Alienation Network

I think I got a digitized 'you was eye-balling alert' on facebook. Actually, it was, "Boy, you been sending freind requests to people you don't know." So much for the Will Rogers/Dale Carnegie thing. I'm regressing. Invertebrate.

While I'm cooling off under the half ton of granite, there will be the self-appaisal and self-bashing, the kind of both that are exhillarating on days you don't get hit with the great acre-wide fly swatter in the sky. Electric reproach. People I never met feel I have intruded on the their climate controlled Christmas. Like I was playing jump rope in their walk-in closet.

Sending the request is like the Manson Family creepy crawling in people's delux ranch house with security system and professional support system all switched to pick up body heat and call the cops.

If it isn't some evil Freudian analyst getting the goods on you and making you a slave to your own admissions of inadequacy, it's Facebook, Google and all the tech companies you depend on to socialize, now that people are allergic to strangers. The alert I got sounded like someone ratted me out for sending them a friend request, when Facebook streams names and faces of supposed mutual friends. Granted, it's titled 'People you may know,' but it's also one in an infinity of corporate Rollodexes wired with alarms and traps. It's a Montessori school caged in razor wire.

This should be where crone maturity helps, and it does. A little. And then it comes back to hurt again. I was made to see the old crones who have to sell insurance or what ever till they croak, eating all the rejection and taking affirmations in having learned to take it as part of a job, and not an indication of personal scabies. All the while, the individual looks old, seedy and frozen in a tundra of lost essence. All things are essence. Such as the feeling of being a poisoned rat. I feel vitiated. Like I'm exiled to a store front office where people reject my sales pitch. While trying to be social and happy.