The context:

This really is not so much poetry as high-tech ranting. Which I like. Always take something social and find a way to speak your own voice into it, locating that “inmost secrets of art” between sympathy and pride (The Gift, Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World).

This really came out of a lunch conversation I had with DJ. We’re both geeky in our own ways and on missions and was relating the all-too-common frustration of waiting for 5 hours, 10 hours, till the next day from a reply from the person that you like. Groomed to have an instinctual dislike for responses of such vague nature that they might as well not been said at all and keen at spotting patronising behaviour (from examining my own “Theory of Mind” and then applying it to others), nothing arouses my ire as quickly as queer aka non-straight aka indirect babble. So you did all the self talk, took stock of your fears and uncertainties, and at some point decided to go ahead anyway. Even if it’s a long way down or that the incoming light came with a train, some things in life you just have to face up to; even if doing so makes your heart of steel feel as porous as sponge dipped in milk (I’m rather hungry and thirsty now).

The question is thrown open.

You feel like a bomb expert dismantling a contraption of which entire lives count on your getting things done right, a surgeon in operation, or the budding Ph. D candidate presenting his or her thesis to a panel of expertise squirming and shifting uncomfortably with a dozen piercing eyes stripping you down to your crudest naivety… Do I type like a grammar nazi or do I tYp3 l|k3 tH!s, this emoticon or the other one, we are able to make conscious, select, mull over the choice of words used and we curate our tone of “speech”. And then after the arduous deed is done; like a stone, or maybe a pebble, thrown into the Deep Blue. No straight answer given. Every alert, every notification, always-on mobile connection makes it impossible for the savvy to miss the messages that one SO eagerly awaits, given the person on the other end bothers to reply at all.

Eventually you get that sinking feeling in your stomach, like someone decided to give it a kick, that you’re just not that high on another person’s list of priorities. Your innards lurched. Of course, some degree of immunity may be gained from a realistic appraisal of the situation. And no matter, another’s refusal to engage bears no direct connection to my sense of self-worth; this does not qualify so much as emotional hurt as, a very practical hurdle to be dealt with. Replies in a length that is inversely proportional to the amount of time it took for them to come: We’ve all done it to someone at some point, so we’re all familiar with the psychology behind. Heh. Fosho no one feels too hot to be recipient of “Oh you’re just not that important for me to reply to you, not until I’ve exhausted every other thing to do“… So, DJ went with the suggestion that, perhaps every message one sends out should end with a “Y/N?” to facilitate immediate response.

I felt: Such a brilliant idea! No more mind games, second-guessing and all that shit waste of energy and resources.

We’ve all been crazy and stupid enough to like someone who doesn’t feel the same way back before (a fundamental difference to be made between this and channel-surfing behaviour). If you haven’t, it may be the best test of your sense of personal confidence and worth, so totally worth a try if only just for its diagnostic effects. So as the residue or perhaps the final reincarnation of a ranting session I have this (first Photoshop then Prezi):

Wherein attempts were made to incorporate some specific details – factual or fictitious – because I like how quickly it adds a personal and specific flavour to a very universal frustration. 😀

I heart how by cloaking something behind the appearance of art, ranting takes on a passive-aggressive authenticity of its own. Hurhurhurhurhur.


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