We went in and out of each other’s mind with the agility of fingers leaping over an iPhone screen half covered by the keyboard we’ve built our playground from.
A long while we texted more than we spoke because language needs tongues to express it and every time we met ours somehow preferred to engage in alternative acts of communication.
Little wonder part of that physicality had permeated the words we’ve originally exchanged – the first genuine messages I recall he wrote me had actually been scribbled with a pen straight on my naked skin, mostly at the end of the clandestine rendezvous we used to have in anonymous hotel rooms across town. It was only later that I got to notice they provided a blueprint our subsequent conversations keep to this day, a very fleshy sort of intimacy tied straight to the strings of our immediate desires.
So we texted for the moment, of course. For what was directly attuned to our senses. And we talked through lasting words with ephemeral meaning, solely responsible for what we wrote in the ‘now’.
The result is the type of endless scroll-down catalogue of feelings which became a particular feature of our times – and everything in it has been charted without striving to maintain a necessary connection to the present.
As we learned almost nothing does.
How do we use them, then?
How do we avoid wallowing in the countless ‘I miss you’s or ‘I love you’s which, though originally expressive of our mutual hunger for a continuous connection strong emotions make natural, have gradually turned worthless by mechanical repetition?
Isn’t that a possible answer?
Patricia Beykrat – the Roving Aesthete