UPDATE: Still Nothing

My Twitter Homepage is full of nothing. I consider SPAM nothing. All it is is a bunch of advertisements trying to get me to download nothing songs from nowhere men. So I guess I have found a small semblance of something...Twitter is yet another advertising platform designed to get you in your private life, down home and all up in your biznass. Result: Twitter is something in the vein of a billboard on the roadside of life.

UPDATE: Twitter is Nothing

Nobody cares what you are doing right now. I thought it was bad in Middle/High School when people used AOL Instant Messenger as a social platform to talk to people that you would never face in real life. I mean "sexual" relationships were started, carried out, and ended all using this "social" utility. Then along came texting for people who were too lazy to pick up the phone and make a thirty second phone call and instead let their thumbs to the talking, thus dragging such as conversation over a period of hours. OK, I will admit it comes in handy sometimes when you are in a situation that you can't talk, but wait until after class for fucks sake. As the Internet slowly takes over our lives, Facebook comes into play, combining instant messaging with a social management tool that makes people feel important because they have over three hundred friends who are people that they would never talk to in real life. I boycotted it for as long as I could, but alas, I am a member with limited use.
Maybe I'm just hating on the next new thing, but in the age that the Internet can be carried around in your pocket with you, it's just getting to be too much. Twitter is really nothing. The people that care about what you are doing right now will call you to find out (or god forbid, text you), not check the fucking Internet. I don't want people following me, I'm already paranoid enough, and I certainly don't want some fucking Internet nerd to know that I'm taking a shower. Conjoined with reality television, why don't we all just wear webcams on our heads all the time so that our friends can experience first hand exactly what we're doing?

Anyway, after I post this, I will be going deep undercover and become a Twitter member, just to get the real scoop on this ridiculous craze. Wish me luck and look for me you fucking tweets!

Twitter is Nothing

As far as I can tell, Twitter is absolutely nothing. Is it a stripped down Facebook that is reduced to nothing but the iLike application? Does it achieve anything other than people's desperate attempt to have their name somewhere else on the Internet? Is Twitter anything? I like the Vanessa Carlton song "1,000 Miles," but I don't necessarily want everyone in the known universe (or at least those planetary systems with decent wireless reception) to connect me as a fan, shit, I don't even want my close friends to know that. This will mark my attempt to delve into this concept and research as closely as possible as I can (the Internet is a fifteen-minute bike ride or thirty minute bus ride away) while holding to the above post title as my hypothesis. If you think that Twitter might be something, or even something else, please feel free to respond to this post because after all, Twitter might not be nothing at all.

Inner Monologue

I don't think there are any thoughts in my head. [Yeah, I can see the fallic nature of that statement (that's why its funny). What is the adjective for fallacy anyway?]. Supposedly I'm part of the most intelligent group of sentient beings on this planet but I can't even prove it because I can't even track the thoughts running around in my head. Does anyone else have this problem? Ah, who am I kidding, no one is reading this now. Its all part of the trillions of words that will never be read by anyone spanning around the world and across this web.
Anyway, I think I may have pinpointed the problem: My Inner Monologue.
I have a tendency to talk to myself in my head, which makes it pretty hard to let thousands of processes per second go on. I talk to myself in my own head, in drawn out sentences. I think that's where most of my writing comes from too. I have a tendency to come up with a catch phrase that I really like and either start from there or work it into a work in progress some how. Sometimes it works, most times it doesn't.
To make things worse, music, my number one favorite medium and human invention, is a huge distraction. I went for a walk today and besides the birds chirping, the only music I heard on the whole trip was a passing half-second drifting to my ear from the gas station. The line: "...we've got a solution now." I knew I had heard it somewhere before and I drove me crazy the rest of the walk trying to figure out where it was from. I'm pretty sure I narrowed it down to some britpop band; like Blur or Supergrass or something, but who can be sure (until I hear it again, proving that that stupid little line will remain planted firmly somewhere in the back of my brain for up to the next seventy years). So while this stupid song lived upon the top of my frontal lobe, I was unable to have any other semblances of thought.
Am I supposed to find myself up there in the brain? It's proving to be quite difficult to find myself amongst the other eight billion people on this planet, much less among the 350 million in this country alone. If you see me, let me know, I sure would like to meet that guy and find out just what the hell it is he is doing these days. Thanks for being here to reflect upon.

The Zealot

The Zealot is God’s mailman. He delivers the word no matter the weather, but safety is paramount. He never wears his white robes in the snow and keeps his arms circled in reflective tape while a cycler’s red flashing beacon persists upon his hips. He has no need for an iPod as hip-hop hymns play in his head and he dances to a mental beat. He brandishes his beard with pride, having never shaved since the day he met the lord face to face. Perfect pearly whites are the only things that shine behind the grayed fall of facial hair, and they’re always smiling. Locks of granite hair drip from his brimless churchat bringing the casual observer eye to eye with black rimmed spectacles. His eyes are vacant and see the world only for what it is: a godless and forsaken society that he will be free from come death, and he would like nothing more than to take a few of us down with him (casually of course). He is a sheppard with no sheep.
He shakes his Jesus born cross at the passing traffic and smiles, for he knows. Drivers toot their horns in recognition as he waves them on by. Maybe these people rethink their lives, particularly after they pass the A&W bible quote marquee. Most take it for the spectacle it is and laugh to themselves, only building the hilarity as they approach the Interstate. The Zealot does not see these ones, he is only there for the joy he himself experiences, running a marathon in dance on the side of any street.
Some say he was hit by lightning or dosed himself silly on LSD, but nobody stops to ask unless it be the butt of some inside joke. I don’t stop to ask, I just smile to myself, knowing he is he and I am me and we can be what we want to be.