My Twitter bio, written by a once and future genius, describes me as a ‘social non-influencer’ because really, who has influence over whom? And what good is influence anyway? It’s one of those non-quantifiable qualities that doesn’t easily translate into anything very solid. And, as in most things in life, such as bowel movements, I prefer something solid to almost anything else.
My pal Nick has a blessedly-inflated view of my influence, and that’s always sweet to hear, because the reality is that if I had any sort of actual influence, I’d have changed the world by now. That, and everyone would be in bright velvet coats and big velvet flowers and their Zoom background would be filled with sparkle and shine.a
Alas, such influence is not within my power or purview, and I’ve reconciled myself to the limited possibilities, as they exist. It is enough being known for what I am by the few who mean the most to me. That’s power. That’s influence. That’s what matters. The rest of it is all fluff…
Frivolous fluff and masturbation for the mind – these dangerous time-stompers steal and rob us of reality, and, more sadly, of mindfulness. You cannot be present with your eyes downcast and looking at a little screen. My time on those platforms grows less and less, when I can help it, when I make the effort to disengage and re-engage. I’m a hit-often, hit-quick, and exit-quicker kind of social media guy. Tons of posts, but little stalking or scrolling. It’s slightly selfish and self-serving, but what does one expect from a social non-influencer who isn’t getting paid a dime?
Lollo mi parla di quella ragazza
Di quanto a bellissima e quanto gli manca
Parlare con lei
Tu ancora le rolli a bandiera
Marco, che ha smesso da un po’
E l’anno prossimo
Parte per l’Olanda
E come si fa
Ora che gli idoli sono gli influencer
E noi non siamo niente
Noi non siamo niente
E come si fa, ooooh
Lancia i vestiti per aria, li raccolgono in alto
Quelli con gli aeroplani
Li vedi i miei piani, che volano via
Sotto a uno smercio ci mangiavo il McDonald’s
E ora ci vendono il fumo
E non ci va pia nessuno
E no che non piango
A solo l’allergia
Volevo fare una festa
Dentro camera mia
Lollo mi parla di quella ragazza
Di quanto bellissima e quanto gli manca
Scopare con lei
