My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
When The Television Watches You
He is watching television. Or maybe the reverse is the case. Maybe the television watches him, making sure he remains inert and disgruntled. The boredom leaping from the screen is saying, "I am entertaining and educating you. I make noise against the silence closing in on you. I fill the time that frightens you. I am your only friend, so trust me." The picture may be of anything. The voice could say nothing. What is important is its being there, filling the void. He is the willing captive of his machine. Having been seduced by it, time cannot move. Nor can the silence shout at him. Besides, it gives him "something to do." It helps him kill (in the sense of murder) another day.
Labels:
boredom,
fear,
silence,
television
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