Mining Twitter for provocation and paying absurdist fees

"I've seen men hurt worse and lose more."-- Joseph Cotton, the third man

Trivial detail: Twitter notifications emailed me October 27, 2015. "You have a new follower!" Neil Thomas Stacey, whose thin and languid ambulatory poise rather recently infuriated me, the insulated self-interest. I flagged him down on twitter's web page to get a sense of who I lost, and became angry. Not with a South African civil engineer tossing out pithy trinket tweets so much as with ambulatory blithe assumptions about its privilege. I have, in point of fact, lost hundreds-- maybe decades instead, of followers since I opened a twitter account, including Nicholas Kristof, and as of Sunday, Neil's follow countryman, and my sentimental favorite, Nate. Every bitter bitch needs at least one twinkie for sentimental comfort, and I wanted to chase after Maingard, and suppose I did sorta, trying to explain. He claims he blocked me accidentally and cannot find my account, and it feels like I've lost an adoptive nephew, or the good fuck, worth more than 5 rand, if only, but it is my fault for hating the able-bodied. I went on o small rampage and booted Trump's daughter, Ivanka. How many gulfs can I expect to leap, after all? Why should she bridge my divide? She is a status mogul descendant, tweeting what wealthy blonds tweet about babies, and I am just a spastic, slowly losing, but also failing to see the late Roger Ebert's awe of social media. I also parted from Dale Reardon, a blind Australian who may have believed I wanted back in the throng. Shared experience, all that, in disability land. And no, I need a job, not the segregation of disability empowerment. When I tweeted, "I am saying goodbye to you," however, Dale understood what Stacey could not grasp: Cripples, even smart ones, emotionally invest a little more, and I liked having Maingard as a sugared sex fantasy to show off to the vanquished Karina. Sniffling a little, but over what? That Nate misunderstood the dots I connected to get from A to B? Is a long time follower a relationship? The age of automation gets on all our nerves.

I asked my sister to ask her children who Shelita Burke was. I followed her back, initially, for the sake of the chasm between us, but during my mini-rebellion, all she wanted me for was to prop her label profile, and the humane fascist said no more. Screw the damn numbers. (Ali Spagnola is a different context, one enumerated many posts back in archive.) And I only knew one thing about the Singh before Harjinder found me. A Singh assassinated Indira Gandhi, who overruled her advisers and kept her guard. "How else can we prove we're secular?" She inquired. But I can understand a sect who know what they are, and I followed the proud father foodie back, with respect, even if he too has to work on my profundity.