It’s been 4 years since I started this blog. Ordinarily that would be a cause for celebration but I just have so many…
When will a black body be equal to a white one?
When will justice deign to include every race and not just one?
When will we be allowed the right to express our fury, anger and frustration without being labelled as the ‘savages’ that they always knew we were?
Why do they always require the expression of our pain to be muted, strangled & DIGNIFIED?
This week I decided to spice up my twitter timeline a little, inspired by Teju Cole’s infamous Small Fates series. I remember reading them at the time and wondering how anyone managed to pack so much emotion and drama into 140 characters. It was pure brilliance. So I decided to challenge myself and see what I could do.
It really just started as a test to see if I could do a few general stories and make them sound even marginally coherent. But as I came to the end of my first bunch on Monday morning, I thought ‘Yolo’, and decided to carry on for the rest of the week every morning. It was a nice distraction from the predictable rages of the morning commute and a good challenge.
In terms of difficulty, at first it was quite difficult to come up with several stories in the space of 30-40 minutes, but I found the more I did them, the easier it became. Continue reading
By way of introduction and without sliding too much into vastly recycled rhetoric about Social Media, it is safe to say that it has its pros and cons. I’ve even written about this before in Social Suicide.
However, just when I thought about every avenue of surprise at how people utilise it had been exhausted, a few conversations and months later, I have found myself more than a few times left in awe at the scale of and intricate in-depth analysis some people have managed to drag out of what is essentially not more than a sentence, or a photo.
I’m talking about some FBI, dot-to-dot, chronological mental archiving of things I have written or done on social media, being regurgitated to me like the food I ate last week…fully intact. No crumbs missing.
There was a time when social suicide was prancing about in your brand new Adidas trainers purchased by your Mum, until one ‘friend’ pointed out loudly in front of a crowd of people, that your trainers had four stripes instead of the Adidas’ three, and so your swagger died with immediate impact akin to how some birds dropped dead out of the sky recently, never to be resurrected again this side of eternity, all your friends fled from you like you smelt of rotting flesh, and you became a ridiculed loner.
Alternatively it was when you turned up to a party with your hair gelled and parted to the left, instead of the right, like all the other girls and naturally you became a human pariah having not clearly understood the fundamental law of teenage fashion: copy everyone else. Simples.