Everybody wants to be noticed, to be recognized for what they feel themselves to be. Truth, in this case, is stranger than fiction. The Internet allows anyone to hide behind an image (usually self-generated) that portrays them as they wish to be, not necessarily as they are. In the past few days I have been having a small running conversation with a U.S. porn star. I have never told her she is beautiful. Nor have I ever tried to pick her up or get to her fuck me. I realize that I am one voice beyond her legion of fans (a member of which, I might add, I am not). We’ve talked about guns and yoga.
Some of the messages she receives through Twitter are downright disturbing. The Internet, and especially Twitter, have given stalkers a new avenue to track their prey. One young man (I was going to write “gentleman” here, but quickly reconsidered) began bashing his favourite porn star because she was ignoring him. Apparently all her movies were made just for him and him alone. Another Tweet read, “I know where you live in Ft. Wayne,” and it is suddenly no surprise why this tiny girl is as well armed as she is.
Hiding behind the anonymity of the Internet, these losers feel that anything is allowed. Just remember that someone is always watching.
As for myself, I am happy with my 51 followers on Twitter, as well as my Facebook friends, my MySpace followers, and all those who read my blogs and watch my YouTube videos, about 3000 regulars in total. That is nothing in Internet numbers but, having seen how the fans treat the objects of their affections, I think I can live without celebrity.
I does appear, however, that someone down at the Municipal Hall is reading my blogs.