Social media is a phallus
Social media is a phallus
it is f***ing you right now
I will try not to be graphic, but I am totally being psychically assaulted. A psychic phallus, like a Gengar-shaped dick. Little horned demons are penetrating my cherub horcrux. It makes more sense than ever to me why the internet started off anonymous, and it was because anonymity breeds pedophilia and stuff but also creativity. Creative things froth to the top when it’s the case. Also somehow there’s even more pedophiles and sex perverts now.
I downloaded instagram app again and I genuinely couldn’t get off it for a whole day. I submitted willfully to it, like I had an apple in my mouth and liked The Strokes. My balls shrank the whole day, I swear they’re completely gone now and I have no balls. Gonna take a lot of effort to grow them back now.
I was thinking because people told me they were looking me up, I thought it would be good for them to find something under my name. But there’s just no way this is worth it. Can you imagine being in your 30s posting on social media, the thought alone makes me sick all over. Of course if I had 10x followers or a cupcake business I would probably feel differently, but it’s a different thing when the thing you are selling is yourself. Truly I was never meant to have a big following. I could try all day and night but instead of gaining followers, I would only strengthen the following of the few, and I have come to realize this.
Algorithms are for dumb people, for dumbasses. Which came first, the algo or the dumbass? 🤔 People are so bad at posting. Some are very good. But I can’t be mad because posting is itself a narrow spectrum, and a good post is very close to a bad post. Even if you are the best poster, you’re also close to being the worst poster. The only exception is soft, curvy, bright things, inviting things; things that are objectively f***able. Photos of love and beauty are good, probably best. And I love to look at all images, though not the banal ones with the dumbo captions, but still, images are captivating. But I just know they would be all the more powerful if I saw one image in a whole year. I can’t speak for everyone but I personally think everything is much better when it’s rare, so from now on, I’m reading one tweet a year.
MKULTRA was a phallus. What am I selling?
Like the CIA enters Guatemala I’m in her DMs. Like the gangstalking phallus enters my ear I am bloodless.
It’s not social enough, this media. It’s not media enough, this social. When I see a girl on social media, I want to f*** her through the screen. But I wish she never knew I existed, nor I her. This phallus has robbed us of our potential magical moment that would or could unfold with tenderness, friendship or otherwise. Instead it becomes a hard, grownup thing, strangely enough in a playground for kids. Of course it is possible to spark magic through anything, especially something that is mutually understood to be inherently funny, like a dating app or social media. But as time goes on these things become very normal, and so the novelty is gone. There’s nothing more lame than trying to preserve something as novel when it’s become normal. There are people that try to preserve novelty on social media by spouting gibberish. But personally I think that shit is retarded.
All I’m saying is that it really grosses me out, this social media. It’s too stimulating and I can’t cum. I know there’s a bunch of people I like a lot who I’d probably never speak to or see again if I left but honestly, that sounds like a good freakin’ time. I came, I saw, I left. I looked into the prism and saw a quantified nature, and we all grasped it together. Hopefully before it gets really scary 😧. The more you wipe away, the more you want to wipe away. And simplifying one’s life takes a lot of guts and willpower, at least if you’re anything like me. Balls are gone, true, but guts, I can do. Willpower, that’s like a ‘draft’ (social media joke).
Will people forget I exist? Will they ever think about me? I think people, given their own problems and issues, never really do that sort of thing (think about me endlessly), and the people that do think about you make it clearly known. I already know what’s good in that regard. Turns out the real social media was in your head all along. And anything else, any further reminder of my prevalent existence bursting in 4K, seems a little phallic and intrusive to me. Like Gil Scott Heron said in the song, And when I get back to my life, I think I’m gonna give her a call.