. And the stupid fucking games they like to play. When they sneeze or cough too! Hell, I can even choose to watch an ad they said they liked enough to share with the world. Why I would do this I can’t figure out. I don’t know what I’m doing there at all, in fact.
Sounds a lot like birds-a-tweeting. Now everyone I was sort of friends with is someone I’d rather hang myself than end up meeting. Okay, so maybe I exaggerate a little. But come on, jesus christ, no one cares that at 12:14 you purchased an amazon kindle. And I can’t imagine who would want to hear what chapter you’re starting on whatever piece of shit you read while using it. This was all kind of cool for a second, but now you are all just grossly abusing it. Starting to look like a bunch of twittering idiots pretending they aren’t. I can’t help but think that publicly sharing your every move and thought just isn’t very smart.
Maybe all your thoughts are just honestly so fucking boring, safe, conventional, harmless and bland that they can be spoon-fed to your lobotomized social circle without a second thought or moment of hesitation. Is that it? You’re just totally fucking zen with the thought of your parents reading your personal thoughts throughout the day, huh? If you’re that much of a drone, I don’t know what to say.
The world is big and vast. And people, like things, can change so fast. But before we had books full of faceless people chronicling their faceless lives, it was still very possible to track a person down. It may have taken more than a few mouse clicks, but I think that’s okay. If they were worth it, you would do it. It’s important here to note the reason behind this urge to reconnect. CURIOSITY. It’s been a long time, a lot of shit has happened to us, and we wonder what kind of shit has happened to them.
But now, we can’t lose anyone even if we want to. You’ll never have to wonder what they have been up to or what roads they have taken. ‘Cause if you think you’re mistaken, you can just browse back a couple pages of status updates. So you join the herd and spread the word. In hopes of finding what’s-his-fuck that you met through so-and-so when you went with them to that one place together that one time that was soooo much fun you can’t remember any of it. So you type their name in and spell it wrong, but luckily they figure out who you meant anyways. And there you have it. As much of their life as they felt the need to share, starting from the date they became ass clowns and joined this circus. So you don’t have to talk to them or even make contact at all, in order to catch up with them. You could decide they have become a total gay wad and they may never even become aware that you found them. Avoiding people you thought you used to like but now can’t stand may be one of the few legitimate advantages to using something like this, all joking aside.
Beyond that, there isn’t much that doesn’t totally suck. Now with any luck, maybe I’ll stop proving my own point by shutting the fuck up. But when I do, I rest assured knowing that in case I forget, I’ll receive a text alert reminding me to “tweet” what time my ranting ceased. And anyone who inexplicably gives a shit can read it and “retweet.”