Blowback

A brief note: as I've said before, this guy has been the subject of much mirth around the house for quite some time, and as is usually true of the cripplingly depressed/insanely unrealistic, he is deeply self-absorbed. I shouldn't have been amazed that he found his way back here after Googling himself, but even more strange was what transpired thereafter. The basic text of this post was composed early last year, but only printed now, since I really don't want to talk to him. Now, here is a video of him, ostensibly awaiting a visit from some lady I assume he met on the internet, and I don't currently know if she ever showed up.



I was recently shocked and vaguely concerned to see that someone I'd been writing about had found their way back here. Perhaps you recall This Guy. Well, he was Googling himself the other day, and found that I'd written a post that was, partially, about him.
In my world, it's at least a misdemeanor to be mean to a stranger. But in this case, I was just doing my usual and making fun of shit I've found on the internet. Still though, the thing that should have made this harmless is that the intended focus of said poking of fun is never, ever to find out about it.

So, looking back through the comments, I find:
"Thanks for your in depth comments about my blog. I appreciate your honesty. I'm glad you could laugh at my audio entries. I do suffer from depression. But, I'm getting better now. (If you care to know.) How'd ya find my blog? And how many postings did you view? Are you subscribe to my RSS?"

This was from Ronnie. And then, more recently:
"How's it going up in Oregon? I skimmed over your plug. Good Stuff. Any chance you could give me more in site...to myself? You seem so confident in your judgments. How do I get that way?"

It raises questions. For one thing, he avoided the trope that most people would have thrown out here; Well, that's just your opinion. Who the fuck are you?, which has the virtue of being true, though so completely self-evident as to not need mention, and therefore, sort of a lame argument.
But he didn't do that. He also didn't do the other thing, which pretty much goes; I agree with this and this, but you got this here wrong, and...What he did was go in another direction altogether: he felt that, amongst other things, his privacy had been invaded.

Or, as a recent post of his puts it:
"The internet is a savage place.
Complete strangers will judge me...
Not that I care.
But I do feel vulnerable."
The post is titled, "I've got to be more careful". What strikes me here is that this is the internet: public domain, that is, and if you choose to publish your diary in this medium, someone is bound to say something back, eventually.

Matter of fact, this continues to fascinate me; this idea that just because you say it's yours, you think this thing that you've consciously chosen to share with the entire world is somehow sacrosanct.
This is true of pretty much all means of telecommunication (and pretty soon, entertainment, as the strangely mandatory switch-over to all digital television begins): everything you do is not really your possession, legally speaking, and can be tracked by basically anyone.

Even more disturbingly than this, though is the idea that yet again, as has often happened throughout my life, a deeply annoying and needy son of a bitch has identified me as the sort of person who would be glad to walk them through the painful process of identifying why people shun them, and then somehow managing to go through some sort of Skill Improvement Montage from an '80's movie with them, resulting in them finally scoring with Kelly LeBrock, or something.

So then Ronnie wrote this post-actually, he recorded it to Gabcast, and I typed it out verbatim.

Hey, I’m … I’m kinda trippin’ out on myself, because … I did a google search on myself and I found that these people—or this one person—was commenting on my website, on my blog, and I don’t know. It’s just weird. I just felt so vulnerable, I didn’t think anybody was listening. And um he wrote this whole thing about his perception of who I am. And at first I was kind of offended, but I don’t know this person, who lives up in Oregon. I don’t know who he is, or what he does, or how he found my blog and why he would spend the time reading it. So, it’s just weird.

I don’t know if what I’m doing is good, bad, or indifferent or entertaining or laughable or pathetic, but I’m just trying to be as honest as I can. And when I speak on these audio blogs, they’re for me. You know? It’s an outlet for me, because, you know, that’s what I choose to do. So I don’t know if I need to be more careful and edit the things that I say, and, you know, be aware that people are listening, that we do live in an interconnected world. But it’s like what does it matter? Because these people respond, you know, they write a little posting or a comment, and then that’s it. They don’t reach out to try to meet me, and I don’t reach out to try to meet them. We’re just kinda like passing by, you know? We’re still strangers to one another. How can one person know another person by reading their blog? It’s just a (stutters) fraction of who I am, and it’s a fraction of who that person is. So … I don’t know. I feel weird.

Like I said, I don’t know if it’s a good thing, if I should be flattered? Or I don’t know if it’s a bad thing, that people are listening to this, that people care, and people judge it, you know. But it’s good. It makes me realize that, you know, you can’t lie on the internet, because …. I don’t know, maybe you can. But it seems like, the more forthcoming you are, people tend to believe what’s on the internet, whether it’s true or not, you know?

All this could be a character, Ronnie Reyes could be a character, you know, and not even a real person. It could be a character study. I don’t know. But like I said, how could anyone know or judge who Ronnie Reyes is when Ronnie Reyes doesn’t know who Ronnie Reyes is? If that makes any kind of sense. And I don’t know if this is juvenile, I don’t know if this is amateurish, I … it doesn’t matter. Does any of it matter? All that matters is that right now I guess I’m feeling a little bit better, a little bit vulnerable, a little bit relieved, a little bit um intruded upon. But again, like I said, also kinda flattered. So I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m just talking in circles here.

And if anything, it is my hope to entertain somebody. And if only myself, then only myself. And if some stranger who’s cruising the internet happens to stumble upon this and read it, well cool. Make an effort, leave a comment, and, my goodness, introduce yourself, you know? Let’s get beyond just these blogs and postings. And be people again, and try to relate to one another. I know I need that. Maybe you do too, if you’re sitting there, at your computer, plugging away, typing, feeling kinda lonely and wondering if anybody’s trying to … or if anybody is paying attention.

Sure they are. Somebody’s paying attention. And it’s my effort to try to make an interaction with somebody. It would be neat if I could, you know, meet somebody. It’d be neat. It’d be cool. Whether it’s a friend, or a date, or somebody else. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m babbling. I tend to do that a lot.

Yeah, you do, and that's part of the problem. Also, it's clear that this is not some sort of performance art (although if it were, it'd be brilliant), so if in fact you manage to find this once again by searching for listings about yourself, my only advice would have to be: either be fine with people reacting to what you say (in its massive, Byzantine structure) in their own personal way, or don't publish your fucking diary on the internet.

In the meanwhile, one may check out: ronniereyes.blogspot.com.