Throwing Yourself Down A Memory Hole

Just downloaded my entire Twitter archive.  A hair under seven megabytes.

I’m tempted to delete every tweet I’ve ever posted.  Leaving the account live, but scrubbing it of life. On the one hand, that is doing violence to the public record.  But that is egotistical.  I remember stories of people executing “mass scribbles” on the Well, back in prehistoric times, and people apparently being terribly upset about it. But the net was very small back then. On the other hand, you see — who’s going to care? When I got on the web, there were still jokes about being able to read to the end of it.  Now it’s massive and loud and sprawling and the absence of any one person’s social media posts is less than meaningless to the public record.  There are already people who use services to delete their own tweets after a week. Self-destructing conversational atoms. Treating the whole thing with the ephemerality it probably deserves.

We all had a lot to say about the idea of a global conversation, but it turned out that most of us were at the back, muttering to ourselves, or, on occasion, finding ourselves talking to a chair.

Today I remain undecided.  How about you?