A letter to my friends
December 28th 2008 03:32
I am . . . lost . . . confused . . . . estranged. Who are you? Who the hell are any of you? Isn't this a wonderful little system we have? We can all keep in touch so nicely; so nicely, in fact, that we don't really have to keep in touch at all.
I sit in front of my computer, my fingers move, and I don't pay attention to them. I think, and I see the words scroll across my screen, writing themselves as I watch, as if in some sort of dramatic monologic film short. I don't know if "monologic" is the correct word, but you get the idea. You're not here. I don't know you. If I knew you, I would be speaking to you, or you would be speaking to me.
Where is the humanity? Where is the social interaction? Have we replaced it all in favour of worshipping these machines? When was the last time I saw any of you? Some of you can answer "recently", but most of you cannot. For some, though, this serves a purpose. You're too far away, or I am, and this makes for a convenient means of contact. Many of you, however, I could possibly see on a daily basis. Of course, it would be difficult for everyone to see everyone they know on a daily basis-- impossible, really-- but I'm left to wonder: nay, not wonder. I realize: we only choose the people we wish to see, and replace the other potentials with those people.
It would seem, at first, more desirable to keep many close-- yet therein lies a dilemma. To do so, requires that we spend less time with those of whom we wish to keep closest, and thus we alienate those people by choosing to spend time with others, who are seemingly not as close. Yet why do we feel this way? What in human nature demands the attention of those from whom you seek the most intimate affection?
I find it amusing that despite my own realizations, my nature lies in bed with jealousy. It kisses her, holds her close, and all the while denies her the respect of acknowledgement. There was a time, when I did not know jealousy. Perhaps I was more laid back, or perhaps I had simply not felt her taint, but having experienced it I now find it impossible to leave her side. She lies there in a short, silky, slinky, black nightgown that barely covers her heaving breasts and sexy, womanly thighs. I stare longingly into her eyes each night before I sleep, and she stares back at me with a salacious grin.
She doesn't love me, though. She never has, and she never will. She has many lovers, and she shares all our beds at once. She changes forms, and lies with women and men equally. Incredulous, I can only chuckle at these realizations, and I find myself lead to a single, ultimate conclusion:
Jealousy is a whore.
I sit in front of my computer, my fingers move, and I don't pay attention to them. I think, and I see the words scroll across my screen, writing themselves as I watch, as if in some sort of dramatic monologic film short. I don't know if "monologic" is the correct word, but you get the idea. You're not here. I don't know you. If I knew you, I would be speaking to you, or you would be speaking to me.
Where is the humanity? Where is the social interaction? Have we replaced it all in favour of worshipping these machines? When was the last time I saw any of you? Some of you can answer "recently", but most of you cannot. For some, though, this serves a purpose. You're too far away, or I am, and this makes for a convenient means of contact. Many of you, however, I could possibly see on a daily basis. Of course, it would be difficult for everyone to see everyone they know on a daily basis-- impossible, really-- but I'm left to wonder: nay, not wonder. I realize: we only choose the people we wish to see, and replace the other potentials with those people.
It would seem, at first, more desirable to keep many close-- yet therein lies a dilemma. To do so, requires that we spend less time with those of whom we wish to keep closest, and thus we alienate those people by choosing to spend time with others, who are seemingly not as close. Yet why do we feel this way? What in human nature demands the attention of those from whom you seek the most intimate affection?
I find it amusing that despite my own realizations, my nature lies in bed with jealousy. It kisses her, holds her close, and all the while denies her the respect of acknowledgement. There was a time, when I did not know jealousy. Perhaps I was more laid back, or perhaps I had simply not felt her taint, but having experienced it I now find it impossible to leave her side. She lies there in a short, silky, slinky, black nightgown that barely covers her heaving breasts and sexy, womanly thighs. I stare longingly into her eyes each night before I sleep, and she stares back at me with a salacious grin.
She doesn't love me, though. She never has, and she never will. She has many lovers, and she shares all our beds at once. She changes forms, and lies with women and men equally. Incredulous, I can only chuckle at these realizations, and I find myself lead to a single, ultimate conclusion:
Jealousy is a whore.
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