Date: 2025-05-28

Diarrhea

It is funny how any of us, me, you, some random guy with spaghetti
stains on his shirt feels the need to tell the world everything. Every
small cough. Every dumb purchase. Every minor existential fart. It
leaks out of us like diarrhea. And yes, today I had hard push to share
about another keyboard, which is arriving today. So instead of sharing
that it is waiting for me in some pick up box, I am writting this
piece of very important information for humanity.

I post. You post. Someone somewhere is live-updating their colonoscopy
prep. A stranger just told 2,000 followers he bought a toothpaste.
Another filmed himself crying after a breakup with a guy named Kevin
who vapes and wears socks with sandals. The feed keeps flowing.

It's not just sharing. It's compulsive broadcasting. Like we will
disappear if we are not constantly proving we exist by screaming into
the void, Look! I have emotions and a nosebleed and I just ate a
bagel.

And what's funny, sometimes it feels good. There is a little hit of
validation in dumping out a piece of yourself online. You feel seen.
Not in a real, meaningful way. But seen enough.

We have all become peasants with megaphones, walking around shouting,
I am tired! I am horny! I stubbed my toe! And the world replies, Wow,
same. Then we repost each other's suffering like it's poetry. Or
product placement.

There is something hilarious and tragic in it. Like the internet
handed everyone a microphone and instead of asking questions or
starting revolutions, we said: I think I have diarrhea.

And you know what? Maybe that's okay. Maybe it's just what being human
looks like now. Ugly. Overshared. Constant. Slightly too wet.

Or maybe we all need a good silence. A quiet poop. A moment without
the need to turn our inner monologue into content.

But that's for another day. Today, I am posting this.

We aren't sharing, we are leaking. Every post is a prayer that someone
gives a shit.