Today I am trying to, you know, make sense of a world gone to crap. I have annoying pains—not exactly pains, but sensations—in my chest, and I can’t help wondering about my heart, though what I’m feeling now is nothing like the nasty sensations I felt years back that turned out to be something that needed fixing inside my chest.
I remember years ago in the dead of night when no one was around it was sometimes comforting to listen to the radio, even if it didn’t listen back. And yes, I was aware that I was all too likely to be listening not to a person, but rather to a recorded voice merely being played back on a reel-to-reel tape. I mean, I’d seen the banks of recorders at the station where my father worked, and watched in fascination as they switched from music to announcer to commercial and so on. Years later, in fact, one of my jobs was watching a bank of tape machines pretending to be a functioning studio, while standing ready to call for help if necessary.
But now, thanks to the insanity that is the Internet, I actually can connect with other people who happen to be awake at whatever strange hour I feel like reaching out and saying something. That’s now what I’m doing now, exactly; I’m just trying to warm up and get ready to write something of possible significance—if not to me, then to my dead and largely imaginary readers. I’m still alive, at any rate, even if everyone I’ve ever known and connected with is gone and forgotten.
That probably counts for something—the number of words, if nothing else.
No comments:
Post a Comment