There’s an icon on my phone now that is just a big dumb X. A ridiculous rich boy is begging me to delete his stupid little app. I’m always looking for things to take off my phone and there’s a big fucking X right there:
DELETE THIS.
I had a notification this morning, for the first time in weeks — a new follower, with this bio:
Gathеrеd on thе sitе of girls from all US statеs. Somе havе nakеd photos!
Accompanied, of course, by a buxom robot lass. Sigh. Billionaire bros are ruining everything.
Twitter is a cesspool now. It always kind of was, but gems were scattered everywhere. Writers, artists, funny people, smart people. I actually made good friends among the Twits.
#Caturday and #FlowerReport are buried under garbage. The poets and the funny people, the food and the art are quickly being replaced by bros cheering an idiot billionaire with compensation issues. It’s like I was in the cool room and the fools rushed in.
Fools were always there, of course, but they weren’t hard for me to dodge. I’m an under-the-radar middle-aged writer with a handful of followers. Nobody bothers me, nobody cares. My feed was filled with writers, agents, editors, artists, musicians, comics, scholars, teachers, scientists, gardeners, cooks, journalists, activists, and a lot of people who love joy. The cool people. It was fun to side-eye and ridicule the fools with my “friends,” but mostly it was just good chatter.
Now it’s a feed of fools, a circle jerk, mansplaining the Twitlord’s agenda.
Unlikely celebrities were surprisingly fun on Twitter. Who knew that Axl Rose would have such incisive political opinions? Steve Martin’s banjo helped us through the pandemic. Dolly and Dionne forever. Valerie Bertinelli was sharp and fun — remember when she stole Space Karen’s handle for a minute? It was brilliant.
I kind of loved the bird app, for awhile. I found penpals, book recs, and great recipes. Lots of art, cat pics, and flowers. It has brightened my mood, connected me to like minds, and talked me off ledges. It has explained the inexplicable to me and encouraged my own activism. Even when I was madly refreshing to stay abreast of BREAKING NEWS, I was glad for the outlet and the input. It helped tame the anxieties of dark times and gave me agency, of a sort.
Twitter was also a great place for a writer. I found readers and other writers, places to submit, things to aspire to. I took part in #PitMad and followed agents with great advice. I received a few private messages about wonderful opportunities. Where will that ever happen again?
The sad, pandemic-era reality is that Twitter was my friend. The community fostered connection in a dark and scary age, and showed reasonable people that we are not alone. Watching yet another rich white man shit all over our nice things is rage-making. Can we really not have nice things?
It’s time to deactivate the account, give a big middle finger to the bastards, but I’m hung up on the DMs. There are so many wonderful side conversations there — burning it all would be like torching letters from friends. Those exchanges bring me joy and, if Kondo is to be believed, I should save them. How to rescue the gems from the garbage?
I have no interest in, or emotional bandwidth for, alternatives (though I enjoy lurking on Substack Notes). I’ve been hanging on, as the best of Twitter disintegrates. I rarely visit anymore and haven’t posted in many months. Closing the door would be a solid mental health move.
I’ll end with this, the loveliest tweet. (I wanted to embed it, but X doesn’t play nice with anyone.)
This world is for joy, indeed.
Stay safe, sweet Twitter friends. May we all find our joy.
🌻
Lisa
Things to share:
- wrote about her own Twitter break-up. I may follow her TweetDelete advice.
Here is a tweet that captures my sentiment. Again, wish I could embed.
Drops of God is a gorgeous, delicious, and very entertaining surprise.
I loved Twitter in the beginning. I staffed the whole Writer’s Conference by asking, “Who’s your favorite poet, screenwriter, nonfiction guru, etc.”. Most of my writerly besties were found and cultivated there.
I turned away when the orange millionaire shifted the narrative to hate and lies. I deleted it in June. I was afraid I’d feel lost and unheard. But-It was freeing to control what word worms make their way to my brain. I’m thriving like the old days now on Substack.
Find your new tribe here, and fuck that bird!
There was a time when Twitter was a treasure trove, I kept discovering and following more writers! More poets! More gardeners! More CATS!
It was a sliver of joy. The format worked for me. I'm not sure where I'll go next. If I go anywhere at all.?