Fuck Facebook. Facebook makes you feel like a lonely shit head on a Saturday afternoon, even if you have a ton of people who actually love you. That you ignore. In real life. Because the illusion of the unattainable Facebook Like makes you feel as if there is a glimmer of opportunity to stop the hamster wheel of longing in your soul. How is it that a grumpy cat with the nickname “Tard” is the best thing going on your Facebook feed? Forty six thousand “likes” later and the emptiness increases. We post garbage on our Facebook page, the garage sale of our soul, while Mark Zuckerberg has gotta be pinching himself (is this for real?) at our idiocy. He makes millions (correction: billions) off of our social desperation, while the social network itself, keeps feeding our desperation. It’s all just The Spectacle.
“The Spectacle is not a collection of images, but a social relation among people, mediated by images.” – Guy Debord
I flew out there for something that I assumed was love.
Nearly lost my bags in Madrid.
I had never seen a hotel room with three rooms; like an apartment. I swung open the French doors to the balcony and there was a hot tub. I only saw him once. The rest of the time I sat in the hot tub overlooking the coast and the Rock of Gibraltar.
It wasn’t love.
“I make the other’s absence responsible for my worldliness.” ― Roland Barthes