Twitter O'Clock: The Dark Video

I've been helping some of the teams at our company put together short videos for our semiannual all hands meeting. I decided to throw one in for my department and ended up taking a post from last February, editing into a prose poem, and shooting a ranting performance with a much darker edge.



(By the way, I'm still furiously working on the novel, rewriting a lot as I go. It's up to about 13,000 words so far. It's been a lot of fun so far, although still 90% or so to go. I'll post another excerpt soon.)

Pride, Prejudice and Twitter

A 100 Word Story in Screenplay 

PLAIN DRAWING ROOM

JANE AND MR. DARCY ARE STANDING AT THE LIBRARY.

JANE

The social network isn’t just a medium of self-expression, it calls forth creativity that would not have otherwise been born...

MR DARCY

... and time not otherwise wasted.

(JANE smirks)

JANE

We hack off hunks of ourselves chronically crafting content that is convulsively consumed by hungry hordes viewing voyeuristically from the void!

MR DARCY bumps fists with JANE

MR DARCY

Incorrigible peeping Toms peering from timeless space, hungry ghosts gobbling down the guts we disgorge, zoned out zombies voraciously devouring endless tubs of all you can eat buttered brains, transfixed by the wit and witless wind.

JANE kisses MR DARCY

JANE

You’re feeding off me right now, so don’t forget to wipe your filthy mouth before you finish.

FADE TO BLACK

I'm in Love!

Almost nothing thrills me like passionate lust for a hot new idea. It's as powerful to me as an infatuation with a new lover. My mind is repeatedly drawn to her throughout the day. She influences what I choose to do with my time and colors perception of what I experience. I'm entranced by every new dimension I discover within her and am blind to her faults. I go to sleep with thoughts of her running through my mind and wake to dreams that resonate with her influence. I realize that the limerence will eventually end, but for now, I'm in love!

The Death of My Wit

Reports of the death of my wit have been greatly exaggerated. Well, maybe not greatly. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Audience feedback can be confusing. Like I was really smug about this one dude complementing me on being pithy, until I realized he had a bad lisp. Awkward, right?

There is nothing free of cliché. There is nothing completely clichéd. So I need to keep digging deeper or shut the hell up. I shouldn't take pride in the inspiration behind my art. It's a gift. My wee contribution is just in the doing.

As my Muse says, "Go create something little monkey! Yes! you can. When? Now. Why? Because something inside you is longing to be born." I just hope it's not an alien trying to eat its way out of my liver.

P.S. The image on the left is from the Getty Open Content Collection, an amazing resource of more than 10,000 images from the J. Paul Getty Museum and the Getty Research Institute.

Occupy Ourselves

I took the annual Social Networking Narcissism Test recently, scanning through my last 50 tweets and asking if I’d choose to follow myself based on what I saw. I did okay. But this year I have a higher goal. I want to perfect the art of self-aggrandization masquerading as self-deprecation: Tweets that seem like I'm making fun of you when I'm really making fun of me, while underneath it all actually making fun of you.

It’s interesting how strongly people can respond to those they know only through virtual virtual identities. Idolizing and demonizing are equally delusional, but the pedestal is infinitely more fragile from on top than underneath. Although I can whole-heartedly recommend pseudonymous identity for enhanced creative freedom, I can't make that testimonial for fostering lasting close relationships.

Hiding physical world identity through a pseudonym makes it is possible to expose to the world who we really are inside. In some cases that's a bad idea. Wouldn't it be great if people came with warning labels? Too bad it isn't practical. Not enough surface area. Some people are nervous about the cultural impact of our move to a more virtual life. Prophets of doom since Socrates predicted new tech would change the world as they knew it. They were 100% right. On the change. Not the doom. So don’t be too upset about anything you see on social networks. There have been no deaths directly attributable to tweets. Yet.

No matter how immersed humans are within the virtual world, they are primates at heart. Trans-humanism without some sort of psychologically corrective practice just extends the human ego into new self-absorbed frontiers. Giving people ready access to unlimited information hasn't made them smarter so far; much better at trivia, but certainly no wiser. Information sharing makes consumption feel like creativity. It's not. Play with the paradigm for god's sake!

The social network you are immersed within is more a product of our minds than of the software. Attention is a teleport system that instantly transports our consciousness from place to place. So we should avoid Black Holes. Like this one. Maybe what this brave new world needs is a new revolutionary movement: Occupy Ourselves.

50 Shades of Narcissism

What Lies Behind A Smiley Face?

I'm been working on a picture book to showcase the astonishing depth and diversity of my Twitter stream. The working title is, "50 Shades of Narcissism." Here are some excerpts from the text:

EVERY photo shared on a social network is a Selfie. In fact, every damn tweet is essentially a Selfie. The continuously annoying stream of perpetual Personal Branding truncates the vast wonder of a living being into a shiny little retweetable box. Get a life you fucking zombies and be the mystery you seek to kill.

