Have you wondered how the cursor on our computer screen could be a reflection of our ever-so-transitory state of mind? It blinks with uncertainty and balks at resistance. When there are too many words to say, it flutters across like a brisk, aimless firefly. And with silence, it quietly fades away like the words that were never brought to being.
Maybe the cursor on our screen really is that part of our minds, which is like the magician’s hat, from where we, like a magician, keep extracting our words, pulling out the seemingly never ending string, forming a heap of thoughts, sometimes disarranged and sometimes resonant.
A jilted-at-the-altar Carrie Bradshaw sits in front of her Mac screen, a cursor, blinking in and out of sight, forming and dissolving dots in front of the word “LOVE”. And you can see how that cursor looks as poignantly empty as perhaps Carrie felt when she tried to get back at pulling out a string from inside her.
And that’s how dependent we are on a tiny vertical black streak of line for our semantic derivations. Love letters do not require to be written, wishes do not need to be spoken, and presence doesn’t need to be felt. Just pull out a structured string of sentence through the cursor and you are all set to convey the particular emotion. And when you have not a feeling inside you, when you are parched of the strings to extract, you will recoil, only momentarily, until your insides replenish again and are ready to be milked again.
It is all fleeting, touch-and-go, like impulses of a million emotions that hit you, every day, every now and then, some stimulating, some numbing, and they will stop by again, at the doorstep of that magician’s hat-like part of your mind and enter if you allow them, only to be drawn out later again… through your cursor…
"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." ~Walter Wellesley, courtesy Lena Michelle McCue
image courtesy - www.maclife.com
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