the poetics of texting, part I

hi. my name is meghan lamb and i am bad at blogs.

i really dislike tumblr. i really dislike twitter. i find them overwhelming and overstimulating. i find it very difficult to experience the kinds of information exchanges i find most satisfying using these media.

of the same merit, however, i don’t want to represent myself as someone who has a particular philosophy or judgment regarding these media. according to okcupid tests (haha, see what i did there,) this stems from a deep-seated part of my personality.

(i used to think it was “deep-seeded,” not “deep-seated,” and i still like it better that way, to be honest.)

when i talk about media, i have a hard time explaining things because i’m always focused on the ways i interact with them. when i explain things to you, i am trying to embody my own experience.

so keep that in mind.

i dislike tumblr and twitter and whatnot, and i think it’s just because i have a hard time negotiating conversations between so many people, to no one in particular. i have started to really love texting, which is formally similar in many ways (short bursts of limited language, something you do anywhere/anytime/on the fly, language that is diminished or even stigmatized in a certain manner) but is functionally different in that you can only “talk” to one person per conversation.

i really like talking to only one person at a time.

i really like talking in a way that no one can see in a place where anyone can see me.

i like how it feels like a secret. aren’t secrets so sexy? 😉

i feel like people have forgotten how to keep a secret. they’ve forgotten how to represent themselves as sexy.

that’s as close to a thesis on technology and social media as you are going to get from me.

psst…do you want to hear a secret? here, move in a little closer to your screen.

get comfortable. are you comfortable? good.

i want you to be comfortable. you should feel relaxed when i’m telling you secrets. cushion yourselves in your deep-seated seats while i whisper my thoughts in the voice of your voice.

me: belgian waffles

janey smith: hitler’s birthday

me: julia stile’s yeast infection

janey smith: bread

me: a rotten yellow dress

me: dead birds

janey smith: i like how they fly

me: i am going to play a good game with a girl this weekend. good cop bad cop, my favorite.

janey smith: treat her like a jew and play good nazi, bad nazi.

me: i don’t think my eyes are quite that blue.

me: not to say i haven’t tried.

me: what is your favorite game?

me: even though I think i know that

janey smith: the fainting game.

me: how do you play that?

janey smith: i put my hands- each one of them on your neck, and press. you slide down the wall, asleep. then the game begins.

me: i really like that game too.

me: my real favorite game is the drooling game.

janey smith: how do you play that?

me: I fold you up in a ball, take off your shoe, and jerk off your throat til your chest is slick with your own bile. and then i make someone lick it up. someone’s gotta do it.

janey smith: i think i would like that game.

me: it sounds like we both have some pretty good games we could play.

janey smith: I wish we lived next door to each other.

me: that would get kinda moors murderish, I’m thinking.

janey smith: I was thinking the same thing.

me: we will meet someday. hopefully sooner than later. and on that day, there will be a great cry throughout the land. and strawberry crepes with crème fraiche.

janey smith: we have very similar appetites.

me: i think we very well might.

janey smith: dead lamb.

me: i am finding dead baby birds everywhere.

me: blood-stained shower curtain.

me: skull dust

me: vomit covered dildo

me: pancakes with peach scented lube

janey smith: if only these little missives came faster and more frequently.

me: bile bloat suck face drool dick suck kneel down face drop ditch fuck kick cunt fuck choke cry puking puking breathing choking hisssssss

janey smith: i think i’m falling in love with you.

don’t be afraid to look at me. don’t be afraid to look at yourself, looking at me.

no one else can see what lies between the screens we’re holding in our hands.

even here, on a separate screen, the sensation is different.

even here, even now, on these screens, communication is a sensory experience.

you don’t believe me? here, let me show you. i promise i know what i’m doing.

(630) 945-2878.

for a good time, call. ❤

One response to “the poetics of texting, part I

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