Written in response to 'Twitter Poems' at Nikolaus Maack's blog 'Kill Everything.'

Your first thought was the rightest. And I can say that because I have absolutely no experience with Twitter or iPhones or any of it. That makes me the best authority on hand, I'd say. And as the most austere and unimpugnable authority in the land (I'm gaining rank) I have decreed by fiat and order of the King (that's me, don't you know) that it's all an affront to the Holy Mother Church and therefore must be spun upon the spit and burnt upon the stake.

As if we hadn't enough outlets for the idiot-children of the world to incessantly publish their ill-informed, conjectural, two line op/ed "statements of fact..." No, we needed something to meet the gap of incredibly short and emotionally hollow communications left between text messages, instant messages, and blackberry emails.

Finally, I can publish every errant thought that squeaks humbly through the empty chambers of my mind in such a way as the whole world could logon and see it - that is if any of them cared. They don't of course. So it's really just me and a few friend(s) who might *MIGHT* bother to take the occasional glance; and not because any of us is interested in seeing what the other's written, but truly out of some sickly selfish mental undertow of implied karmic reciprocation: that "if I'm looking at someone else's, then surely they, or someone, somewhere must be looking at mine."

The internet wasn't crowded enough, I suppose, hadn't been covered completely yet with the dried, crusty semen stains of comment after comment, that so quickly became the norm when Satan and his merry band of assholes-with-degrees-in-marketing figured out that they could quadruple the number of clicks-per-visitor if they let every douche bag with an asshole make a spectacle of himself, voicing a meaningless, unwanted opinion that only serves to taint the experience of all other onlookers while muting the significance, if any, of the actual, original content. Remember that, you sick fucking world? Content? Remember what it was before you mutated it all into endless responses and interpretations and verbose editorials? Not to mention the flame wars, shameless plugs, and disputes over punctuation, definition, usage, form, and meter.

Needs be to extinguish the last few pixels worth of unoccupied space and unexpressed thought, right? Silence is too raucous for this crowd. Must that it be killed by chirping twits and twitting twats and flapping cunts whose wonders never cease.

What little good one Nik Maack might muscle 'way will ne'er be 'nuff to warrant any execution's stay. It's to the gallows! Out damned spot!

Fuck Twitter


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