To Tweet or not to Tweet

Maximum length 140 characters? How much can you say? What are they doing — serialising a novel, one sentence at a time?
I guess Twitter is the pulse. But of what, I’m not yet sure. Maybe it’s the collective unconscious. Instead of divining the collective unconscious, now you can subscribe to its feed. Phew. Bullet points. No more sniffing the clouds, reading the symbols, weighing the zeitgeist. In the mental traffic of Ashton Kutcher’s brain, now you get the make, model and licence plate of every car.
But what will I tweet? How many followers will I amass? How many does everyone else have? What’s average? Is that one Tweet, or five? (I need someone to author a guide on Twitter structure, a how-to, so my 140 type-strikes don’t sag before the big finish.)
Why is everyone doing it??? It’s madness. It’s an open mike in an asylum. Everyone makes utterances, utterly, but it’s not communication. It’s noise. It’s all greeting card and no occasion. It’s the answer without the question.
I’ve got enough to do. I’m under enough pressure on Facebook. My status doesn’t fluctuate that frequently, and I’m sure this lowers everyone’s opinion of me.
Do I want this? Do I need this? I suppose I do if everyone else does. Otherwise I’m the guy in the conversation who doesn’t know anything about the weather.
Forget micro-blog, I remember the first time I saw a blog-blog. It was ages ago. My brow literally furrowed. I had to smooth it back down. What? This girl — has published her diary — on the internet! Boys. Being treated badly. Suicidal thoughts. What the hell is she thinking? What if people see this?
It simply did not compute that this was her aim.
Once upon a time, the future was about going to other planets. Now it’s a fantastic voyage, inwardly and tinier, into the cellular minutiae of your neurosis. No meme too small.
What next? Nano-blogging? 95 characters? 29 characters? Bonsai haiku? Eventually people will just publish little fragments of each letter of the alphabet.

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