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There’s no more room!

Why Too Much Information Is Creating Smaller Minds

And turning me into a disappearing act

I left Facebook almost two years ago — because I just couldn’t take it. It was the first platform I surrendered to — and as with most things — it was great at first — before everything plummeted beyond reach.

I loved reconnecting with old classmates from boarding school. The networking web that scattered all over Europe, America, an even Dubai — seemed to emphatically demonstrate why being an active user was not only beneficial — but also the perfect way to resurrect stale relationships that just needed the click of a button to arouse them.

I joined Twitter after I felt confident with the tempo of my FB page. Twitter definitely presented an immediate gratification that its ongoing competitor didn’t offer.

Being able to express whatever — within the confines of “characters” and the scope of a limitless audience that also tweeted for deserved attention — seemed exquisitely primal. The best part was that it was devoid of close friends and family.

I could be myself without actually being myself. I didn’t have to doctor my message in a way that would stay constant in the eyes and judgment of the FB crowd.

As the years swiped by — Facebook remained the default purely out of habit, because the magic evaporated — right on cue. It was about the friends with friends who met me and wanted to connect. It was the pressure of not wanting to like every person who liked me enough to expect me to do the same.

It was the reminders of moments in life that were not supposed to be transformed into a mini-video of events. It was the dumping of information that mixed in with the life you created — after updating your settings. It was the blending of the unrelated with the related, which diminished the value of the related in a way that exposed the fragments of staying casually connected.

Suddenly being on Facebook felt unhappy and insincere.

Friends were unrecognizable with words and images to support agendas and lifestyles that were numbly distracting. I was also trapped into bonds with people I didn’t give a fuck about, but still annoyingly accepted into the column that no longer bore my likeness.

Once you lose control — you have to hold onto something to save yourself.

The commercialization of Facebook drove me away — mainly due to the loss of intimacy. When I sold out my identity for the sake of being able to accrue numbers that proved exactly how many cared about whether I lived or died — I was poised to make impressive gains with the fact that I could log on — and give my cousin in Nigeria an emoji embrace.

Then the ad pop ups gave way for formulated streaming that kept all corners under a spell of disarray. The jumbled factors of elements that have been gathered for consumption — ends up causing a major bellyache when you end up eating out of you ass.

I couldn’t keep up — so I gave up.

I closed up shop with no warning to the customers that spent enough years liking me. I ran away from the noise and the static that everyone ignored — despite the loudness and blinding warning of things to come.

I focused efforts on Twitter and the returns stabilized the critic in me.

I engaged in ways that restored my faith in the ability to connect with like-minded folk who rarely disappoint. The community I built from names and faces that associated with my ideals — began to expand with recommends from the system — based on the item of the day or week.

The clogging began quickly — as revisions were made to the template to encourage more engagement and make room for unrelenting information. The method of delivery had to be streamlined to include everything we could retain with candor. And then it exploded into the full-blown quest to chuck the manageability of space — in favor of a cluttered minefield that gathers armies — so the shredding amongst diminishing minds — commences.

We’re not thinking anymore because there is virtually no allotment of time for such a thing. The juggling of information from every realm of existence is souped into a pot of variants — that are shuffled enough to give every item a period of urgency.

Minds wither away when the brain is as active as ever — and yet the stimuli doesn’t flicker in response to the unfathomable or indigestible. Everything is fabricated into existence for the truth of the lie that makes the serious tweetable — even when there’s a glaring piece that’s missing from a pie that never disappears — no matter how many bites salvage it.

My friend and I were discussing #DACA (Deferred Actions for Childhood Arrivals) after she requested my thoughts. The news of the day was that President Trump made the decision to rescind DACA in order to restore the glory of an America that won’t be besieged by visitors from territories — that supply the resources that will keep Making America Great Again.

Her take on the issue was varied from my spirited summation, which also echoed the immigrant in me — who was born a citizen — but still comprehends the gratifying disposition of someone from a richly sourced nation that somehow refuses to channel the riches towards its own citizens.

She presented the notion that there is disorganization in the way that non-citizens are afforded what citizens have earned by birth — but still have to fight for in the midst of confusion and disillusionment. She expressed the neglect of those that were born here — and how that plays out when jobs that are supposed to be one step in the ladder to success — end up being hijacked by the undocumented who don’t ever leave low-paying jobs, while refusing to update their status after an impressive amount of years in the country they claim.

The conversation was spirited and revitalizing — as we shared our views without the cushion of likes, shares, retweets, quote tweets, highlights, claps, comments, hearts, posts, reposts, and moments.

It reminded me of the college years — when late night sessions after social mayhem — concluded with debates about whether or not The Real World was real enough to survive the apocalypse of fake jargon that has finally permeated the corners of our stations.

It never matters if someone you care about shares your logic — as long as she presents it to you without the beckoning of legions of followers who won’t ever counter your distrust.

You can’t eat more than your share of berries without getting the shits after they fester. When everything settles and the cramping gives way to evacuation — we feel so much better. But, lately we can’t even muster the need to explore the options of free will.

Aren’t you fucking scared of what you’ve become?

You can’t decipher the audacity of clicking into multiple threads of squared fodder — that are beefed up with images of extra-large boobs stuck in a tree — and the renderings of young Black victims of the race war — that has evolved into the renaissance of White Hollywood.

It’s all too much and we want more. We need to be dulled by the responsibility of not living up to the idea of owning what we are — through the due diligence that aids our conclusions — whether the retweets anoint or discard us.

I’m disappearing because I want my mind to increase.

I don’t want to be part of the feeding frenzy that gulps — instead of chewing. I can’t bear the thought of increasing in size because my bloated belly won’t chop out the fake — to keep the truth or the variations of opinion intact — at least for the honor of analysis.

When was the last time — you took a topic of interest — and dissected it in silence? Removed the horns of social interference and concentrated on the surgical mission of gathering the parts — and figuring out why the “whole” isn’t as easily accessible as you once tweeted for retweets.

I remember hearing one of many hits from The Police — Too Much Information — for the first time — back when I could be classified as a girl. My delicate sentiment allowed me to sing along — with weightless bliss. Of course now, when I read the lyrics and discover how it blends with my season of hibernation — I can’t help but long for the days when we secured the narrative without letting go.


I see your minds growing smaller and smaller — and wonder if I can keep mine from shrinking through the realization of what you can’t see when you scroll past burnt out faces of babies — or the dead mothers holding the toddlers that drowned after them.

I’m disappearing and scared — but I won’t allow my head to swell with emptiness. I won’t stay informed.

I’d rather just stay alive.


Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane

I’ve seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
I’ve seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover

Over my dead body
Over me
Over you
Over everybody

Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane

Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane

Cha, cha,…

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!

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