VANISHING POINT

We have reached what can only be described as a “crisis point” in this strange, obscure and very dark corner of the wibbly-wobbly-web. Recent disappointments and introspective musings have persuaded me of the fundamental pointlessness of what is being done here and my instinct is to throw the baby out with the bath water, spit out my dummy, or whatever other metaphor you might choose to use to describe something resembling a hissy fit and shut down all of my activities in this strange world of personal communications that I have chosen to inhabit for this past year or so, simply because there really seems like no point to it any more.

We all, to a certain extent, rely upon our interactions with our fellow human beings to sustain us, no matter how irritating they can sometimes get, but recently I have become aware that all but the most personal of my relationships have reached a level of stagnation that means that I am barely worth bothering with. Take for example the whacky world of FizzBok. For example, over the last festive season I decided to try and be more pro-active, engage a little with the admittedly small circle of chums that I have listed over there. Almost immediately I got into trouble for assuming a level of literacy that was apparently unwarranted by assuming that “people” actually read, and, perhaps more to the point, understand the things that they choose to pass comment upon.

Instead they respond to me like I am an idiot and, being as fragile a soul as I am, I decide to slink away, chastened. However, I decide to go against every fibre of what I still like to call my intelligence is telling me (and remember that “clever” is supposed to be the new “sexy”, but I suspect that does still depend upon quite who you are and what you actually look like after all…) and persevere. There are one or two pleasantries exchanged and my hopefulness returns, but is then smashed into smithereens by basic, fundamental indifference.

I am after all a fragile creature, emotionally speaking, and it really doesn’t take all that much to shatter me.

I regularly feel no immediate desire to venture there again, and then, after a short introspective break, I dip the proverbial toe in once again and the whole cycle of self-loathing, recriminations and doubt starts all over again... Madness, I say. Purest madness.

Sometimes, you see, it’s rather easy to be the cleverest person in the room when you are also the only person in the room. Things get slightly trickier when there are others there with you. Equally, when you are the only fellow in the room, it’s just as easy to also be the stupidest one there, too, which is something I think that we all sometimes forget.

At the time of writing I have a mere 35 “friends” (or whatever more appropriate terminology you might prefer to use) in the crazy world I still prefer to refer to as “FizzBok” despite the fundamental pathetic nature of my continuing to do so long after the “joke” has ceased to become even remotely “funny” any more. This has, over the course of twelve whole months shot up from its previous dizzy heights of 32. Over the course of that year I can honestly say I was in an actual room with two of them, one of whom because I now work in the same room with them, and the other because we went to dinner at the same house one evening in October. Over the course of that same year, I have exchanged comments with perhaps a dozen of them, maybe less. I obviously don’t “do” friends very well, and am rapidly coming to the conclusion that everyone who has ever met me has a very good reason for not wishing to resume the relationship any time soon. Even some of my tentative attempts at email exchanges tend to falter with the heavy burden of my enthusiasms, I fear.

In TwitWorld the numbers hover around the 14 mark, occasionally being boosted by strange trawling faces that appear and disappear from time to time, but I engage in banter with almost nobody at all which leaves me to drop embarrassing gushing clangers off at the electronic doorways of those amongst the great and the good whom I really admire and feel like an utter clown for having done so, every single time that I do. “Join the conversation” they say and oftentimes I try to, I honestly do, but a conversation very quickly becomes a monologue when you are the only one talking, and I do generally feel highly embarrassed at my pathetic attempts to “butt-in” on what other people are saying. I mean, I wouldn’t do it if I was standing in a room full of people having intense conversations whilst I was holding a wine glass, so I’m hardly likely to feel comfortable doing so just because I’m typing away anonymously at a keyboard, am I? Of course, sometimes being provocative is the only way to get anyone to bite, but equally, too much of that and you run the risk of entering the whole hideous universe of “trolling” and that’s never a good thing.

Here in BlogWorld, the strange abstract notion of “followers” remains static, as it has for at least a year, at the number of the so-called “Terrific Ten” which is fine, and sometimes even the daily pageviews reflect that number, but sometimes they don’t. I know for absolute certain that these pages are regularly read by two very loyal and very much appreciated readers, but most of those numbers that you may or may not have noticed ticking ever so slowly away at the bottom of the page are still only ticking away mostly due to those misdirected Eastern European porn-seekers who flit away, no doubt bitterly disappointed at whatever the mistranslation of the word “post” has turned up for them. The real interest in all these pointless efforts is, in reality, far, far less than it may at first appear. Perhaps I should take the actual control of this out of my own hands. After all, I’ve always had this notion that if I ever get a “zero” day when nobody at all decides to visit these meanderings, then that will be the day that I stop. It’s been touch and go on a few days recently, but those Eastern Europeans can usually be relied on to save my bacon and we continue with our ploddings. This means, of course, that the ball is in your court. You could vote with your feet (er... mice) and stay away in enough droves to save the planet from my musings and mutterings. Of course, with great power comes great responsibility, so be very careful with the new power which you can wield. Like Old Fezziwig (alive again!), you have the power to make me happy or sad, so be careful with your choices...

And so, here I sit, on the cusp of a brave new month of watching the clock creep around, wondering whether there really is any point in pursuing these random daily delves inside a psyche that very few people really seem to care very much about. I might as well shut up and vanish back into the dark pit that I have poked my head out of these past few months and not trouble you again. Sometimes I do think that if some kind of pre-angelic Clarence were to whisk me suddenly from the history of the world, it might yet prove to be a brighter, lovelier place if I had never been born, but that thought only goes to prove to my harshest critics that they are completely correct in all of their misconceptions about me and, somehow, I don’t think that I’m quite ready to concede that point just yet.

If I ever do that, it might just, finally, be time to pack my bags and slink away...