I "took this down"
Volume 2.
Volume 2.
1.
There is a three click combo required to move to the next person on Omegle that I use to skip through the never ending parade of dicks. In case you haven't rolled face, you don’t know, the average user is a dude waiting for someone or something to watch him flog his dolphin. There are also young looking girls, oblivious middle aged suburbanites, and Justin Bieber lookalikes. It is not a very broad cultural spectrum? There are very few intellectual conversions. Every once in a while you get the exception to the rule. I talked to him for about 45 minutes. I don’t know why he was there, I guess no one would notice him and he could work efficiently. Maybe he was just bored or something.
2.
He looked stoned. He sat at an unusually small mahogany desk littered with several newspapers worth of scraps of paper in every shape, color, and size. There were ideas stacked on top of ideas, collages coming out of collages, and the byproducts of ideas, both the inside and outside edges of what he had cut out. There was a black cat sitting in his lap purring so loudly I could hear it through my laptop’s speakers. “What’s your cat’s name,” I asked. “Mr. Skribbles," he said. "S-K-R-I-B-B-L-E-S"
3.
I told him about how I also like to make collages and he smiled. He encouraged me, and he said making things is the most important action of the human race. He said mostly old people talked to him, and that I sounded unusually young.
“Creativity is one of my most complicated and rewarding gifts,” he said with an old man's vibrato.
"What of everything on earth then made in your image?" I asked. He paused for exactly one minute, and said
“It is only made of scrap." After that he sat quietly for a moment until in an instant his flailing arms tore into a looming stack of coffee mugs, and when they exploded over his head I thought he was dead. As he lie there I thought about who he could possibly be, and found no reason to believe it wasn't him. I’m think it was him.
4.
He awoke and sat very still. I asked him “May I see some of your work,” and he nodded his head yes. Then he went away from the camera for a while and I started to worry. I hoped I hadn’t scared him away by asking too many personal questions. I heard his footsteps on his wooden floors then there right on the screen, he appeared from that long whitewalled hallway with all of his original charcoal sketches of the animals, watercolors of each of the seven seas, and a white ceramic dove. “How did you get the idea for humans?” I asked. “I thought of it in the shower,” he replied.
5.
My face could not hold any emotion. Looking back on my life, I had gotten (or been had, as he would of said it) many ideas while taking showers too. Most of them were not very good, but in a memorable sort of way. “Show me some of your work,” he said.
6.
“I made this collage out of a surfing magazine,” I told him as I held it up to the camera. “Very nice,” he said. “My friend Russ is real good at drawing demons, here is the url to his tumblr,” I said. I watched him type it in, then watched his face as he looked into the screen. “Spooky,” he said.
7.
“I have to go feed my cats now,” he said. “Nice to meet you,”
I said, but I don’t think he heard me; After a little I thought what if he didn't have to go feed his cats. If that's what he says to everyone he is about to next, maybe he lied? Maybe he nexted me. Maybe he simply wanted to talk to someone else who was out there, all alone, clicking through the dicks. And I wasn't the only person in the world with something interesting to say. Maybe he wanted me to see that I would find plenty of good conversation in many other people all around the world, face-to-face. After a while I didn't go on Omegle, or Chatroulette, or anywhere on the internet, like it's actually a place. My whole life I've learned not to trust anything on the internet and that is why it is so strange that I believe it was really him. Well, even if it wasn't him, he was nice.
Volume 1.
It wasn’t even something I had wanted. He was so ordinary, unaware, and even reckless. The glow of the TV was reflecting on my face, an ever-changing spotlight. She sat there expecting the worst. Think of every possible way to jerk off and then multiply that by ten. For a while I held my fist up to the webcam saying, “pound it”, with pretty good results. If they replied with a pound, I said a drawn out “yeah” then said, “have a good night” and “nexted” them. I alternated between “what’s up dawg?” and “what’s up negro?” as a greeting. They were all very different, rarely judgmental.
He was sitting in what looked like a crowded computer lab that could have been anywhere in the world. He was some kind of Asian and there were little kids scampering about behind him. I am not sure whether he spoke English, as a matter of fact; he never said or typed anything. He either nodded or shook his head, and he sometimes looked completely uninterested in our conversation, but then he would nod or shake his head, as if he had been listening the entire time. He didn’t answer most of my questions and she thought he was some kind of creeper. Just sitting there, like some kind of master of facial expressions.
I asked him about everything. Mostly morality, philosophy, science, religion, culture, daytime television and soap operas, whether or not he watched Dog The Bounty Hunter, and abortion. I reverted to yes or no questions, because when I asked open-ended questions he simply ignored the question. By this time, my girlfriend told me she was bored with how things were going, and wanted me to stop. At one point, I looked out the window and said “it’s snowing out,” and he smiled. He had on these big headphones that divided his Afro into separate hemispheres.
I made a joke about Sarah Palin and he laughed uncontrollably for several minutes. I asked him “Is there an afterlife?” and he began to flap his arms like a bird, and I felt embarrassed. I didn’t know what to think. His face was an explosion of several emotions of which I cannot describe. She fell asleep.
He showed me the pinch pots he had made in his ceramics class. He held each one up to the webcam. He talked to the clay, but not with words. Now that I think about it, he did type one thing. He gave me Kim Jong Ils cell phone number. I was confused at first but he just kept nodding and smiling, and then I felt a little better. I felt like I knew what he intended at the time but have long since forgotten.
I bent down and kissed her on the forehead. She was tired, and I was getting tired. I finished my vodka and peach juice, finished hers, and he finished whatever he was drinking. I should have asked him more important questions. I should have obtained ”the answers” But he didn’t answer any of my serious questions. It seemed almost as if he just wanted to enjoy the experience of talking to someone over the Internet.
