current SEO standards (that's geek speak, for website managers, who need to follow a thing called Best Practices, and SEO has to do with page ranks, visibility on the web, and all that nonsense) . . . all o' that, compiled, as it tends to be, has driven me back to the faceplace. mm.
i did contemplate the tweetie bird thing, but . . . um . . . yeah. still can't get to that.
so y'all know, these branded forms of quick talk, "sharing," "liking," and "faving," are seriously not my style.
i'm not ethically opposed, so i can do it.
how are we able, as a culture—as cultures and communities of peoples—to represent ourselves, to our fullest, most comprehensible degrees, in those tiny boxes?
yeah, fine: i'm old-school, OG, potentially luddite. i don't text message; don't own a microwave; rarely use store-bought food in a car or a jar; those candles without flame seem both counterproductive and counterintuitive, to me; i don't read self-help books; i have literally ended a (faltering) friendship, over the gift of fuzac, because, mi gente, fuzac is not music.
i had a maintenance guy, for about five years, who always said i was born in the wrong century. be that as it may. i'm here; i'm queer (in so many ways); get over it.
does anyone have a burning interest in what time i arose from bed, today, or whether i post snapshots of my newest culinary or decorating feat? erm, i'm not entirely certain i have feats of any kind, on a daily basis—though i'm a bit of a linens whore. i purchase linens. you want photos? seriously?
the daily detritus of life intrigues me not. i can't even sustain phone conversations about it. my last lover asked me, in a bit of angst: "how do i discuss the mundane with you? or don't i?" this, after she'd sent me an email, and called to ask whether i read it. i had to ponder a moment; listen to her description of it; then answer, honestly (like i do), "oh. yes. i started to read that . . . then i got bored, and went to do laundry."
that was very early, in our interactions. i don't sugarcoat. what she was attempting to convey to me, i don't recall . . . but it didn't register as anything i could read, without . . . effort, and some sort of compelling context. i'd planned on asking her why she'd sent that to me, so the context could push me forward, into understanding some rationale for reading the words.
as it turned out, it was a simple narrative of her day. we determined, between ourselves, that she had better friends to whom that sort of thing might be sent. after successfully navigating the entire text, i still wouldn't have anything of merit to say. i'm just not that kind of girl.
hence, faceplace is not really for me. i want to discuss what my friend jdr once termed "the creamy middle" of life. the stuff of excitement, passion, direction. seriously.
one of my exes used to laugh, and say, "you go deep, fast." she loved that, about me.
if it's between profundity and what your pet ate for dinner . . . yes? i'll take the former. please?
now that i've been ill so long, and can't much focus on anything, i'm hoping my people will at least cut me some slack, on the notion that small talk is painful anathema, at this point in my isolated existence.
do hit me, if you want to say all the things nobody else wants to hear, about changing the world, and how to make life bearable, for those who go unheard.
i'm about that.
~emmanuela
