Dear Imaginary Person #1
(I felt the need to start over since, obviously, my imaginary people have SUPER fantastical names.)
We have responses and we know how to write (insert witty comment since I cannot commit to one voice presently) at times. *wink* *blink* (oops messed the wink up again. winking is hard.)
I am reminded of some time ago when I was living somewhere not-here. There was a girl that enjoyed the time she spent with her boyfriend most when he was asleep. The reason was not because she liked to watch him sleep. Nor did it have anything to do with participating in the slumber with him. What appealed to her was the absolute security paired with control. She had the best of worlds in her opinion: he was with her, giving all of his time to her, while remaining non-participatory and primarily unresponsive. She knew where he was, what he was doing (although this is arguable) and where he was not and what he was not doing. She was free to do whatever she pleased regardless of how solitary or uninteresting it was to him. With him asleep, there was a guarantee of a quiet, stress-free, unremarkable space-time.
I actually forget if I ever had decided on a point to that story. I saw it on the fringe of my mind completely lined out, but when it came to the center, it was blurry and divergent. But, anyway, the story may be useful to you.. a part of piece of a slice (the typo was Alice… makes me think of the Cheshire Cat but before that I was thinking of Russian dolls and Raggedy Ann…. oh snap, little did I know til now that she is actually a symbol of the anti-vaccination movement. in the sync-context, this makes so much sense.)
I suppose I am writing this to “all of you” whoever that is. The relationship between writer and reader is an endlessly fascinating one. It is one based on fallacies and lies… or in a different language-spin… one based on stories and truths. No one is as near or as far from the author as the reader. The image of the reader in the author’s head is always inherently skewed. Writers cannot predict their readers (imagine an audience, sure), and it is a disservice to the reader when they attempt to. (I’m not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition, but we’re cool, right?)
We’re cool. I am saying that. It’s out there just floating around. I tend not to put energy into any sort of antagonism, mostly I regard it as a waste of time. In one form, I am a pleasure-seeker (not the same as a pain-avoider).
The 180s are completely apparent to me. There is a buzzing that goes on that “seems” to burrow under the skin. (seems is because it is seems and not is.)
Play the card. Play the card. Play the cards you are holding in your hand. You were dealt them. Some you always hold onto; some you discard so quickly since you see no value it them. Play close to chest and mind your mannerisms. Watch the other players, psychoanalyze them, make predictions, guide their plays with subtle movements or tones, hide your initial reactions at all cost, program yourself to work the room or the crowd…
Now draw a capital Q on your forehead. Which way is the bottom line going?
We are only going to get answers to the questions we ask, otherwise we live in our fabrications.
The responses that are given to us are another’s fabrications.
Fabrications are art, and art is beautiful.
I could let somethings bother me (and sometimes I do). That is all.
(some appropriate sign off),
P.S. It seems complete as is, but I could always go on… “until next time” is always so appropriately positive.
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