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Wednesday, July 03, 2019

Death by Twitter

In one of my posts, I called Twitter a shouting jungle. Just imagine a Brazilian forest full of parrots, screaming nonstop, driven by desperate hope to get some attention.
 The balance between being followed and following creates noisy nodes of untidy nests, shouting from one river bank to another:
“Do you follow me?”
 “Yes, I follow you.”
 “Do you have something important to say?”
 “Not really.”
 “Why not?”
 “I am afraid to lose my followers.”
 “Just be kind and supportive! We love you!”
 “Oh, you’re so sweet! What was your day?”
 “Great. And yours?”
 “Marvelous. By the way, you can buy my egg.”
 “What a coincidence! You can buy mine as well!”
 Connection closed; transaction successful. In the ideal world, if I buy your product and you buy mine, who is to win? Let’s say one of our Twitter parrots, who proudly celebrates 10k followers while following 10k back, sells as many eggs as he buys, given the price is always the same.
 Similar to roulette, in which the profit always goes to a casino, the profiteer is the businessman in the middle. You buy and sell for ten, but the casino provider keeps the change, be it Amazon, Paypal, or the others - leaving their customers at a permanent loss.
 The smarter birds have already given up the game; for a few dollars, they will shout out for you: to these 30k followers, to human ears which are for rent.
 “But wait! Will I sell my egg to your followers?”
 “Shouting out is living. The more you scream, the higher chances some miracle will happen.”
Like peasants of the middle ages praying for breaking the incurious gate of Heaven, with the same persistent tenacity, our colorful birdies tweet all day, organically building their audience, congratulating themselves with every conquered milestone.
 Step by step, worm by worm, until they reach the peak of absolute victory - the moment when the faintest beep will blow them away in an irresistible echo.
 The sharp beaks curved into a triumphant smile, the blood pouring from deafened ears, watch them falling dead while the cacophony of endless screeches provides funeral march.
Rest in peace! 

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