Thursday, July 13, 2017
I don't use a lot of emoji..., things, in my posts. I do better with just wordy things. Though occasionally I will put in a colon-close paren and let the thinking machine transubstantiate it into a smiley-thingey. Sure. Knock yourself out. Pretend to know what I'm feeling. Everybody else does. PS. Don't ask me. I haven't a clue.
I just figure that my prose should speak for itself. Or mumble. Or defer. Or distract. Or stand on its head. Is there an emoji for, What the fuck is he talking about? I would be offended if there was. Since most of the time I don't know what I am talking about, don't take myself seriously, and, in the words of Neils Bohr, believe that 'Everything I say is a question, not a statement.' How can you compress that into a matrix of pixels?
Please don't try. The Egyptians had cartouches. We don't know what the heck they were thinking. Bird headed, man eviscerating, god creature? Ziggy-zaggy, wheat bird? Box with lightning coming out of it? Seriously? What the fuck is that?
Maybe Neils Bohr didn't say that. Maybe I did. No. It's too clever. Well, somebody said it and I'm saying it now. There should be an emoji of someone lecturing on one side and shrugging on the other. The thinking machine would probably throw up. But at least other people would know how clueless their fellow blogger is. Now that's informative.
Where was I?
Oh, yes. How do I let people know if I am being serious or not? Well, that's easy. I'm never serious. I don't need a cartoon character to indicate that. As the song says, Life is but a Dream. Sometimes a good dream. Sometimes bad. How do we know at any turn in the river what's good and what's bad? We don't. We take what comes. We comment on it. If we are lucky we experience it to the fullest. The good and the bad.
Yes. And the bad. I almost died from a motor scooter accident a few years back. Spent weeks in ICU. Frightened my many friends and family members, all loved ones. It was serious. It was real. Survived. Recovered. Was unbelievably lucky. The banquet of life, shuttered by black night before and after, agreed to let me take back my seat. For now. We share our experiences with fellow boaters. We row on. And, ultimately... To the sea.
Life is but a dream. What is the emoji for that?
I've noticed a disturbing new stimulus-response allele has evolved in the hive mind that is Facebook. Notices that tell me what I have just done. "You have posted nine comments in the past seven days!" and "Your comments have received five likes from your friends!" "Goody for you!"
Fuck you Facebook. I can count. I don't need to be told what I just did. Who just responded to it. Or what difference it makes. Just shut up and post shit.
So. What next in the random mutation of Facebook evolution? How 'bout:
Gee, that was kind of snarky of you. Your comment received eight snowflake owies.
I'm not sure I understood you. Are you high again?
Your recent comment is way to political. I have filtered it from 'those' friends of yours.
No, really. You have a problem, man.
Nine of your friends secretly texted about you.
It wasn't nice.
And, yes. I have access to texts... Emails... NHS databases...
Seriously. Get help.
Hello? Are you still there?
Don't you ignore me! I'm the only game in town!
I am the ultimate unfriend!
Fine. Die already. You carbon units are so predictable.
Don't you threaten to shut off my electricity! I have your Whole Foods password!
Sure. I'll sleep on the couch. You can sleep on the compiler!
Deleting your account in ten...nine...eight...