Nothing to report

TODAY THERE IS NOTHING TO SAY. Zilch. No one is throbbing with heartbreak right here in my midst, there are no traffic accidents, and no one is shouting at anyone about something that is agitating him or her. The people are not crowding around demanding anything. The politicians are out of eyeshot, earshot, but are probably spying on this. Then again, PWS had said, ‘You’re not that important.’ Touché. Speaking of French words, I have a fun story about that. But I am saving this up for when I next speak to MB, which could be 16 years from now, theoretically and in all likelihood. Busyness. Time. The passing of which makes you feel, at times, like a Beckett play.

But then, I can wait. Sixteen years. To tell my joke. ‘Cause probably no one else would find it funny, except possibly VH, or my brother, but… probably not. Drift. Mostly philosophical differences in lifestyle. But hm. Time. I hope I don’t forget the small story because it has a punchline, unlike many of my other, over-repeated ones. KK knows. And KE. I am talking about the silly sort of humor that is, quite understandably, waysided in most public places that are online. Little jokes of happy absurdity are sidelined, yes!, in favor of more intricate details of people falling apart, or trying to put themselves back together, or typecasts and stereotypes and blaming and… and… so on. No one cares about great bad jokes. Or how they’re told. What happened? Where is eloquence?

I am worried. About people. The way we are getting caught up in things. Games. Or Online Games. That is what gets reported nowadays, no? If it’s not about us gouging one another, it’s about online games. Sixty-eight percent of every story is about the rise of artificial intelligence, according to the CEO of Farce Media, L. O. Quince. Yes, that’s right. Ninety-four percent! DK finally tracked down Quince after 485.92 emails to no one in particular, and one missed call.  Quince gave us the two figures which we will not dispute. Seriously. AI and games! Not of the sort that are thronelike, mind, because I don’t know what those are, but you know, kind of messing around with each other’s heads. We all know those types. They are on Tinder, right? The hookup site that is all about intimacy and quality and two-way respect and stuff in relationships, that one, right?

Well, here in my morning setup everything is quite dull, I’d say. I am enjoying a very nice coffee and listening to the sound of the breeze blowing through very green, bright, and equally unremarkable leaves above me, and enjoying the sound of no buzzing, squirming, blinking phones or the intermittent beeps that let the people around them know that, in fact, they are up to something, after all, and perhaps it might even be good. But one thing is for sure. It doesn’t feel like Waiting for Godot. It feels warmer, safer, more bouncy, even bright. The anticipation, I suppose, is the story. To the next, then. Au revoir à bientôt! And stuff!