Ghost reader

I am the worst friend ever.

My friends are all brilliant. They write books, they teach grad school, they have worldviews, etc. They are going places, like Germany. They are doing things, like publishing. They are productive, and thoughtful and they are polite. And they talk. They talk to eachother, regularly.

I know all this becuase I stalk them online, which is creepy as fuck. I read all that they write, I follow their development as one follows Barry O. Leaving a line of response--litterally, one line--takes me 15 minutes. I'm trying to find that perfect tenor: 'Hey, we're still friends, but I'm still smart, ironic and branché.' That's how I roll, I would have said, back when I rolled. Now I sit, I monitor, I hibernate--and please, a question: if hibernation is a covert perparation for a more overt action, what am I going to do, Ralphie? Well then, out the hole! descend (or reascend to) the superiority complex, to contact, to communication: fuck this.

Beatniks, my friends, I miss you.