I’ve been in love with Ntozake Shange since I read an edited version of the Lady In Green monologue from ‘For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide. When the Rainbow Is Enough’ in the 10th grade. Since then, I have not been able to find anyone under the age of 45 who can carry forth that voice for this generation.
I’m not saying this girl is Shange, but Shange-esque…she is giving me the essence and the intent…and I LOVE it.
I often give in to this virtual world version of friendships/relationships, but if I’m honest…
Virtual World Rant by C. Ward
I have grown to hate this virtual world I have been subjected to, and I want nothing more to do with it.
I have been missing the sounds of inhalations, the subtle feeling of heart beats, fingertips, contact, facial expressions body language, and LAUGHTER not reduced to “
Lol and LMAO” . I so vehemently miss reality.
I want to walk backwards into a world of disposable cameras with 27 photo slots available- where filters are used strictly by professionals and every reflection is not perfected and posed for.
I do not want to be text messaged for an entire day and have it deemed communication. Because it is certainly not. I want to sit in the presence of a human, watch his nervous habits, receive his candid answers to my questions- not the spell checked, backspaced, edited ones. I want to be real and unfiltered and imperfect for someone. I want my facial features studied in the flesh. I want LIVE, in person, interaction- the kind you can’t edit or delete.
I want to watch someone LAUGH THEIR BUTT OFF. I might just fall in love.
I have been missing the sounds of sneezes and coughs, the feeling of facial hair rubbing against my cheeks, interlocked fingers… lips, and eye contact. I want to show my friends what a man did without providing them a screenshot. I want to stand up, lean forward, grab a hand or a face and imitate real actions that occurred- actions that flowed from a brain to a heart, through veins and limbs and muscles and SKIN.
Goodness. I miss skin.
I want my naps played in. I want to be invited to survey art and drink sweet wine. I want my calloused, guitar fingertips kissed. I want to talk, with my mouth and not my fingers. I want authentic faces provided to me, not by way of photo or FaceTime. I want laughter and heartbeats and sneezes and coughs and fingertips and touching and facial expressions and the language of the body and connections and interlocked fingers, and fitting into the nooks and crannies of another human’s body and skin and bones and muscles and flesh and imperfections. And reality.