To which you neglect, everything in life comes down to tweet. And that cheerful Dadaism shows us. Summer is politically buckling to social network taps. There is no day in which a politician (or the junior guard) appears with a couple of phrases intended to inflame the respectable and thus entangle the morning or afternoon in a symbolic struggle that ends by custom in some of the two peak hours of the day : Lunch or dinner. The case of the Spanish ship Open Arms has caught the acting president resting (it must be exhausting to muddle up so many expectations), so the formula chosen to represent himself as a divine entity has been to invent a cocktail of tweets topped with Carmen's verbal olive Bald
The use of social networks in some political professionals has proved more successful than any elaborate idea, than the most ambitious of realities. With the emotional mentality of a human being in diapers they get any honk to open news. Journalism made room for the tweet as a source . Even as a reliable source. Giving official information status to the tweet of a woman or a man forced by his trade to explain himself in the microphones is a way of disregarding responsibility, the requirement, even the general truth. Among other reasons, because we are more those who do not have Twitter than those targeted at the verbena. The captive audience, statistically, is very scarce. Jaranero, but unfaithful.
Some male politicians tend to break into the very bell-shaped screens to spawn occurrences disguised as maximum rigor. They calculate, bellow and leave like wild exalted shoulders of the choir. There will come a day when they create each other and the normal people, expelled, let's write letters again. They act the same to wind up with a matter of state that to document an inane meeting bearable only by convinced. They even throw sympathy without shame! (With how intimate and serious that is). In the networks they consolidate the refuge policy, protected by the noise of a chicken coop. Some and some patrol Twitter night and day, they accuse themselves, they disavow, they insult themselves, they show the swimsuit brand. It must be strenuous to say nothing so insistently and with a loud narcissism. They bet on the digital vocifer as the easiest way to get the liver out of the opponent and let it dry in the sun, available to the vermin. They do not care to see that they are getting worse. I mean: worse than they already are. Well, not so bad.
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Background noise: Marcos de Quinto and the Big Brother politicians