Skip to content

conduit

Two international students are circulating a survey about gender roles in the family. I’m totally cracking up, even though I shouldn’t be, because when they ask for people to elaborate on their opinions, they just say timidly, “Opinion?”

A student asked for help unjamming the printer today and he stood so close to me that I had to say “excuse me” in hopes he’d move away. He didn’t. His arm (through his sweatshirt) brushed my arm (through my sweater) and I got all wigged out. Yes, this is a form of claustrophobia, or a new phobia I don’t know yet.

I was thinking about a new way of journaling here: leave myself a voicemail message about a subject for a new entry, which later I will replay and transcribe into notes for a handwritten entry in my notebook, then take a photo of the entry, print the photo on a printer, scan the print and turn it into a PDF which I would then upload to Blackboard in an online course in which you may enroll. I call it “distance connecting”, kind of like distance learning, except with no grades or degrees.

Day five and all I have to show for it is a photo of Ricardo Montalban as Khan. Day five. If only tomorrow weren’t day six, I’d lay in bed and pretend the sheets were made of pure cocoa.

Three black power cables, dead snake plastic, figure-eight at my side. They go somewhere; they go between thing and element. I like the word conduit and I like the idea of you, but don’t confuse that with me wanting my arm touched.

If you can hear nails on a chalkboard, you know what being touched by strangers is like for me. Brushed up against, as I am constantly on the subway, wincing from the searing pain and my face is angry all of a sudden, while my head is cool. I close my eyes and the train disappears so it’s just me running on the rails, run run run on the rails, thick and hot and straight on to the ocean.

Soon you won’t see me anymore. Don’t be sad. I always come back, just like the train. Just like the tide. Just like electricity when you’ve forgotten it sits beside you. Then you touch the door and I’m right there. I am right there.

Wincing.

Comments closed — Trackbacks closed RSS 2.0 feed for these comments This entry (permalink) was posted on Friday, March 4, 2005, at 16:41 by cygnoir and tagged .
  • cornontheschwab

    Yeah, I’d rather not be touched either, but when someone stands close to me(JUST STANDS THERE), that really freaks me out. I just keep moving away, keep moving away…

  • cornontheschwab

    Yeah, I’d rather not be touched either, but when someone stands close to me(JUST STANDS THERE), that really freaks me out. I just keep moving away, keep moving away…

  • http://www.livejournal.com/users/stanishjohnd/ John S

    Everyone has their personal space. When someone violates it, the victim usually becomes uncomfortable. Almost all of the time, the violator doesn’t get the hint when you start moving away.

    Kind of reminds of driving on I-35. There are jackasses that follow too closely (like three feet from your rear bumper). They don’t get the hint when you speed up; they just stay three feet off your bumper.

  • http://www.livejournal.com/users/stanishjohnd/ John S

    Everyone has their personal space. When someone violates it, the victim usually becomes uncomfortable. Almost all of the time, the violator doesn’t get the hint when you start moving away.

    Kind of reminds of driving on I-35. There are jackasses that follow too closely (like three feet from your rear bumper). They don’t get the hint when you speed up; they just stay three feet off your bumper.

  • http://www.livejournal.com/users/michael_va Michael

    I love your experiment in stream of conciousness, with you being a conduit, like a Pythoness. Although, they are spurts rather than a stream. The relationship between being connected and touching is an interesting theme. Lots of people have issues with being touched, who, when, how and why. On busses and trains, in elevators and theatres, I am more concerned about other people’s issues with physical contact. I myself can relax into anonymous closeness, touching in the absence of connection. I get angry rather than anxious when someone I have a reason to dislike tries to get close and chummy. Putting their hands on me makes their falsehood seem just that much more despicable. Electronic communication, virtual communities, distance connection, are they contact in the absence of touching? Is that truly safer and less painful? Yes, I suppose, if there truly is a distinction between the virtual and the real. But, is not everything that actually happens real. How often does unreal communication happen in the supposedly real world? … ;-)

blog comments powered by Disqus