I tweet early in the morning when I wake up or late at night

The words of Tyler, The Creator, echo with both defiance and candor: “I tweet early in the morning when I wake up or late at night just to let you know that I have a show or what’s on my mind, and that’s it. I hate Snapchat and all of that. It’s making kids so stupid.” At first glance, these words appear playful, even dismissive. Yet beneath them lies a critique of the age of distraction, a warning against a world where endless noise drowns out authentic thought. Tyler, ever the provocateur, speaks here not only as an artist but as a philosopher disguised in the garments of rebellion.

The meaning of this quote lies in its defense of simplicity and intention. For Tyler, Twitter is a tool, used sparingly — a means to announce, to express, to share. It is not a place for endless scrolling or shallow consumption. By contrast, his disdain for platforms like Snapchat reflects his belief that many modern technologies encourage mindlessness, feeding vanity and distraction rather than creativity and reflection. He calls it “making kids so stupid,” not out of cruelty, but out of concern — concern that the young, instead of creating, are being consumed.

The origin of such a thought rests in Tyler’s own career. From his early days with Odd Future to his evolution into a Grammy-winning artist, he has always carved his path outside the mainstream, refusing to let trends define him. His art thrives on authenticity, on rawness, on depth hidden within humor. It is no wonder, then, that he critiques platforms that thrive on ephemerality and superficiality. His words remind us that the artist’s true role is not to conform to the tools of the age, but to bend them toward expression, or to cast them aside when they dull the mind.

History, too, provides echoes of this wisdom. Socrates himself warned that writing would weaken memory, fearing that reliance on external marks would make men forgetful. Later thinkers warned against the excesses of print, of television, of radio. Each age has its tools, and each tool carries dangers of overindulgence. Tyler stands in this lineage — the ancient cry in modern form — reminding us that technology should be a servant, not a master. The danger is not in the tool itself, but in the mindless submission to it.

There is also a deeper reflection here on discipline. By limiting his use of social media, Tyler maintains control over his focus, protecting the wellspring of his creativity. Great achievements, whether in art, politics, or philosophy, have always required such focus. Consider Beethoven, who composed while deaf, isolating himself from distraction so he might hear the music within. Consider monks who rose in the stillness of dawn, avoiding idle chatter so that their prayers might be pure. Tyler’s own practice — tweeting only when he wakes or before sleep — is a modern echo of this ancient discipline.

The lesson for us is clear: do not let the world’s noise make you forget the sound of your own voice. Use technology with purpose, but do not let it use you. Limit what weakens you, embrace what strengthens you, and know that creativity and wisdom require space, silence, and clarity. If even an artist who thrives on expression warns against the shallows of endless distraction, then we must listen carefully. For his rebellion is not only against Snapchat, but against the loss of depth in a distracted age.

So let us carry Tyler’s words as a teaching: embrace tools when they serve your spirit, discard them when they dull your mind. Begin and end your day not with endless noise, but with intention. Ask yourself, as he does, “What is on my mind? What is worth saying? What is worth sharing?” In this way, we honor not only his wisdom, but the timeless truth that freedom lies not in consuming everything, but in choosing wisely what we give our attention to. For the mind is a temple — and it is too precious to be squandered on distractions that leave us empty.