So fresh, so clean

Tired of BS already?

Let me sum it up for ya: i’m using no text processor. That shit just ain’t for me. Remember that Facebook movie? How does the whole thing start dropping itself by? Hot, uncensored, fast as you can public typing. I DO believe on that shit: spontaneity. Like right now: I’ve written “shit” and medium doesn’t underline it for me. That’s progress, motherfucker. That’s what I come from; that’s the tag I’ve just selected anyway. I come for reading, writing, digesting your stuff and taking whatever I can from you guys and, cuz i’m some reciprocating son of a bitch, giving you my whole nuts and guts for your own discussion and enjoyment. Like that facebook movie scene. Well, I haven’t been dumped by anyone anytime near, but I like kid’s attitude there: take it, bitches, this is fresh juice I’m dropping by. This girl, this very particular girl, has these attitude problems. Don’t remember the whole thing, I think he added some splendor to the thing, he made something up, made her look a little worse while taking all the buzz points for himself. Cool for me. He names her. He insults her. He’s being sincere; has no fucking political agenda to take care for. Love that old internet attitude: shit was so remote. What happened there, on hyperspace, wasn’t really what was it. Not anymore. We have some status to maintain, we know that our backs ain’t that covered anymore. Henceforth, we select. We say: this is worth it, this is not. I’m like this, not like that, that’s like, the embarrassing, better locked up version of me. This isn’t a fucking diary anymore, this can’t be. I’m not talking about that flimsy, clumsy, don’t-really-get-social-media attitude your parents may have flirted with: posting up these dreadful inspirational memos, taking themselves bad selfies, awkwardly congratulating each other’s minuscule triumphs for everyone to see (if your gonna publicly lick someone else’s ass, you better do it well). I’m talking about dropping the hot stuff. Don’t giving a fuck and saying it like it is. Giving your acquaintances your really bad hangover photographs; saying: fuck the pope, he lies; sharing the real nasty czech girl portal hyperlinks that will actually come on handy for people we care for, cuz, I tell you, no one, no one gives a fuck on your oh so hipster new discovery. Best case scenario: they’ll copy it without a fucking clue on what’s its use. Cuz it’s trendy, that’s why. Cuz no one knows where they’re standing at. They’re lost now, shepherdless, and afraid of vertigo. Yet they’re all talking anyway! We can convince ourselves we’re spreading the new truths, but that’s fucked up, buddy: we ain’t telling it like it is. If we say too much we’ll be embarrassed, harassed, copy pasted on tomorrow’s paper news. When did shit became like that? Well, the answer is also on that Facebook movie. Duh. I really like that Baby I’m A Rich Man tune at the very end.

So, spread the word: I came here for the truth. Truth is I love my life. Truth is I love success. Truth is I love the world, and I love its new pace. I’ve got ADD. I’m like at everywhere at once and superspeed is my natural rhythm. I’m always surprising myself. I love my girl and my little girls as well, and I love my suits and my rig and the fact that whenever they look back at me they show some fucking respect. I’ve earned it, motherfucker, reverence ain’t free. How? Dumb luck, they’ve said. I’d rather say I became good at google while everyone else was jerking off at social pics. I’d rather say that it ain’t enough to gather up all these all mighty super-geniuses: you gotta lead them on: they’re needy, they’re skeptical, they have some hardcore issues to solve. And if you solve them too hard, they become dull. People ask me: so, what is it like being a leader of such a pack? How have you conducted all this massive effort to the precise hot spot? What is it like, to systematically predict everyone else’s future? How do you act on it? What’s coming next, Mr Tifón? Will you please, finally, come out at my tits? Should I linger longer there or would you prefer if I rubbed it other way around? You get the idea: there’s a lot of questions that need answers right now. Do I hold all the right ones? Fuck no. I’m a humble little man. But, look: life has been uncertain since we’ve been living in the caves. We take what we’ve got, we imbue it with rhythm, we empower it on speed and we just see where does it take us, again and again and again. Thing is, when this internet thing came here, everyone was like: gosh, that’s too fast, too strong, we need to hold on a little longer. Me? Drop into abyss and sort my way up while on the fall. Never look down, mamma said, and I never do. Let me tell you: meanwhile, I did find some gifts to take home. So, I looked at this exuberant, unfathomable information pool and didn’t hesitate to get myself in. Never do. Doctors told me I was sick when I was a child. Now they think I’m gifted. Is it a matter of perspective? Perhaps. Bank account numbers aren’t. Ha.

Anyways. This isn’t about me. I just want to make it. But I do think I’ve got a couple of things to tell you about how I’m getting on it. You know, my view on some serious affairs. Like: what’s the thing with social media, where is it going to go. How authentic can it get. Like: how to really make your stupid startup get startling figures on the go. Like: cybernetic prosthesis, can your grandpa use one of ‘em? When? Like: can you speed up that transaction deal? Can your home become your pal? What gadget should you use? How do you get into other people’s minds? Love that shit. Love empowering them. Love squeezing them. Love breaking themselves apart, if so they deserve. Won’t do that to you, buddy; but, first and foremost: are you fast enough, motherfucker?

Make yourselves at home.