Talking To Blondie

Can you hear the contemptible obnoxiousness of that hateful voice? Does she even know it about herself?

What makes her want to be this way? Nothing. This is how she is. This is how mommy related with her; just enough stimulation and interest in her; with a bit of negligence and aggressiveness from time to time. Easy to describe it in these cold cognitive terms, because what can be described as thus, can also be a persons story: who they are, or should be.

For now, I just watch her. I watch her as she speaks. How she speaks. How she elongates her sentences at the end, a needless intonation to a higher pitch; irritating? Why does she do it? Because it makes enough sense to her - consciously or unconsciously - to sound this way to herself. Funny, though, how how we sound to ourselves is a critical element to self recognition. Though we completely overlook that. 

Shes talking but for the life of me I can't make out any coherent narrative. Its just a lot of fluff and flitting about from topic to topics; errant information - ebola is not airborne, yet she insists that it is. I, failing to completely convince her, tell that the virus is too large to be carried by air; it sits in fluids, saliva, puke, piss, s**t, blood, sweat etc. Aye, but the fricken girl still looks at me with this air of annoyance: subtle sense of defeat? Is that it?

That is it. F*****g people. I think were living in a "pre-enlightenment" era of humanity, where our own ways of thinking are largely unknown to most people. This is how stupidity flourishes; life is taken as "just" life. And the things that happen are "meh" "whatever".

I wish I could do greater justice to the majority of people I interact with, but I can't; I can't help but see a lack of completion; an ability and potential that has be squandered by a fucked world.

Why can't her biology support it? Every mind can come to know a deeper sense of reality. But some minds are just relationally dissociated - personally and socially - from ever probing deeper into the facticity of that existential wonder of knowing and perceptually feeling that sense of I in a sea of voidness.

In this conversation, I have heard countless references now to her friends, to TV shows, to college, to music, to aspects of culture that are "lame" and "cool"; and essentially all of it seems to be governed by a whiff-waffing consciousness, splitting one moment to another and no communication at all between states; just a, "oh hey there, yes, its me, the person your speaking to". And if this person is particularly special, a second later you'll get a person limited by their current response; situation is different, emotions are different, were sharing an interpersonal shaming, some weird shame, is present between us; its in our bones; those bad moments we call "awkward" - really just a mutual experience of shame shared by both in their bodies - and now, in this new moment, with this new configuration, only one of us can be present: me. Not bragging, just you got to be aware of how these things work if you're not going to be a different self, dissociated, dislodged from a conscious sense of being; acting moronically because an emotion happened to me; the happy-go-lucky-who-loves-pleasure-and-good-times is a cheerful and fun kind of gal to be around. But add some anxiety, a titch of shame, and all those social elements - peoples names, their faces, their voices, and the feeling of their "watching" eyes - acting from without, the shame is pushed away but so is the 'truths' that you committed yourself to. But who was that self? Someone else? A different time. A different place. A different person? I know how this will end, you'll ignore it; attention will magically converge upon something that is affectively soothing; narratively reminiscent: "oh yes, this is what I am; this is who I am, And I like this"; exit self. The suggestions it gives and the realities it follows, sophisticated management of unconscious networks; bodies amazing; yet the end product is amazingly selfish and self-deluding.

I remember to myself, again, what she said, how easily it was said, oh, just you should know, about me, "I'm naive". Yes. Yes, you are, indeed. I'm more impressed with the way you say it than with the prospect of you having the awareness of it. Is it the sound of your voice, the cool baritone flow, which you know - which you most pay attention to? We can get distracted by the coolness of our own flow, and in doing, relate superficially, attend to things stereotypically, and speak, without actually acknowledging a presence of a real feeling; a real perception. Just an unconscious speaking in a cool and comfortable way  - the way you know yourself to be. Such a way of being, the narcissists trap, where every relational object is an IT deserving its itness. The you, the feelings, the abstract, and correspondingly the presence of a I-self relationship within her; shallow, missing, and hence missing in the way she relates.