Slow communication

We went out to dinner tonight with our besties and upon arriving home I've realised we had a night of slow communication. Not that the conversation was by any means slow, but that it was based on a shared history that's been nurtured over a period of time.

These are people who know our quirks and can tease us for a propensity to talk tech or music. I can start with some marvellously moronic statement and work in concentric circles around it until I finally stumble across an articulate summation of what I mean - which is not necessarily what I said in the first place.

One word can spark a reminisce or a foray into the future; a discussion can be just that without treading on toes or becoming unpleasantly spiky. In short, it's communication of a quality which is becoming increasingly rare - not just a reflection on our 'growing up' and the other calls on our time, but also upon the depth of sharing and connectedness with other people.

I'm very good at knowing other people 'a little bit'; what they do, who they like, what they read and sometimes even what might make them laugh. I do love to be struck by the novelty of some new fascinating person, and some of them I even pursue, wanting to stab them and stick them up on my wall to be endlessly amusing. Ok, I'm kidding about the stabbing part. And the sticking up on my wall. I don't have enough wall space, what with all the pictures my parents are busy moving from their (old) house to ours.

But my point is, we are connected endlessly (and very traceably, with the advent of the interwebs) but shallowly. The threads are tenuous, and often little mothy holes appear. (I could totally link this to the rise of fast fashion vs. couture and clothing designed to be worn a whole season, not just a week, but it's late and I think you all get my point.)

Is this just a point I'm arriving at? You know, the one where everyone pauses, and takes stock, and realises we spend our lives in fractional milliseconds at a constant and very, very fast rate, and perhaps it would be better to spend it in minutes, hours, even days... just better quality ones?

I'm not sure I've made it to the central circle yet (that's where you meet the pebble that's occasioned all these ripples), but I feel on the edge of something profound. Meditation and learning to live in the moment... I think I'm close. Share the pearls of wisdom, people.

Looming....

My one hundredth post. (Doncha just love the word hundredth? No-one ever says it correctly, we all slur "hundreth" and leave out that critical "d" but I seriously have a soft spot for words that require a little more effort. Prepossessing. That's another favorite, like preposterous.)

It's really quite amazing that I'm anywhere near one hundred posts, given the way I blather so effortlessly. Then again, borderline OCD has it's advantages...

Have a little stream of semi-consciousness:

The guilty pleasure of hearing "No other woman could hold a candle to you,"
and thinking Damn straight. It was your own fricking narcissism that burned the house down.
Followed by "You're the most intensely YOU person I've ever known. You're unchanging. And in five years you'll be exactly the same. And at fifty you'll be exactly the same."
That I heard inflexible, stagnant, stubborn, resistant when he apparently meant constant, evolving, true to yourself, and other positive, affirming traits is a measure of the chasm between our lexicons of existence. My, how they grow.

And now for some poetry (discussion welcome encouraged; I like interrogation), because this is my blog and I will put up here anything I like. And right now that is.....

Al jabr w'al mugabala


I have you 
without possessing you


Al jabr w'al mugabala


Taste you 
beneath my tongue
without consuming


Al jabr w'al mugabala


We are
an algebraic equation
single letters of representation
in circular transaction


Al jabr w'al mugabala


Discuss.


For my next trick I'm going to rip off Extranjera, because she's cool. No further correspondence shall be entered into over this contentious statement. Post 100 = answers to questions. Get asking. You've got... ooh, three days?

P.S. My toe still hurts. And my butt. Falling over is bad.
I'd like to thank the sparklemunchkins for distracting me from my achy painy clumsy body very successfully.
And leaving me sweet artwork.
And locking me out of my house (see, Linda's husband, I bet you thought you'd gotten away with that, but HA HA! I am the master mistress ultimate ruler of subterfuge cunningness inertia! Hmmm. Could be time to learn how to work a thesaurus.) Yah.