Day 33 What’s that coming over the hill is it a monster?
Question 18 of my survey asked “If there was somewhere else to go other than Facebook would you go there?” and lots of you answered “yeah why don’t you get on and build it?” Well of course I am no Zuckerberg but here goes. If I played Victor Frankenstein to the Facebook monster then I’d start by giving it a heart and soul and senses. Heart to make you feel, soul to raise you up and senses so that it would touch you, even in the places you don’t like to be touched. Because you are all disappearing into a vortex here folks and it is a high price to pay for so little return. I get how great it is on there, fuck knows I miss it, but whether you pride yourself on your limited use of it or have succumbed entirely to its embrace, Facebook’s beauty is really only skin deep. And when I look at its visage I am itching to take a scalpel to it.
The Like button – what’s not to like?
That universal thumbs up gets me down. Is that really the best there is? Just the facility to like something? I want more buttons, I want to admire your post, adore it, love it, respect it, dislike it, hate it, disagree with it. I want to snort my drink down my nose at it. I want to recoil in horror at it. I want to shake my head at it. I want to cry at it. I want to feel more than like could ever humanly describe. Don’t you?
All I want is a photo in my wallet
No more cartoons or works of art to say who you are. I want to see you, what you look like right now – today. Let’s all see each other for who we really are. Come out into the light you may not be the hideous monster you think you are, hiding behind that picture of Salvador Dali or Southpark’s Kartman, then again you might be monstrous, but hey, that’s sexy in my book.
What are little Facebook’s made of? Sugar and spice and all things feline.
In my brave new Facebook world those of you who’d still insist on showing us your culinary and cattery delights would have to live in another section. You’d be welcome to come and visit us over here but you can’t bring your sugar or your whiskas with you. Same goes btw for your kids, your relatives, your dog and your dinner. Perhaps we could have a little box in your profile where you keep that stuff locked up and we have to ask you for a key before you get to show it. Obviously, as far as I’m concerned, that will be one box that this Pandora won’t be opening.
Sharing is caring
I am not after a bleedin’ heart fest here, but can we start to share what is really important? Who is going to be the first one to put their hand up and say what’s in their heart not their head? I have trawled through endless posts from you, all of you so clever and bright (well actually not all of you but I don’t want to offend the thick, boring ones) and yet…and yet, the very most I can hope for is a heartfelt response to a revolution or an acknowledgement at the sadness of a bereavement. Are you all really not feeling anything? Is every day one where you roll out the Facebook bunting and bounce about, because if that is the case then I am the most miserable bastard on the planet and in a minority of one. You don’t need to cry on my shoulder – I don’t want to develop damp rot – but just something subjective about anything in your life would be such a welcome relief from the constant objectifying of your experiences.
I’m still very pro links, I like that you bring this treasure to my door, but bring it cos it means something to you not because the Guardian thought it was good or You Tube has it in its top five. This self perpetuating stream of unconsciousness is eroding the conversation. How depressing is it for you as well to bung that link up and get one ‘like’ and a four word comment? Don’t you want more from your hunter-gathering expedition? Of course you do! So find something that means something to you, and then tell me why it does. I promise I will respond properly to it. (If I come back of course).
Talking of which, let’s have a conversation, let’s write more than three words when responding to a post and try not to include ha ha. I don’t want a treatise or a dissertation, just a conversation. You remember having conversations before you were liking and loling your way round Facebook? If you don’t, then why not take yourself off for a few days and only communicate with your friends via email and phone see how different it feels. Oh Christ am I turning into a Bronte sister advocating a return to letter writing? Actually I think I am.
I know what profile means in Mark Zee’s world it means ‘sideways on’ doesn’t it? We only get to see half of you at best. And apart from the first time a new friend comes along, when do you ever consult consult peoples’ profiles? That’s because there’s never anything new there. You fill it in at the beginning and leave it to wither on your cv vine. I’d love a less static one where you could put down your mood, what you’re wearing, how strong your libido is anything that tells me something new about you.
I can’t see you can you see me?
Part of this experiment in leaving Facebook has involved meeting up with those of you I have never met but only known on Facebook, and this much I know, online and offline are two entirely different things (duh, but you know a lot of you don’t think that). And though those meetings were fleeting, they resonated with me in a way that is so profound, given what I had known of them on Fb, that I have to urge you to go and meet your friends, the new and the old. Touch them, touch them up if they’ll let you, but go and smell the scent of other human beings. You may not like the aroma but it is a heady fucking tincture compared to the germ-free adolesence of Facebook.
So in conclusion we know that I can’t build it and you won’t come, but if Facebook was the alleged vehicle for revolution then why not start one right there? You already have the masses, why not start kicking at Zuckerberg’s walls you have nothing to lose but his chains.