To speak of a thing is in part to give it more power. To let it take up more space. In BDSM there is a term called “Bratting”, where a bottom acts out and acts up within the terms of their D/s relationship as a style of play. Given my own history, as a bottom I never want to brat, and as a top Brats are no fun for me to play with. I always say that I’m not interested in rewarding negative behavior; If you want my attention, ask for it and I’m happy to give it.

This comes up for me today in relation to the current situation at Twitter. I still check it daily, with increasing feelings of resignation. Today I tried to pull that apart more to see what is producing that feeling. I use Twitter in two ways these days: either to broadcast, or as a place to hang out on. I’m broadcasting my dream remembrances, my “when they play my jam” gifs and retweeting cultural items that I think are important and that I feel like I can amplify. When I hang out on twitter I’m looking for conversations with people that I regard as friends, goofing off making jokes killing time. I follow a lot of people on twitter, but there is a core of folks that I feel like I’ve gotten to know through the site who I look for. It’s an echo of the fun I used to have on LiveJournal.

But the fun is thin these days. The post Elon Musk Twitter is characterized by two things: news stories about how his caprices are resulting in layoffs, strife, ineptitude and moronic gloating, and an atmosphere on the site where everyone battles and moans in ever-increasing desperation, like we were animals watching the last watering hole dry-up before our eyes. It made me understand something today: So much of the twitter activity is grounded in saying yes yes me also, to the conditions that color the site. Yes yes I’m angry too, yes this makes me sad too, I can’t believe what they said what they did, how hypocritical they are how they just won’t stop, they hate you they hate me too I’m depressed I can’t cope .

This storm of feeling swallows me as soon as I log on, and pulls me to be part of the conversation by finding my sadness and anger and joining it with the group’s. It has become a mood altering drug for me.

Thinking back to other times when I’ve written, I feel best about the times when writing allowed me to discover something about myself. Reflection is the process of diving within, examining the many things I’ve done and finding what they have to tell me about my feelings. Writing is reflecting. Tweeting is echoing. I can’t keep being an echo, even at the cost of feeling alone in my feelings and fears. At least I’ll know that they are mine. And hopefully I’ll find the fun again.

And all of this is coming up because the richest man on the planet talked himself into buying a magic mirror and then got mad when it told him he wasn’t the fairest of them all.

I’m not going to let Elon and his mirror brat me any more.

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