A Curious Post
Dear Facebook Friends,
Though I know all of you are my “friends,” not each of “you” is a friend in the older sense of the term—that is, “one attached to another by feelings of personal regard and preference.” The word friend, in turn, if not in need, is derived from a still more cordial root of that venerable Tree of Words—namely, the verb “to love.” And so I am writing this mash note to “you,” my “friends,” in the hope that one or two of you might write back, as true friends used to do outside of this twilit placeless place called Facebook. Let there be correspondence between us.
Oh yes, human relationships are tricky enough offline. Hardly anybody out there is able conduct themselves with decency—though many give it a commendable try. It’s a very different story when it comes to this online thermionic playground, where it is all too easy to fall in with a gang of like-minded “friends,” all of whom are possessed by the same ignis fatuus, leading to the occasional rumble with others who are not regarded as “friends,” who follow some other post-cognitive wisp. Then “we” throw “them” a block. Nevertheless, “our” “friends” do provide “us” with some needed company.
And then there is the category of “mutual friends.” In fact, in this juiced-up cypher-space of “ours,” each of “your” “friends” who is not “my” “friend” is clearly labeled by the Lords of Algorithm as a “mutual friend”, which is to say, a potential “friend.” “We” are encouraged to make as many “friends” as possible. And given the fact that “we” are all comped guests in this labyrinthine corporate space, let “us” admit that “we” are simply characters in a play produced and directed by Monsieur Ponzi. C’mon then, let “us” play “our” roles to the hilt.
Perhaps at this point “you” feel the logic of this letter has begun to unravel. I know “I” do.
But to resume. In friendly fashion “we” share words here on Facebook and call it a post. Yet whose words are these that will hardly stand still for a truth? “We” hardly know what any words–or anything else–might mean otherwise. I have learned to take nothing seen in this granary of ghosts personally. It was a hard, slow lesson. I’m still in kindergarten. If you are reading this, likely you have learned the same lesson. I suppose that is why we are still “friends.” We may even be friends.
It was Chesterton who said, “Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.” I don’t remember who it was posed another question: “What does God do at night?” It was probably some little kid. But I do remember the response: “He rides his light cherub and soars through ten thousand worlds and more.” Or maybe “I” am making that up. Anyhoo, fourteen years on Facebook and I can say it feels like I’ve stumbled, if not soared, through at least that many worlds, not to mention “friends.”
In closing, please know that “you” are not unimportant to “me.” Or me. Yes, my “friends,” we’ve had our ups and downs over the years. At one point, I had close to a thousand of “you.” But honestly, outside of this electronic insta-meta-whatsHap-actionless fantasy realm, this afterbirth of afterthought, who really has more than a small coterie of people they call friends? Only politicians, cultists, and the insane—but those are properly called “friends.” As of today, I am down to a couple hundred of “you.” Soon enough there may be even fewer—that is, if any of “you” (or you) finally accept “my” longstanding invitation to “Go ahead, de-friend me.” Which is really a “friend request” turned inside-out. I won’t take it personally. Who knows, it may bring both of “us” closer to sanity, where you and I may once again meet, and resume a little commerce.
with grandmotherly affection,
Your Friend
©John P. O’Grady
