Social networking

Today I received a day-changing message, an email from Laurel, with a link to my favourite colour. Which reminded me of something I’d been neglecting…. here’s a picture of what it was and what it prompted me to do:

The To Do list grew…

– Use my yellow fountain pen more.
– Take more photos.
– Open the garden door. Venture outside. Daily.
– Breathe in deeply, the sweet thrills of spring. The sounds and sights sensations. Taste the trilling thrown tree to tree by fresh-feathered frolickers.
– Pleasure-seeking: take more photos.
– Yellow, why not?
– What other colour says smile at the candid camera quite so cheerily?
– Maybe chocolate? Like these chocolate-coloured hellebores? Or chomping on chocolate chicklets?
– Done. Full-stop. 

Ugh, the suction of an unwanted element on the bottom of my shoe with rapidly-reviving viscosity: previously-owned, recently discarded gum. And then I saw them: circles of gobbed out, pre-chewed, black-as-tar aliens, pock-marking the pavement all around, like sleeper agents waiting for the right temperature to reactivate their sticky anti-gravity pull.

I had stepped out of my car and was additionally accosted by a sharp tarmac surge on my tender adenoids. I returned to my vehicle, careful not to float off on a tangent as the heat-induced gremlins in the system strangled first the air-conditioning, then the All’s-Well purr of the engine.

A screech of rubber tyres, in league with blood-boiling temperatures, pounded to soften and turn into sludge the roadways ahead of me, like some plot to keep me from my destination.

Somehow I crawled home, bewitched by the images, the witness of a hot afternoon in July. Perhaps my previous focus on the Witches of Wooky Hole had provoked a recollection of

Double, double toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble. [ Shakespeare, Macbeth ]

which was to become the premise of my summary for the sweltering jaunt. If only it were that simple; but my mind works on different levels and has been known to take a dyslexic delight in rearranging superficial words with triple-level meanings. On top of which, I’d been handed “bump” as the poetic challenge of the day. And so ensued an encryption conversation perhaps better taken at face value…

[ coffee_offline ] Cauldron bubble weather: broiling(1) tar(2) bumps against nosebuds, tribbles(3) pop up unexpectedly to sluggishly toil the motor engine. Witchery?

[ NewsyGal ] What is a tribble?

[ coffee_offline ] The Trouble with Tribbles (I see we have to work on the “science”-fiction thaing)

[ NewsyGal ] And what are nosebuds?

[ coffee_offline ] Nosebuds (like taste buds) are sense(less) plays on words with Macbeth’ized requotes to illustrate unexpectedly hot temperatures

[ coffee_offline ] Oh, and then there’s tar which has a whole load of connotations incl… – but I meant tarmac as in road

[ NewsyGal ] You’re an odd duck no question about it.

[ coffee_offline ] Actually, I should write an instruction manual or academic paper to go with my tweets – maybe I’ll get an honourable something or other 😉

[ NewsyGal ] Maybe if your tweets require encyclopedias to decipher, it’s time to simplify. Charles & I rarely know what you’re saying.

[ bryanbellars ] Only understanding about 50%, I’ve always assumed your tweets travel at a much deeper level.More like twoots 🙂

[ BruceStewart ] An analysis of your tweets & interactions should be worth a Ph.D. dissertation in sociology at least!

Additional dissection for my non-US readers:

(1) “broil” is the North American term for what in the UK might be known as “grill in the oven”. Broil as used here relates to the witches’ “toil”.

(2) “tar” – remember the stories of Br’er Rabbit? This one was a particularly sticky situation.

(3) Tribbles [ Star Trek: The Trouble with Tribbles & Deep Space Nine: Trials and Tribble-ations] are seemingly cute relaxants, depending on your ear sensitivity, but they multiply and eat you out of house and home (much like my car’s problems). Spock quotes of them: “They toil not, neither do they spin”. Tribble, which sounds like “trouble”, here links to the magnified trouble as portrayed by Macbeth’s witches.

I have found it easier to tweet than to write an entire blog entry when doing a sponti roadtrip; one which precludes the laptop and wifi access, but panders to the way my mind now interprets big sights into small sentences. Here now for those who followed the Twitter words: the pictures. And for those who couldn’t make “heads nor tails” of it all, I flip the coin for you…

We pick up a pebble, study it, launch it into a nearby pool of water, watch for a splash, and smile. We pick up a larger stone, weigh it up in the palm of our hand, fling it as far as an outstretched arm can reach, grin as the splash startles a nearby bird. We pick up a weightier rock, legs set firm, no let’s talk a run, launch that demonstrator of our cunning and strength and see if we can hit a target, yesss!  We look around for a boulder, heavier than us, roll it, roll it, to the cliff’s edge, and see it take on a spin of its own… It does, and what it takes in its path is a whole consequence of destruction as it tears down the hillside, bouncing off the rock face, loosening ground and wild tufts of growth, bringing it all tumbling down with a resounding crack, as it stamps itself upon the destination … we curiously wondered about.

It’s in the nature of human curiosity to explore, push out and back, and with much bravado sail into the unknown. And so Twitter was created and the surface gently skimmed by tweet pebbles, curiously looking for smiles.  Early adopters saw the opportunity to create ripples and came laden with strategies to create ways to build, delight and startle their audience. The media, by gush and by lash, called for attention, and sure enough the backlash of rock throwers and pebble skimmers created a wave-pool phenomenon, pulling the waters every which way, with new puddles appearing all over and increasingly straining the resources, like the holes in Swiss cheese.

What happened next was only a matter of time. A malicious boulder was bound to bowl in on the act and tear down those diligently created, lovingly narcissistic silky webs of the spinners and the spun. The question today is whether curiosity will unravel or consume what is left after the havoc.