I Broke [This post is under construction.]

 

 

The shattered display of my not as yet, day old, digital picture frame. Even in death, there is art.

 

 

 

In a rare fit of pique, 

While I am a person considered extremely patient by others, I do have my cracks, and my ire, when it does spill over, usually expresses itself in one of two ways: towards the inanimate or against myself. In fact my last big rage caused me the partial loss of my vision, when I struck my face so hard, it started a hemorrhage. That was twenty or more years ago.

Thinking an email response would be days or weeks in coming, a knot of nervousness started to form in the pit of my being. It grew into a desperation. I knowingly did the worst thing I could, and attempted a blind, do-it-yourself file repair. I didn’t even bother to “consult” with A.I. first. My frenzy emotional panic couldn’t even wait the thirty or so minutes I would have to spend simply getting the A.I. to properly understand my initial prompts.

Of course, things went spectacularly wrong. As expected by anybody with half a brain cell, I altered the Digital Photo Frame’s tmp file and the picture screen instantly went black - forever! There was no undoing my mistake. I knew it. In an instant, all the time having known better, I voided all future repair or returns. I could not go back and this I did to my better self and judgement. I unplugged the permanently broken device, now nothing but useless plastic, and took it into the garage, on my way to the garage can.

After nearly five days, of one hardware or software failure (six so far and counting) and the inordinate amount of time spent to correct each issue - sometimes not - this the last straw that broke the camel’s back.   

Rage came to the fore. 

The dam broke and I flung the device against the concrete with all my fury, smashing the digital picture frame to smithereens! 

Surely, as stupid as I felt myself and my actions, this amount of sudden violence seemed unwarranted, not for this tiny product, or even the other technical delays combined. I’m no saint, for sure, and I do get angry, but that last time, I hurled an object to the floor and its destruction was in 2005. It was a glass.

I felt helpless, I feel helpless, I cannot control matters, I cannot correct error, I cannot combat evil, I cannot change what is, nor, most importantly of all, add more time. Yes, I’m talking about life and the world at large creeping into me.

Evil is winning over which I have little or no control, it’s gaining every day, and becoming worse before my very eyes, willfully abetted by unscrupulous sycophants. And my life is finite. I will live to see any change for the better in my limited lifetime. How joyless that feels.

So I threw a tantrum, to literally rage against the machine, and my mortality. The gears grind on, the years without me. Even my utter defeat with Ruth mocks me with whom have no voice - never did. The irretrievable losses (like that of my childhood artwork and such for example). Family deaths. Entropy's relentless march towards increasing degradation, both on a personal and universal scale. Heat death.

I wanted to stop it: the years, the failures, the evil, the long silence and responsiveness. I wanted to smash it all, and the unrelenting mechanism. I wanted to matter to time. To proclaim my place and importance… my defiance to being overruled and ignored.

I smashed the inanimate instead. Poor machine, it had no brook with me. Yet, because it was without thought, it graciously granted me the wherewithal to act without thought. Then again, all is without thought, as far as the universe is concerned. Sure, it’s grinding me to pulp, but it isn’t personal.

 I’m sorry little product that I took it out on you.  Sometimes, though…   the futility

Yet, the evil that people do, that those, conscious of others, and sentient knowingly perpetrate, though that’s a different matter. My incoherent act was addressing that.

Everything was at play and went!

”Like a red-hot umbrella…”

“I wanna bust!”

"Bust cool!" 

”Pow!”

advancing decrepitude 

Shortcomings 

lack of control 

out of my hand both figuratively and literally 

I just wanted to strike out at the world or something.

Admittedly, I do feel a tad better, having popped, having uncorked, Like a pressure valve releasing a little steam In the larger scheme of things, it's more than likely.ultimately futile. A pointless gesture. But the moment has passed and the tension has dissipated if only by a smidge.

Now to shape all these loose jottings and stream-of-consciousness into something structured, conscientious, and sensible.