Friday, March 28, 2003

His alacrity with the home row grew ever more useless.
asdf jkl; asdf jkl; asdf jkl; asdf jkl;
Words per minute waned rapidly. 100, 80, 50, 20.
Arthritis, paralysis, psychosis.

The Inbox tallied higher and higher. Spam: Herbal Viagara, Debt Consolidation, Lowest Mortgage Rates Ever, Printer Ink Cartridges. Delete, Delete, Delete, Delete, DELETE He typed as best he could. Replies merited responses. Quid Pro Quo. Is it rude to just end a conversation by not replying? Would you do that to someone if you were speaking to them? Nah. You'd always have to say the obligatory, "Anywaaaaay......". What is it with these pixilated words? Click send and your words get sped away. Hey look, there's a piece of mail with my name on it. Better be good, afterall it has my name on it. Maybe I should've Blind CC'd my soul in on that one. Would have been the only bit of introspection I am capable of. Inbox: (50). Inbox: (76). Inbox: (143). Business email piled up. "I need a quote for 'x' pieces.", "Can you send me info on 'y' product?" But it was impossible to respond. This is the same stuff as last week, as the week before that, and before that! And the responses piled on. What can be said for that one? Damn, this is way too involved. They All Want.

He looked at what was being asked of him. Personal and Business and Spam. Each one with its own required response. All left up to his fingers to communicate. Who has conversations like this? Maybe the deaf. They have to sign in order to know. But in his case the arthritis was setting in. The Louder I Type - The More I Can't Read - The Less I Can Understand. There's a lot of gray area screwed if you don't pick the right word usage. Can't rely on a smile or a shrug or a smirk to fill in the unsaid but nonetheless understood gaps. Would a dictionary of Emoticons be useful to have? All the while the Inbox piled higher and the less he had to say. What was said before was said again. Maybe it wasn't. But how can I be made understood? More clear? Transparent like glass? Everything rides on the fingers. And the brain in control. But it's a conversation in silence - punctured only by the tip-tap of the keyboard. A monotone musical melody of meaning. Again, everything rides on the fingers. Arthritis, paralysis, psychosis. Click Send?

He pulled his hands away from the keys. The first Mute in history to have become so all because he shut down his fingers.


Post a Comment

<< Home