I wander through Twitter’s alleyways like a refugee from another land. It’s vivid, disorientating, and full of drama; shouting behind doors, and worse. Strangers pass, deep in argument. I dig out my phrase book to understand what they’re saying, and why. They are at home; I am not. I’m lost. I have learned things here, and met old friends, new ones too, but they fade into the crowd. The scale is incomprehensible. I speak the language badly. More and more, I keep silence. In the distance, the world’s richest man is circling his siege engines, promising to reopen the doors to fascism with the naivety of privilege. Free speech is wonderful if you were born with a golden megaphone.
A digital detox is in order. I shall miss the postcards from friends and acquaintances, but I’ll keep in touch in other ways. It won’t be so easy to know what’s happening in my professional world, but my relationship with that is changing too. I want to be nourished by what I read. I don’t know if I’ll be back. For now, I’ll make use of this space if I have anything to share.
Above: The Tower of Babel (1563) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, in the Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna