I delude myself into believing what I post is innocent, when in truth, I engage in a conversation, even when she does not respond.
Although my west coast poet friend (I call her my cyber
nanny) yells at me each time I do, and often as not, I post things to keep her
from yelling at me, burying what I intended to post in a poetry notebook (which
will no more likely see the light of day than this daily journal).
When I can get passed by cyber nanny censorship, I attempt
to elicit a response.
I got spoiled. I miss last summer when most of the poems she
posted were indeed talking to me. An angry response is better than no response,
I figure.
And so, when all that stopped, I try to keep up my side of
the one-sided conversation whenever the cyber nanny isn’t looking.
Most end up in my poetry notebook when it is clear they
would never get passed the censor.
When I slipped one by, I had the vague hope she might secretly
respond, even when it was clear the poems have nothing to do with me at all.
Sometimes, at the encouragement of my cyber nanny, I
deliberately posted things that I believed had nothing to do with her at all,
only to realize later what unconsciously they were or could be seen as such.
From time to time, I caught glimpses in her posts of what I
might have mistaken as a response, only to tell myself these were mere coincidences
The old theory about 100 monkeys in front of a 100 typewriters
given enough time might come up with Hamlet.
So, if she writes enough about familiar themes, she’s bound
to stumble on language that might seem like a response, but is not.
And yet, when my cat died late last year and I posted
something about it on my Facebook page, she posted pictures of her cats on her
page.
There were a few other incidents like that which had me
scratching my head and wondering: is this a response or not? But each time,
common sense prevailed, and I concluded she would not be responding to someone like
me who she hates, nor am I important enough for her to want to. – even though
my frail ego wishes she would continue contact, even through this veiled medium
of metaphor and allusion.
This issue arises again with her latest posting in which she
uses the term “town muse” and resurrects my silly fantasy.
What if I was right last fall when I thought we were engaged
in a conversation? (and how much richer this conversation might have been – and
would be – if I had actually posted those things I had from my poetry journal
instead of what I actually posted?)
Have I missed something along the way that I should have acknowledged,
posting some safe piece rather than my true feelings instead?
To date I have treated her posts and my posts as separate
entities, focusing exclusively on what she wrote without seriously taking into
consideration the context of my much inferior postings which may have somehow
influenced hers.
Going back to keep track may be something of a chore, partly
because I tend to post more than she does, and I would need to go through
everything I posted over the last six months in an attempt to find things that
match up. (again, I wish I was posting from my poetry journal those pieces that
were direct responses to her work, and so this would be both an easier task,
and one significantly more rewarding. In truth, it may be a fruitless task,
since there may not be any connection at all. Even if there is, she may have
responded on one her other social media sites to which I no longer have access.
Most of her posts are reflections of what goes on in her
life, and so raises doubts about they containing responses to my more frivolous
postings.
While I intend to go back and reexamine what I posted
against what she posted, I do not hold out hope that I will discover anything
more than what I have already written about in these pages, and I do not expect
to arrive at any definitive conclusion. But going forward I will be more aware
of what I write and possible connections to what she posts.
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