I just realized that I didn't show you the final, colored version of RE:TIRED 01 book, with the rather catchy title "You Can Never Leave", which is finished and done and clocks in at 56,000 words, while I have an additional 14,000 words of the second book, "Devil On The Run" done.
So, that makes it 69,000 words so far. Of what I am assuming will be 300,000...
.... somebody, please, kill me now.
This image, by the by, is Edo's rough for the second cover design, yeah, shit's gonna fly, and you know what? When shit's gonna fly, it's always good to know that your girlfriend has a giant fucking sword.
Writing comes, albeit slowly, mainly due to my emotional exhaustion that has gotten worse over the past couple of months, as I tried (rather unsuccessfully, I may add) to believe and hope that the world will change, and that I don't have the right to bitch if I don't at least try to make a few things better. Well, I tried. And failed. Because the majority of people don't like change. They just say they do.
On a personal note, thank you to Ben B. Franklin, Julia Aloft, Ms. Anthropics, my little sister Korgasm and Ghostpickles, who gave me a few hugs when I really needed them and who are still out there, fighting. Also, to my love Sharon, who held me close as my little illusion just shattered and I felt like crying all the time.
I don't have that energy anymore. I admit it.
I just don't. I didn't have much energy to begin with, this year. So little, in fact, that I told my closest friends, that might not see the end of this 2011 last Christmas. I somehow wanted to put that little bit of energy to good use, especially when it appeared that the "sleeping majority" might wake up. Like I said, you don't have the right to bitch if you don't try yourself.
Well, I tried. I tried a lot. I wrote 36,500 tweets, well, for the most part I wrote them. I'd say 25,000 were actually written by me, trying to expose, to poke fun at, to rail against the injustices and the insanities of our "leaders" and more importantly, the masses. In little bursts of sarcasm and humor. Let's say at 10 words a tweet... that would be 250,000 words.
Which would have been a decent-sized novel, by the by.
The Year in Review in a Tweet?
Good News Everyone! After much rah rah rah, the world has actually gotten worse. You're welcome!
I wouldn't call my 25,000 or so tweets a complete waste. Some people listened, some people cared, but I can and will no longer delude myself that it is a significant chunk that I reached. Even with retweets, my maximum reach at any given moment was 50,000 people, tops (if a tweet got maybe picked up by one of the "Big Guns" in the Twitter Sphere).
And most of those picked up on those things that they cared about to begin with, so the actual impact of any of those tweets was roughly a factor of 0.001.
But I no longer have the energy. The thing that I realized over the this year - not counting that after a spark of hope, followed by a blaze of glore, followed by the extinction of every fire of hope - was the profound impact tweeting had on myself. Despite feeling ill, despite feeling empty, I still continued...
(and you may say, rightfully or not, that this blogging thing, well, what is so different about that, eh?)
... mainly because I developed a sense of duty, a sense of "you don't want let anybody down, you started this and for fuck's sake, you must keep it running, you must finish it". I also developed what is rather similar to ADD, writing-wise, attempting to pack as much information in a funny way as I could in 140 characters or less.
And make no mistake, it is the creative equivalent of ADD, because one of the awful secrets of Twitter, even more than the Facebook bullshit, is that there's too much information coming in, no, strike that, the illusion of information, while in fact most of it is chatter, and even the "real time" updates from those revolutionary places like Tahrir or the OWS camps never are more than a breathless eye-witness report that can be condensed to "Breaking News! Cop beat Person. More at 11".
Don't get me wrong.
As far as eye-witnesses go, Twitter can be a valuable asset.
But it drowns you. In that sense of "importance", while the bigger issues, the bigger problems, they are not even being adressed. I mean, in the end, what is left of OWS or Egypt? Symbols. The places. The fights. The brutality of a state system against people.
But for the most part, there are no solutions on Twitter.
There's no coherent thought on Twitter. There can't be.
Tweets are either headlines (mine were, I thought) or snapshots of a situation. There's no analysis, no deeper thought, it's data packages, reduced to the lowest common denominator, the #hashtag.
At some point I will give the addiction to snapshots, to quote bits, to the "Here And Now" of modern "Reading" and "Information Consumption" some more thought. I am quite worried about it. Not about the immediate effects, but rather about the long-term implications of how this form of information gathering changes the psychology and ultimately the cultural sanity of us all.
I am very worried about that.
The strange thing is, even after just two days off Twitter, my breathing has relaxed, my heart cramps have stopped at least, and that constant rush of adrenaline-fuled righteous anger is slowly subsiding. The immediacy of "Here and Now" is going away, and with that, the Informational ADD.
It seems I can think again. Analyze again. Breathe, if not a little easier, then at least not as labored and hard anymore. And while I still feel tired, it also appears that I can still write longer sentences. And gosh, entire paragraphs.
I will make use of that, of that little bit of energy.
I will not use to it to support symbols. Or places.
I will make use of it to think. To analyze. And to write.
While I breathe.