A Twitter Meltdown

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"A Twitter Meltdown" by Harney-Barrow

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(Twitter Profile variations)

THEY STILL REMEMBER
THEY STILL REMEMBER
THEY STILL REMEMBER

Everything repeating all at once. How many times have you been here before? The same as it ever was. Hey, I'll be going to hospital, wanna come? The wires have.


The staggered loop (130 mi.)
Dove's Loop (144 mi.)
I have been one of the more dedicated customers of the loop.

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(The Meltdown)

Oct 17
It begins.

It all happens again. The wires are always there, by the night stands and shelves. Not even the most active living room can push out the circuit blocks.

Those rooms. The CRT in the rooms. Tubes larger than any monitor I have ever owned. The bunk bed. The house had a regular number of stink bugs inviting themselves inside. Bugs were found merely crawling on the floor.

I wear the shirt. It is from a third, possibly fourth rung of hand-me-downs. From the same elderly woman that helped to teach music fundamentals. All remnants left as tie-dye rags. Clothing dyed to represent the colors & rainbows and other psychedelia. The many years take age.

Past Midnight. I can't sleep. He said something more about coyotes came. They approached the house. They got the shotgun. One of the kittens is gone. Not too devastating, for there are many remaining. I can't sleep. The CRT is back on, volume at the single bar. The PS2 lights up.

I wear the shirt. It's been a week now. Why am I sleeping in the other room? Nothing has changed beyond the backdrop for the wires crawling. This mattress won't last the longer I'm on it. 20 push-ups, new action. This isn't my room. This isn't my clutter. My mess on his own, ok.

Past Midnight. I can't sleep. Let's try that 'Out Of This World' cartridge he's got. Says that it's impossible. It's impossible. Fire up the PS2 again. Mortal Kombat has a lot of characters, too many even. He is asleep, waking up shortly. The wire travels to the beds. He sleeps.

I wear the shirt. Two holes are only separated by six threads of fabric. Skin becomes transient appearing with the motions by the bearer and outside moves. At what point is it more prudent to be shirtless? No person passing has commented about my state. Is it a fear of conflict?

It enters the mouth, cold and near frozen. Just like ice. It's been years since I've been able to crush ice. The dreams of prying out the metal bars return. Forget about overbite and crowding. I want ice. To suck with the tongue and molars cannot substitute the feel. 20 push-ups.

The floor below is running a latin news channel. Don't know enough to read beyond the giant bold words. Uncle is out, he will be gone late night. All the younger ones crowd in the other room. There's another television, this one much smaller. Half the width of a 15 inch monitor.

Everyone sitting in plain wooden chairs. The glass jar of cow's milk has a distinctly stale smell. Taste's stale too. Bowls of sugar will fix that. Their family's Pentium III still has the General Mills advergame. Still no internet, not even dial-up. Why don't they have internet?

Why don't they have internet? We just got it, why don't they? Just call CenturyTel, they can fix it. Their Windows 95 system says 'dial-up internet', I heard that's cheaper. Oh well, that sucks. There's still the Wires of game, not going anywhere. I wonder how the dogs are doing.

Yeah, I was plugged to the Optiplex box for four hours. So what? That's nothing compared to school. Comic books suck. Movies suck. The Wii sucks. I love my GameCube though. School is okay, I think it's boring. Where did John L. go? He left? I hope he is okay.

He is sleeping. Bored. 2 AM. Nobody in the top bunk. She's in the other bedroom now. Bathroom is cold. Why am I barefoot. Want to sleep on their couch. Still sleeping. He's snoring. I've slept through louder noises. Can't get used to this smaller couch. He is sleeping.

2 A.M. I went prone to make less noise on the wood floors than normal walking. Slowly opening the back door. Only socks. The street lamps bouncing off the concrete dip and asphalt. A beautiful orange hue clinging to everything. Nobody else is up. Only me, and the orange streets.

Memory of confessing to parents on theology. If one is to practice what is to be preached, why run prosaic readthroughs of the supplemental books? Why can't it be an actual bible study? I want to read the bible deeper. Why should I trust the monthly pamphlets?

