time-online.html.pm

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◊define-meta[title]{ Time Online }

Today, I don't travel too much to sacred wells in distant places.
I spend a lot of time online. Too much time. It's a place profoundly unquiet, a
pummeling noise and a rush of information that leaves me feeling both hyped up
and melancholy. And it's a place that is hard to stop visiting.

It's a bit corny, at this point, to refer to twitter as 'the hell site'; not
because it isn't true, but because the term is played out. Its hellishness is
self-evident, and people stopped bringing that up years ago.

Whenever I'm in a conversation about social media, it always seems to take the
same arc.

"It is terrible, I don't like it."

"And It's making the world worse!"

"I deleted it off my phone, trying to check it intentionally."

"I should fully delete it, honestly."

"Well, I should say, I just use messenger now."

"Of course, it's the only way to talk to some family."

"Right! And, there is some great stuff on there though."

"Terrible stuff, but really funny too."

"And with everything that happened, it was incredible to see the stories coming
out."

"I have real connections on there, I use it differently, I think. It's the
groups I'm a part of."

"Honestly, it's really important and some people don't have the privilege to
give it up."

"Speaking of, Have you seen this?"

"Oh, that's great, have you seen this?"


We know it's bad, and still something holds us. Something beyond its addictive
design--like a personal attachment we're hesitant to let go of. What have we
left clinging to these spaces?