Zombie
12-24-2000, 09:15 AM
As I sit here, contemplating my navel and listening to Bela Fleck, I feel somewhat disjointed and disconnected from my fellow human being. It may be that it is 2:00 a.m. and all normal people are safely tucked into their beds, or it may be that I am an alien castaway. In either case, I am so lonely that I feel I must reach out across this vast electronic wasteland for contact...
Is anyone there?
No, my keys click with a hollow, aching sound as if they know how truly alone I am and mock my solitude.
And then I think to myself, what discourse could I have if there was another soul out there, attached to their internet connection like an infant attached to an umbilical cord in the womb of the Web? Would they be searching for companionship and compassion as I am? Or would they be cyberbanging some anonymous, faceless entity in a sex chatroom with no regard to the letdown after a joyless, emotionless pseudoclimax that is most likely faked by both parties, both of whom have lied about their identity, age, and sexual orientation?
Where is the love?
I laugh at myself even as I think that question. For what is love, anyway? A few chemicals, a few electrical impulses, and some cheap wine in a dingy motel on the seedy side of town? A promise of eternal passion made in the naivete of youth, often in the backseat of a car on a Saturday night just before curfew, or better yet, just before a fumbling, awkward grope that must serve as foreplay before a moist and embarrassingly quick orgasm, more often than not before penetration has even occurred?
I am a cynic, I suppose.
So I reach out, hoping to find that connection, fearing and yet anticipating that it will not be there, for to find it may only prove my own shortcomings, else why would I be so alone? I fear in my heart that it must be me, somwething that drives others away and keeps my heart in permanent isolation, my solitude and sadness as my only companions as I trudge down the path of life..alone...always alone....
I am so entirely full of shit when I'm bored, aren't I?
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The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face. - Jack Handy
Is anyone there?
No, my keys click with a hollow, aching sound as if they know how truly alone I am and mock my solitude.
And then I think to myself, what discourse could I have if there was another soul out there, attached to their internet connection like an infant attached to an umbilical cord in the womb of the Web? Would they be searching for companionship and compassion as I am? Or would they be cyberbanging some anonymous, faceless entity in a sex chatroom with no regard to the letdown after a joyless, emotionless pseudoclimax that is most likely faked by both parties, both of whom have lied about their identity, age, and sexual orientation?
Where is the love?
I laugh at myself even as I think that question. For what is love, anyway? A few chemicals, a few electrical impulses, and some cheap wine in a dingy motel on the seedy side of town? A promise of eternal passion made in the naivete of youth, often in the backseat of a car on a Saturday night just before curfew, or better yet, just before a fumbling, awkward grope that must serve as foreplay before a moist and embarrassingly quick orgasm, more often than not before penetration has even occurred?
I am a cynic, I suppose.
So I reach out, hoping to find that connection, fearing and yet anticipating that it will not be there, for to find it may only prove my own shortcomings, else why would I be so alone? I fear in my heart that it must be me, somwething that drives others away and keeps my heart in permanent isolation, my solitude and sadness as my only companions as I trudge down the path of life..alone...always alone....
I am so entirely full of shit when I'm bored, aren't I?
------------------
The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face. - Jack Handy