The couch was flipped over. All cushions gone. There were an assortment of toys scattered across half of this main room. Fair amount of marbles on the floor.
In next room was similar to the other, with nothing but collateral dust. The door had a small lined paper with scriptures.

The scriptures were marked, taped to the door. "Don't worry, we'll trash that too." I folded & pocketed the paper. In the same room was a business card for a dispensary. Not even in the same region, but all the way on the other side of the state. Somebody's name in blue ink.

I will never know what happened. One can only speculate so much from the aftermath of family. Would be deeply insulting to dig deeper.
With some maneuvering, the flimsy couch hits the dumpster. It's taller than the both of us.
Out goes one family, in comes another.
Need water.

They will get you eventually. Nothing stays in stasis. Not even the most deep stagnation can remain in their way forever. Something happens & miniscule fractures and cracks widen. It's gonna snap out. On the day after. Hold the elk heart. Electricity is out, freezer burn no more.

Little mention for the sticks holding the music up. The strings have not been plucked in a short while. Do not like the electric narrowness, the acoustic is wider. Good for playing fast while not overshooting. Notable improvement from last one. Previous shredded callouses quick.

Curiosity kills. So I shall no longer ask questions. Questions bring unnecessary danger. Hold the family line.
I have been stuck on the mental skyblock for nearly 15 years. How do I fix that? "Ask questions." The only path of life ahead is a constant game of chance cards, okay.

Life does not have a debug menu, or designers enabling continuous redos. Failure does not have a barrier preventing permanent fail states. Does this require that the very action of failure must be meaningful? Do the newer wires and timescale require a sort of 'Optimized Failure'?

What's 'icebreakers' to do with real communication? What is there to go on with color or fast food resturant? I want to hear a story of your stepbrother's face getting shredded by a chihuahua after taunting it for minutes.

To not ask and stay is to remain a stationary sponge. Yet the current system does not intend on creating human sponges (yet). How do I 'connect' on real people. No social MSG button to @ and announce "I AM OPEN". Should I ask in some fashion of wacky, zany voice for the person?

I did it, and I did it again. Later, I did it again. When I thought wouldn't happen, I did it again. And then it stopped. Everything of the bush's side had seized up. I don't think any fruits have come ever since the event happened. But they still remember.

Sponges and barnacles live stationary lives, no? Always sounded like the most fitting excuse for meditation. Like that story of the man getting paid a million yen, while achieving a 50-50 chance of having to endure a million years immortal in an empty vaccum. Would that be bad?

Stop asking questions. Even the rhetorical ones will land you into trouble. If you have nothing polite to say, nothing good to say, nothing constructive to say, nothing engaging to say, say nothing. Silence is golden. Good citizens don't rock the boat. Good people follow through.

Human faces are not as clear cut as caricatures. Caricatures and illustrations are more truthful. How will you manage physical doubt and face? Everything reads wrong. Their eyes are open. Are they mad? Did you do anything wrong?
Ask?
No, get out. Something will happen. Leave.

Something Happened.
Why is she crying? Don't intrude. Your actions cause more trouble. Father is reassuring her. He never behaves like this. What is happening? Did somebody die? Not your story. Children's cartoon is on the television. Just sit on the sidewalk. They won't notice.

This volume of Harney-Barrow is coming to a close. This is an ending that has been long overdue. A cleaning that must be done, as this time most needs.
Album review and new links.
Business and Personal.
Social media too.

May this go to a more resilient BRAND. 50 Posts End

My lists are now open. Two years of sediment buildup have lead to their foundations and creations. From informationals, to Whos Who, and faux reflection. All from the collections packing other hands and people into categorized boxes for my own personal consumption. Lists now on.

Have I been pretending to be retarded all along?

Could this be the state the figures and other heads coin 'learned helplessness'? The will of the self-fulfilling prophecy, atomization of one so online? Looking so deeply, curiosity may have ended vocally, but The Wires sated it.


