Feather Dusters, Full Moons and Bloggers [Flash Fiction]

I would never use the word if it weren’t for the fact that no one has the ability to use another. I don’t look for synonyms for ‘bicycle.” It is suitable for all referencing. There are two cycles, two circles, two wheels. I use it irrespective of whether the word suits my taste. I use the word ‘blog’ likewise even though it is a horrid sounding word, too much like blah which is too much like baaaa, internet sheep we are all of us lambs to the slaughter.

How I like the word ‘blog’ is akin to the kind of affinity I have for the word ‘twitter’. Someone or something that twits away its day his day her day is a twitter. One who does is a doer; a dancer dances and a writer writes, but a twitter twits away. To twit or not to twit, that would be a twitter’s to be or not. The twit does what he does when he twits, so he is then a twitter. But what now of the verb to twitter, yes of course, birds tweet, so then why not call birds tweeters and we who use twitter should be called tweeters, a tweeter on twitter because I twit and I twit and I twit away my day until the last syllable allowed in the 140 character limit. Is there nothing more inane we could be doing? I’m sure we have the resourcefulness to come up with something even more inane.

I’m reminded of the tribe of people who under the light of the full moon strip naked outside in a field, assembling themselves in a circle, whereby they then each shove a feather duster handle up his or her own ass and proceed to cluck like chickens or crow like roosters. In such a tribe, everyone would do the same each month without question and wonder about those who might refuse to participate, even about those who legitimately miss the opportunity to cluck or crow with a feather duster sticking out of their asses, feathers first.

Are we not like the people in the fore mentioned tribe? We have our conformities, the things we do without question and cannot think about not doing, at least not without some Herculean effort of thinking. Most of what I read on blogs are the words clustering in a semblance of sentences expressing what we imagine are thoughts, but then thought or thinking would have to be other than simply and randomly passing images and phrases in the mind. Most of what I read in blogs are nothing more than what would have been too embarrassing to say out loud, that is, before the virtual anonymity of the internet.

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