'words, come back!'

i frequently trip on words whenever i talk on the phone. actually, not just a phone, it becomes a damned phone. or damning phone. condemning phone. there you go.

i do not like the nature of urgency and instantaneity.
the possibilities of multiple events happening all simultaneously without being able to see the entire set (talking on the phone somehow always reminds me of a bad set for gladiatorial improv a la theater-of-absurd, you know the kinds where you and your team vs. THE other team goes up in the battle of attemped wit, while the panel looks down with serious grimace on their eyebrows, and tap those little silvery bells which rings with the utmost joy and shards of brightness?),
not being able to perceive nor predict the rest of the communication- you just cling onto words with death grip, or more frequently, with no care in the world (for words, haha).
and it's noisy. too noisy for comfort for any extended time.

i never know how long am i expected to talk for. or how long to listen for, how much time im supposed let collapse before moving onto another subject, if the silence signifies a turn to the next chapter of the death of the converstion. the list can go on and on, just like a pointless, extended-beyond-its-expirary date phone conversation with sprinkles of odd bits of necessity and amusement.

at this point, i sound like a typical description of a seriously messed up autistic child. an asperger's, ugh.
perhaps i am??

haha, it doesnt really matter either way i guess, since no one takes it seriously! if i continue in such manner in person, perhaps someone will get some practical sense in their heads and finally put me in an asylum. ooh. there's another irony i wasnt anticipating- apparently the word asylum was born from the concept of inviolable place:
asylum: c.1430, from L. asylum "sanctuary," from Gk. asylon "refuge," neut. of asylos "inviolable," from a- "without" + syle "right of seizure." So lit. "an inviolable place."
so whose being protected from possible violation here? the crazy man or his associates?
now that's getting too close to morals and ethics,
and we all know that monkeys have no morals or ethics, so we'll carry along just fine.

i think this post is getting unnecessarily long, perhaps i should attempt to either get back to the initial subject or run as far as i can with the tangent, leaving the entire writing composition in unsurveyable mess. hmm. tempting.

i've been restricted to only two means of communication with others who are NOT in banff: im either stuck on the phone or typing away on this cyber space, hoping that this is as intangible and confusing for the other person on-line. so far, not much luck. just whole a lot of muck.
stuck. no luck. muck.

in a bizarre way, typing is the preferred method for monkey. it is so blatantly objective (no voice nuances, no perceivable gap from the listener, no extrinsic noise), the greatly reduced expectation (of what? am not so sure) from both parties makes it a little easier to tolarate the partial communication.
in fact, with certain parties, it even become more fun that it was intended to be, just because of the nature of the visualized words (wordplays anyone? i think good ones are often called pun). but mostly, efficient and significantly less emotional investment. yay.

on the phone, im always running after words.
see, i talk fast. you think i would like to form a thought, choose the words accordingly, then actually phonetically create the thought in english syntax (occasionally korean), with clear delivery to the magic machine that transports sounds across space and time?


i fail. all the time.

and those kids running upstairs with the vigor of idiots and burning desires to have broken ankles (seriously. i can make it happen. i think they are begging for it. though i dont like violence so much, im willing to physicalize their dream at this point, even with a discount. what? it's not an easy job to break ankles when they are running around!) really have been a great distraction in my life a la lloyd hall. buggers. so hence, my lame excuse for bungled conversations of recent.

oh and then there was those 'oops i didnt mean to actually press 'send' on that email' moments.
im only a monkey. don't really have an excuse for it. i screwed up.
i shouldve been mucking around on a word documents or something.
not on the email composition section.
instead of creating an attempt for a precise and succinct expression of self (that sounds like someone with a expensive degree would say, no?), i sent garbled mess of my wants, my reactions, childishness and whole slew of other things. like typos. oops.
no one died because of it, but man. i wished i could run after it, grab it with full body contact tackle, bring it down, and wait for the referee (if he's still paying attention) to put up for flag to stop the play.

so here i am,
running after words, after i, myself have released it voluntarily,
and the words are always faster than monkey.
come back, words!

may be one day, i will also meet some other guys running after their words as well,
but it's bizarre that i never see them.
am i the only one whose on a constant run?

1 comment:

  1. Better to release and chase those words than to hold them and ferment in the rotting, I say.
    Love you, my dear philosopher.