It’s so sad. Our addiction to social media is rooted in the fear of oblivion which explodes periodically in outbursts of rapid-fire ranting. Although anger channeled through art can be inspiring, anger expressed through social networks is just pathetic. People go ballistic when their perception of reality is challenged. It’s a good thing that it's hard to make a fist when you’re clinging to a delusion. Cognitive dissonance is the root of all evil.

Speaking of evil, I nominate the fear of boredom as the eighth deadly sin. Distraction is today’s drug of choice and I am so off the wagon. “Being under the influence” is a synonym for intoxication because there’s nothing like getting totally shit-faced on a potent idea. Jesus would probably say, “Blessed are the easily amused, for they drink from the social network stream and are inebriated.” I say, a drunk audience is really fucking annoying. Inspiration offers many gifts, but patience is not one of them.

But despite the endless flow of stale memes, animated gifs and Foursquare check-ins, the tweet is an amazing canvas for creativity. To put it in perspective, each biblical "Let There Be" issued in less than 140 characters. Maybe that's why I feel like God. But in all modesty, although I’m considered to be a very creative person, creativity is less something I do than something that does me. (Something, not someone, you pervert.)

Garbage in garbage out is true for computers. But the work of the artistic life is the alchemical transmutation of shit into gold. So when I'm blocked creatively, it's a sign either that I've stopped paying attention to the hidden wonders of life or that I'm really constipated. It’s not surprising that drugs and alcohol have killed so many artists over the years. Prudence recommends the lowest effective dose, but Dr. Muse always prescribes the highest non-lethal option. That said, suffering related to art is more commonly experienced by audiences than artists.

Social media is a prosthetic extroversion organ for introverts. It can either be the artist’s best friend or her undoing. To truly worship the Muse, we must transcribe her every whisper. To be clear, that's transcribe, NOT tweet. Everything may be better when you share it with an audience, but that’s only if you're performing. Get a life! (Don't be offended. I'm talking to myself.)

I've heard a rumor that somewhere between consuming and creating there's a state called "being." I must look into that someday. My online lifestyle is best described as "info-bulimia." Sometimes I feel like I'm just tweeting into the wind. Pitiful, I know. But what does that make my followers?

Some day our distant ancestors will look back at our tweets and laugh their asses off. Assuming civilization hasn’t ended. And people still have asses. Along the way, I predict that Twitter will eventually be seen as a vintage long-form medium and emoticons will replace the alphabet. What lies behind a smiley face?

Do you think you know me?

Do you think you know me? You don't know a writer just because you've read her work. At least not in the biblical sense. Oh well. Obscurity is its own reward. Or was that obscenity? I get confused. Although it’s true that you can’t please everyone, you can’t offend everyone either. Andy Kaufman could, but he's dead.

Given the minuscule amount of information we have to work with, it's no wonder there's a gap between what we believe and the way things are. The human psyche has been tuned by eons of evolution to transform limited experience into an overarching model of reality. So we depend on each other to point out our misconceptions. But don’t expect a thank you. The polar opposite of reality isn't fiction, it's ignorance. Unless you live on the equator.

Where do ideas come from? Beyond the dance of neurons there's a greater mystery. I call her Muse. She calls me in the middle of the night. The secret she whispered is, “Your reach must exceed your grasp, in order for your grasp to transcend your vision.” Unfortunately, I have no fucking idea what that means.

My life is an open book written in a language I don't quite understand. I do know my fatal flaw though, I’d rather be clever than correct. Unfortunately, the benefits of exercise don't apply to exercises in futility. I just have to keep focused on what I’m looking for here. What am I REALLY looking for? Oh shit. How embarrassing. I’m wearing them. There's got to be a new frontier around here somewhere. I must have left it in my other sweater.

I've been romancing an idea for a new video project. The working title is, "Marilyn McLuhan." Sorry. Jokes only I understand are so much funnier to me than jokes only you understand. That said, don’t whine if your audience doesn’t get it. Either your work sucks or they’re ignorant fucks. Or more likely, both. OMG Toto! You're wrong boy. There isn't anyone behind the curtain after all.

What I've Learned About Social Networks This Month

There are 5 types of social network posts:

1. What I'm doing 

2. What I'm thinking

3. What I've made

4. What I've found

5. What I'm selling

But there's a hidden message inside every tweet and blog post we make. It's what we believe it says about us. This one says, "I'm really smart." 

It’s been an interesting month on Twitter. I’ve been loving the Snark vs. Smarm debate. I find Smarm way more irritating. In life, as in medical test results, false-positives do way more harm than good. So when I read, “Please Retweet," what I hear is, "Please Unfollow." I mute therefore you aren't. 

The buzz from participating in a social network comes from brain chemistry. We act as drug delivery mechanisms for each other.  The addictive part is the compulsion to stay alive in the minds of our audience. Can you feel me in there? I feel you. So watch your hands, you perv!

If you remember nothing else, remember this: A tweet of beauty is a joy for 10 seconds. You must RT the change you want to see in the world. And the unSelfied life is not worth living. You can’t step twice in the same social network stream. So be sure to check the bottom of your shoes before you step back inside. Be careful out there!

You can follow me on Twitter, here.

(This post was assembled from some of my December tweets.)

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