Facebook?

I keep being tempted to join Facebook, but I do not. I am aTwitter member, but I don't Tweet, nor do I read Tweets, or maybe once every 6 months. I do not chat nor text. I mean, I always used to resent the intrusion of the telephone's ring, forcing me to talk on the bloody thing, so one may only imagine how I react to a Niagara of fairly tedious information flow.
I used to go shopping in the big department stores we used to have, especially at Christmas time. I did not mind being jostled by the crowds of people. I recall various fugue states I would go into under the impression that some particularly lifelike mannequins were alive, were speaking to me, were approaching me gently. I seem to have suffered from Mannequin Syndrome... which - believe it or not! - promptly thrusts me into the memory storehouse and grabs an old file marked Dr. Coppelius from the stacks, and the name of the author is smudged, but if I keep writing long enough, I am sure I shall ... Bachmann? Biedhofer, Beyerhofer...........Hoffmann!! I think it was one of Hoffmann's Tales. There. Wonder where all the names starting with "B" came from?

As I write this, now I go back and look for the "B" which could come from Jules Barbier who did the libretto for Offenbach's Les Contes d'Hoffman, but I sincerely doubt that. Sincerely. Doubt. Obviously I had the "mann" in "Bachmann" and the "hoff" in "Beyerhofer" and it was a matter of taking the fattoush salad apart, putting it back to the original condition, running the documentary of salad making backwards until all the pita slices were fresh again.
Disfattoush I calls it, that which others call "deconstruction"; I call it "dis-fattaoush", which is the above: taking a yummy fattoush salad and filming how it is made, then running the film backwards and seeing the wonder of fresh tomatoes being reconstituted, or pita being reconstructed... and not from kneading and floury disputes,  but from the teeth of those who would eat it.
That's my Tweet for the day.

As I have written this, the terrible funk I have had for 4 days seems to have abated. Being in the universe of structured writing seems to help. My mental states are very much like middle school kids at gym class, running about uninterested in any tutorial structure, talking, picking, scratching, gawkwardy on the verge of pubescence - or fallen into that jungle and perversely yearning for virgin and lover at the same time. Awkward anticipation of sport and a sense that Art will soon become flesh.

Thanks for listening. It helps.
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