Lonely Guy seeks lonely girl
all alone in a drowned-out world
too many swine, not enough pearls
for a heart set on roses and curls
Lonely Girl seeks lonely guy
a little action in a world of try
too hard to live, too soon to die
she can’t remember how to fly
lonely guys in lists and tiles
lonely girls with lonely smiles
lonely roads, lonely miles
to end up beached upon the piles
Friend: a
word, so long as no more
words are heard. Truth be told,
grow old in doubt, and
when you shout, no rope
responds. Life preserved
to sink or swim, then sink
again.
And when the waters,
once receded, flood anew…
Blue
You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
– Inigo Montoya
As a child, after having been caught out in some mischievous trick or another, I would look at my father and plaintively protest: “I didn’t mean to!” “Ah,” Dad would answer, “but you didn’t mean not to, either.”
I never appreciated the real wisdom in his words until I started participating in online “debates.”
We use the word “friend” a lot in social media circles. Heck, Facebook is built on the concept. It’s a noun; it’s a verb; it’s a thumbnail…and we’ve forgotten what it means.
Mental image: You’re in your car, and unbeknownst to you, your friend is lying on the ground behind it. You innocently put the car in reverse, and run him over. To this point, little blame could be assigned; you had no suspicion of what was about to happen. It was an accident.
In real life, this (hopefully) is where it would end. You shut off your car, call an ambulance, and your friend is rushed to the hospital. Another day; another life saved. In real life. But not in the wonderful world of Internet commentary.
No. In that world, you throw the car into drive, and run him over again. And back into reverse. (WHUMP!) And drive. (WHUMP!) And reverse…You get the picture.
Or, imagine that you’re watching a friend being repeatedly run over in your driveway by another friend. At what point do you intervene to stop the carnage? At what point do you bring out the lawn chair and the popcorn?
And here’s the craziest thing of all: In real life, my guess (and hope) is that, under circumstances like these, it wouldn’t have to be a “friend” for you to spring into action. You might even do it for a cat or a dog (or, if you’re my wife, a caterpillar). On the other hand, as the vitriol flies in the blogosphere and your “friends” get beaten to a bloody theoretical pulp, where are you? Do you step into defend, or at least to moderate the conversation? Or are you, perhaps, one of the bullies yourself?
For whatever reason, the minute we start commenting online, some switch is flipped, and decency flies out the window. We act toward digital “friends” in ways we would never act in real life. And we patch it up with that epitome of the pseudo-personal touch: the emoticon.
“I’m sorry if I mauled you like a bear in front of God and everybody.” Sad face. Sad face. Sad face.
I didn’t mean to. Ah, but you didn’t mean not to, either.
With emoticons like these, who needs enemies?
Friendship is as friendship does–
what never is most never was. It’s not
a rush; it’s not a buzz; it’s not a bit of
dryer fuzz. It can’t be shelved, or laid away;
it can’t just be the words we say. If
you are mine and I am yours, then nothing
can remain of course, nothing granted,
nothing given. An empty room cannot be
leavened with a healthy dose of silence; nor
can an island in the sky bridge the space from
you to I.
Were I a fly perched on your wall, would
I stand or would I crawl? Would I idle; would
I stall? Would I learn to walk, or fall upon my
broken knees and plant a few suppliant trees? And,
if I did,
would you thaw, or would you freeze?
They say the lowest-hanging fruit
Is the easiest to pick; but
I say
With a ladder and a broomstick
I will reach the topmost branch and
That burnished, ruddy apple–
An example of perfection–
Shining in the sunlight, echoing
Reflection sight to sight, and take
A bite, eyes closed, and feel the juices
Running down my chin; and
Then
I will reach back up and
Pull one down for you.
How far we fall to
Reach
The summit…
Summoning thoughts
Of bruises prior, the pain of all those
Passing hours, payments made
Against regret. A debt the growth of which
Is staggering; a nagging sense of
Nothing
Lasting ever longer and longer. Were I
But stronger, I might reach out and
Grasp the edge, flex whatever inner muscle,
Atrophied, huddles dormant deep within; stretch the sinews
Once again; bend the will, tame the spirit.
Above, silhouette
Traced in sunlight, eyes alight
With fire and passion, second sight–
Looking toward the future past. At last
We meet,
Myself and I. Another lunge, another
Try!
And then…Surprise!
My face looks back with other eyes;
My fingers on another’s hand.
And there we stand, united, one–
You will not fall; I am not done. We
Climb together (On belay!) beyond the
Laws of physics, beyond the pull
Of isolation. Crazed striations, granite lifelines
Set in stone, a map to somewhere yet
Unknown. Say the word:
You will be heard.
How far we fall to
Reach
The summit
And into one another
Plummet.
Toad's Great Adventure 