July 21st, 2003

fashionable

sometimes, there's nothing there...

Someone doing the whole five questions schtick referred to pjammer's status today as "nebulous semi-celebrity"... which really is the kind of statement that raises my hackles.

I've interacted with lots of LiveJournal users, but I have yet to meet a LiveJournal "celebrity". I have met web addicts, exhibitionists, sociopaths, the hopelessly vain, the insecure, camgirls, sex workers, lifestyle junkies, sacred whores, serial monogamists, performance artists, wouldbe new age gurus, supposed authorities, and a whole slew of people who are addicted to being loved and admired no matter how emotionally unassailable they are... but no celebrities yet.

All roads lead to the same question...

"So, why do we care WTF anyone thinks about us anyway?"

I guess part of the reason I ask this right now is because at this particular moment, I don't care much about the larger, nebulous *you* out there. In fact, part of me just wants to throw things at you and call you rude names. No offense.

Sure, there are specific people I know who I wish I could have over and talk with for hours... and some potential romances who I would love to spend time with, watch a movie, cuddle, maybe more... and yes, in some cases, we'd live together in a big house (ideally with private rooms, bathrooms, and seperate entrances) in an idealized world and really be there for each other.

But lately I find myself giving up on some things. For instance, long distance relationships don't interest me much anymore, with few exceptions. There are all sorts of partially-developped flirtations that I gave up on before I even started, just because there wasn't any real life there... and therefore no there there. I feel kind of bad about this too, but such things are two-way streets, after all. Long distance relationships are more trouble than they are worth to me. Long distance hugs, sighs, and loneliness ring hollow. I've already got a bellyful of loneliness and sorrow and angst and weltschmerz... so why would I want to stand on the edge of a long, deep, dark canyon, listening to the hollow echoes of my voice crying out for someone to care about, part of me afraid that the big electronic nothing will swallow me and that I will fall, fall, fall.

"I'm writing this to say
In a gentle way
Thank you but no."


Maybe that's a big part of the reason I don't tend to put as many personal emotions out there anymore. There's just too much nothing, with nothing real to hold on to.

Yes, I know that some of you live elsewhere around the world, and that if you were here or I were there, we'd have a grand time... but sometimes the emotional effort feels like listening to the hollow electric noises we've made for all that nothing out there.

"The number you've called is disconnected or no longer in service. If you've reached this recording in error, please hang up or dial your operator..."

"US naval observatory master clock. At the tone Eastern Daylight Time seven hours thirty three minutes twenty five seconds..."

It seems like time has just made the noise of the nothingness that much louder, really... I can't pick up a phone without hearing it screaming back at me.

Sometimes it is just the whirr of the computer fans and the shadows on the walls of a room lit by a CRT that make you feel that that you're approaching the big nothing, and that it's time to take a step or two back from the edge.

It's late at night, and yes, I can feel that you're all out there, but spare the digital hugs. I will collect in person or not at all, thanks. You're interesting enough, but -- unfortunately -- just not of any use to me right this second. With few exceptions, there is no convenient way I can experience you in a way that my emotions would interpret as real... all you can do is sling electrons, and sometimes electrons aren't enough.

It seems an appropriate time to quote an old Iggy Pop song.

"Oh babe, what a place to be...
In the service of the bourgeoisie.
Where can my believers be?
I want to jump into the endless sea.

Ohh, the endless sea.
Ohh, the endless sea.
I want to jump into the endless sea.
Feel it wash all over me..."


And on that cheery note, now would be a good time to get into bed and cuddle a real, live human, who will be a bit grumpy perhaps, but ultimately quite warm and spoonable. It may be a bit selfish of me, but I need the contact, so there. 'nite.
fashionable

Voices lost in the desert.

The Army's newspaper, Stars & Stripes, has become a venting ground for angry soldiers who are unable to promptly send or receive mail, with some soldiers reporting delays in mail service of over a month.

"Mail is just as important as anything else needed to win a war. Why? Because if soldiers have no morale, how can they be expected to fight at 100 percent? They can't. They'll constantly be thinking and worrying about their families. With no morale, soldiers are as good as dead." - Pfc. Rob Roysdon, Iraq

More disturbingly, soldiers in Iraq are no longer permitted to mail home "one time use" cameras. Previously, sending home pictures in this manner was a standard practice, but perhaps the recent incident of a British soldier's pictures of tortured and sexually abused Iraqi soldiers are the reason for the sudden change in policy... the story got some significant attention, but I don't think we'll be hearing any more about it.