I used to call it being grabbed by the short and curlies. The expression seems quaint but being hijacked is real. Here's my dilemma. Go back on social media I hear, because I'm without a publisher for a poetry collection in waiting. I left after seeing friends torn apart, brought down, then my Instagram account was cloned. It took weeks to get the clone (using my name to ask friends for money) off the site. And I was happier not being there, not comparing myself to golden award winners. Visiting Linked In occasionally satisfied an urge to 'get out there' that never used to exist but is now present in my system like pesticides. And because I'm old, because I've been distracted by life demands, writing has felt like scratching at dry earth but I can't believe my last book is my last because I've always believed in reading and readers. So I went back to Instagram, to show I'm here.
For a few days I was seeing people and then coincidentally Storm Bert, and with it a torrent of advertising until now I see nobody. It's become a terrifying and claustrophobic anti-fairy tale, manic voiceovers, close ups of faces selling me stuff grinning like Jack Nicholson. A cautionary tale, a parable, a fable. I noticed the same on Linked In, incessant promotional shite, including for a weapons company. And so what do I do? What do you do? Caught in this sting, giving away likes and dislikes, neighbourhood ramblings, personal quirks, idiosyncracies and peculiarities, our tastes and opinions. Is that what it's all about? Do I stay or do I go?
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| Self made dungarees and tee shirt |
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