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What am I doing? This was never part of the 5-Year Plan. I have no money. I have no art out. Haven't entered the next semester in over a year. There is a no clause for the new coming. One of my sandals broke. Today's pacing set is now the boat shoe alongside the remaining one.


Did he lie? I don't blame him. After all, life continues to be the crude dance of social signals. Will I reach a self-sustaining ability to merely 'know'? Fear has returned home to roost. I feel it more than anything. Haven't been this close to him since the whole district.


The wires have been with me before greeting other children outside the congregation. The wires keep the noise of the world away. But every day I must speak somewhere in the span of the next 24 hours. Can't stay in either space for too long. Instinct wins. But things are changing.


I physically shut my mouth one night. Nothing changed the day after, life simply went on. It felt similar to those days, where I could no longer speak. These behaviors can be pressed down & contained for the public. But once the home appears, & the caulk breaks away.

See you soon!


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(Twitter Replies)

I am an incapable. Assistances have kept me alive past the stages of growth. Follow the orders. The cruise control functions, but now sputters and hobbles like a 2-stroke on its last cycles. I grind against the walls while still accelerating. You aren't last & that's what counts.


He'll be done with this. An group agreement has been settled and written down. As a group, the H-B unit sends our token apologies. The agreement has been signed by key members of the unit, but it should take another day until it's digitized. Struggling with the copier, sorry.


Maybe in the next phase can we cross weapons. Skin has began shedding for god knows how long it's been. Beginning to suspect more with that contract signed than thought.


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(Account Afterword)

The wires love me and I love the wires. We are together in connection. I am running the first Prestige mode. It is now time to reallocate my knowledge. Where will my classification go? My Nomadic future is now an uncertainty.


Open to the URL Searx dot ME. Type into the search bar "COINTELPRO".

It's happening again. Like paper cuts, but it has been industrialized into a torture device with multiple forks and divisions. On the hands. On the legs.


I respect the mindworms. We take our coffee can & carpool to the nearby lake. At about route 40 to the left. You'll hear that some trout is coming through, mutual exchange of life for bass. 


Those smokestacks have been out of commission for decades. So has been the building centerpieces. Former for ecologic & economic. The latter promoted by a recent myth that took me. Many years before the even tree began, a supervisor disliked the building aesthetic with intensity.

A handful of bricks were covertly loosened by hand in an unknown amount of time. As a time during a warm summer day, a brick fell. At first, nobody had noticed a brick was there at all. The supervisor had to ring attention to the other federal workers and inspectors for people to even pay attention to. The building was condemned by inspectors. It was prescribed as being unstable for earthquakes and as a fire hazard. Just one problem with this conclusion:

There is no fault line. There is no wooden skeleton. There was no bad building.

But time squats on the property and it is now genuinely bad. Thank you, supervisor. Thank you for making the town a worse place.


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On the subject of us:

Know this: What we as a collective unconsciousness observe are not in tandem. The Mind is constantly scheduling and getting shot at by drive by distractions and stimulants by the constant minute. New sights and sounds and sensations are at the lenses of what is being observed. Being me, it's hard to control the wheel. But seeing it near-instinctively whip and turn across the mental lanes frighten me. The road has darkened and ice has formed in many splotches. The deer are coming and her offspring are gnawing at the edges of the black asphalt. The cougar comes down to meet the nested vessels. The disc brakes are not good enough. We slide. Gliding on the patches. Same corners of the memory are returning to a worsened hydroplaning. We will overcorrect and jerk us all. The Soul breaks from the ever present whiplash. Nearing the bump strips. The last mile marker signed at 44 miles, so it's not even close to our counts. The car taps the deer. Immediately ran off. Don't know if it died. They're more resilient than a not insignificant amount of people believe to be. Just ignore the seasonal viruses, that happens to all things.

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(End 'A Twitter Meltdown', enter postscript)

For now, I will not be on Twitter for this year. At most, I have an account or two registered on the ActivityPub federated network, colloquially known as the 'fediverse'. The public facing handle is '@HarneyBA@pleroma.site'.

Will bring the another into public view once the time is right.

Thank you for reading.