"A crab saw from his observation post that the oyster was completely open at the full moon, and decided to eat him.
The following night, when the oyster opened, the crab put a pebble inside.
The oyster immediately tried to close again, but was prevented by the stone.
Moral: This happens to anyone who opens his mouth to tell his secrets. There is always an ear ready to receive them". (lairweb.org.nz)
The art of talking too much is said "to babble" in English. In Spain we say: "Por la boca muere el pez" o "En boca cerrada no entran moscas". In this country, a couple of public characters have been in controversial circumstances as they failed to hold their tongues in twitter. In fact, one of them, tied to El Pais, dare to deny the Holocaust, stupid thing!, he paid that with his job. The other, a well-known reality host on TV blurted out to a lady who labeled his show as bullshit-crap-TV (telebasura): "Bullshit-crap would be your fucking, slut mother". If this out-of-control, blunt remark is of any consequence to this man, we will see.
I have no idea what the benefits of twitter might be, never though about it. M. told me today that you can say things via message of no more than 150 characters. Wow! That's an amazing thing: 150-characters are enough to make your world crumble. How fast the whole castle of yours is torn down! 150 characters are as pincers of a huge crab getting to your silly, foolish oyster body.
The sorrow can still be aggravated. You never know what might happen to twitter. Will it be out of fashion in 2 years? One? Five, perhaps? And even if it continues, what would be its form and use and aims? There is nothing worse than becoming victim of a temporary circumstance. I always recall the image of driving in a highway and that, suddenly, it starts pouring cats and dogs, like oceans and skies swapping places. Front window-pane wipers at full speed and, still, the rear lights of the preceding car are hardly visible. 20 or 30 miles and hour. It is so easy to smash the hell out of you, then! And all at once, as sudden as before, everything becomes clear, sunny and all, and that's it. Oh, boy, if something happens to you in those ten minutes, what pity, what a shame, what a pain.
It is (sort of) the same feeling of getting drunk as mad in the time of a tender night and deceitful sweetness, a realm of weakness and vulnerability, sin and sadness, when conscience is casted out. And you do things that you will later regret. After a while, perhaps just a few hours later, the whole place is deserted, wiped out, and instead of a smile, the world and its inhabitants show you its darkest and most severe countenance. And the wrong prevails, irreversibly. And you get depressed and crossed... Well, I do.
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