Letters of Life

Coffee and Biscotti

In the late night hour. . .
it’s more like 10 a.m. in the cyberworld. A hive of activity: Chats, blogging, posting, uploading, downloading, Youtubing, emailing, the list is endless.

I have a theory that online conversations have a tendency towards a transparency that can only happen when taxis start playing hide-and-seek and surcharges start to kick in.

Yet there was a time when everything was real. Not virtually real, but truly real. Before the invasion of the virtual world, conversations were analog. . . rotary, even; we didn’t dial in, we dialed numbers. We had rambly phone conversations in the dead of night, about the unknown, about dreams and visions.

We didn’t share videos of strangers doing funny things, or links to news sound bites, or put up cryptic messages. There was a time when the voice reigned. It was all in the voice, not how fast you typed. We didn’t spell badly or speak in code, or btw, use lazy anagrams and icons. Nvm. We intoned, whined, empathised, laughed out loud (not LOL) in real time in our real voices.

It’s different now. We articulate, we edit, we project who we want to be online. . . some of it is real, some of it merely virtual, most of it is trivial. It’s all in the words, how we use them, how we choose them to define who we are. If we know how. If we have a treasury or an armoury of words at our disposal.

If we have a fridge full of words, we open the door and take out what we want to eat and it’s all just to get by. If we have a treasury, we walk into a genie’s cave of sparkling one-liners, multi-faceted multi-syllabic words, or my favourite: Lazare-cut solitaires, Colombian emeralds, and Hope diamonds of single syllables which can perhaps launch a thousand ideas. Precious. (Ok, I’m mixing my metaphors. My cave needs to be tidied, catalogued and categorized with the help of Ikea filing cabinets.)

And always, beyond the words, always, lie the ideas.

In the late night hour. . .
it’s 11 a.m in the cyberworld. No phone rings, only a single ping. (When did ping become a verb? When friend suffered the same fate.) Text pops up out of the blue on a white screen (thank you, David Bowie). These could be mere blips of quips, chits rather than chats, but the mind races with thoughts and word pictures and lines of songs long forgotten.

And somewhere across the island–or across an ocean or two–a friend holds the other end of the thread.

We might not use our real voices, but we plunge our hands into glimmering mounds of bejewelled words, and string them on our virtual voice so they emerge shimmering and shining in the midnight hour.

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Categorised in: Life Online, Sessions of Sweet Silent Thought (Reflections)

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5 Responses »

  1. Beautiful. Very Aladdin’s cave too. 🙂

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  1. Finding Your Inspiration « Don't Dream It's Over

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