Instant Internet Girlfriend Gina Twardosz
"I nested in posts and pics, reveling in the freedom to adopt a new persona—one neither tethered nor tamed by the expectations of reality."
Therapy is expensive, but Twitter
cult of enabling, toxic coping
is free. This is the mantra I live by,
strategies and I am both a willful
circumventing the labyrinthine
participant and wise old elder.
American healthcare industrial complex by sharing my every waking
Most days I exclusively live inside my
thought with Internet strangers, or
laptop. I languish in the gray area
those familiar yet estranged. I love to
between person and concept. Even
post a concerning thought and let the
before the pandemic forced us all into
likes roll in: a decidedly imagistic way
little Zoom boxes, I nested in posts and
to revel in positive affirmations. The
pics, reveling in the freedom to adopt
little red heart beats once, twice,
a new persona—one neither tethered
sometimes twenty or thirty times
nor tamed by reality's expectations. I
before it stops cold, the rush fading
spend hours crafting a comedic
with each passing glance of likes; but
persona. I can be dumb and enjoy
then I do it again, share a singular
reveling in stupidity. I can be
thought, and that swell of perception
everyone's idiot Internet girlfriend,
smacks me across the cheek. It’s a
endlessly flirting with the anonymous
pure hit of dopamine surging straight
masses the way Paris Hilton attempted
up to my brain. Twitter is an orgiastic
to pilot in the early 2000s.
04
|
MASKS
• SPRING
2021
