Thursday, May 03, 2012

epistolary

Eerangwhe --

You say that I am being unreasonable, that who I have in mind is somewhat fanciful, that perhaps I am being foolish. I have tried, many a time, to explain to you, but like most of my interlocutors during this sort of conversation, you appear to have not comprehended the points that I have made, completely disregarded the history that I have recounted to you twice in an attempt to explain my position to you, and generally (not that I think it was your intent) ignored and belittled the picture I have attempted to relay to you in an earnest (though sadly fruitless) attempt to elicit the tiniest mote of empathy about my situation.

You, knowing your own situation, imagine that if mine were similar to it, that I would have more contentedness, and like many people, you misapprehend, sometimes viciously, the problems I am having in mine. You assume, because of the way that I describe myself, that I am concerned with particulars and specifics, with the explicit analysis of the runtimes of algorithms or of patterns of sticklike symbols in ink on paper, and then you mention that you stopped understanding it a while ago -- at least, that of your apprehension of such messes of symbols. I, on the third hand, am constantly surfing the froth of my emotions, beset by the species and its cultures and the cosmos and constantly almost apoplectic and paralyzed by the sheer lack of awareness that permeates, soaks through, and leaves a froth of jangly and difficult material in the collective emotional continuum which never is quite dissolved and instead builds up, accretes, and cools but does not crystallize, and thus remains glassy and easily fractured. I would, if I could, design solvents and catalysts for this agglomeration of nonmoving collective stress, but I do not have the materials to do so -- the scope of this, however, should stagger the imagination. I don't actually want to do this, but I am somewhat forced to do it because language use here (and you know this!) is miserable and unreliable.

And my faults? They are resource dependent. I do not have the resources to patch them now. I am station-keeping at the moment. There have been ridiculously horrid developments, and I cannot immediately obtain the sort of empathy and attention that would have a solvent effect on them in me: I tell you, I need someone to see, or to look enough in the direction and way I am peering, and be without too many entanglements, and I don't think this is an unreasonable desire. So far I have experienced spaghetti-tangles, an incidence of the inaudible and viscous, and an assortment of not-quite-theres, so when you do not forgive me for my situation, and seem to believe that I should rack my body out and align every sarcomere, you should not be surprised at my utter astonishment at your lack of empathy.

                                                      Neherahtgne ge Akinea (de Lurina)

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