Rango Finito

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On the other hand, I have been gradually disconnecting from social networks during the last month. I still go to my usual spots and read a bit, post a few words (many people I value on the other side), like, heart, retweet and follow links, I have had my relapses, but my relationship with these places has changed. I do not trust them. I do not think I should invest on them. They do not feel safe. Maybe not unsafe for me, but certainly unsafe for a considerable subset of people to be worrisome. It all started during the rise of T***p as a subject of interest (couldn’t afford the nausea; still can’t) but it has continued now at a higher level, with most of the discussions and interactions I witness leaving me with a sense of emptiness and dread, as if they were the consequence of a sinister game with fucked up incentives where affectation is the greatest accomplishment and the meanest and loudest have advantages by design. I doubt I am going to leave social networks altogether (many friends and a few conversations I would like to keep) but I see them with caution now. Something in them I cannot isolate (maybe their supposed neutrality? maybe their attention capturing anxieties?) is promoting and strengthening horrible people and ideas.


When a long line of troops assembled across the road, a very old, hunch-backed man sought and gained permission to approach them. I followed him as he embraced the lieutenant and kissed him on both cheeks and said: “You are our sons. We are your people.” And then he walked down the row of troops and kissed each one and embraced each one and told each one that he was his son.

R. Fisk