The fascination with train wrecks

Language does prove to be a barrier to everything. I mean, I know everyone can do perfect English, at least in my molecular part of the world, but eventually we all stutter. I stutter terribly. And, consider the fact that when I pretend to be a DJ, making links in between the music I play on the PC, I sound perfectly well.

But sure. I guess it's the need to assert yourself, which means you speak in a loud voice, and you focus too much on getting heard you never bother to see whether your English gets mangled, as if your tongue was chopped off, tied to the train track, and got hit by (obviously) a train. Or maybe you're actually trying hard to impress. I often get that idea. Or is it just me?

I've been thinking about it for, believe it or not, the past three weeks. It's the question of knowing that, somewhere amidst the ranks, you'll belatedly realize that the one person you're starting to get fascinated with, for some (or no) particular reason, actually has nothing in common with you. Nothing at all. Even funnier is the way you realize this: in the most involuntary of ways, when you're not asking for anything, or to be particular about it, when your mind is on an entirely different plane. And then, in that idle point in time, all of these things rush in. Social disparity rules, I guess.

But maybe hearing all those stories shouldn't have made an impact. It's just funny, you know, thinking that the person you're sort of noodling with is actually not what she seems to be. Sure, innocence is nice, but not knowing everything, or realizing that you're not the only one fascinated - in fact, they're probably more fascinated, or they're used to it already, they barely mind anymore. And then, in that idle point in time, all of the questions rush in. Social disparity rules, I guess.

And what makes it funnier is the realization that, for some particular reason, that person already has affected you before you were probably even born. Or maybe I'm just pushing the argument to beyond logical limits. Or maybe those thoughts have taken advantage of your already flustered mind and started playing with it. I can never figure it out - I'm only thinking of the differences, of why initially they seemed to be just like you - until you realize that, well, they're leagues away.

And thus, the stutter. You try to keep up and you stutter. I may have official business and we may be forced to co-exist, but who can't help but think of the differences? Maybe you brush your teeth less frequently. Maybe your face looks worse, or at least pales in comparison. Maybe you rarely go out, if ever. Maybe you don't live a stone's throw away from the 6750. Or maybe you have another house that's a stone's throw away from the 6750. These never come to mind, but somehow they manage to, just when you're not thinking of it. And yet you do, when you finish.

And only because others who you never see any differently manage to stutter less, or not at all. Sweet loverboys perhaps? Maybe they know how to deal with rich girls. Maybe they can pretend to be rich, or maybe they're just damn talented. And for one who actually has nothing in common - well, nobody is, except probably for those closer - well, you'll just wonder why they manage.

And then, just when you least expect it, she dances to Bloc Party and The Rapture.

Well. At least that's one thing we have in common.

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