All my life I’ve struggled with human speech. If a person
talks continuously for more than a few minutes, I’m off riding my own mental
drone, buzzing and skimming erratically through a forest of random thoughts like
an inebriated dragonfly. My impromptu flights seems to want to take me anywhere
and everywhere – just not back in the direction of that human sound, which is annoying
to me because I can’t quite stay fixed on it.
I’m obviously better with interactive speech. Otherwise I’d
be writing this from a monastery or an asylum. Still, when people start to
repeat themselves, or drift off into pointless trivia, my mental drone is there
to free me.
One of the worst things for me is detailed description. I
don’t visualize well from the spoken word – very likely because I’m not paying
attention – with the result that even a short discourse on how a room or a
person is decorated leaves me -- gone. Fortunately, the purveyors of verbal
detail, who are usually wrapped up in their words, typically fail to notice
there’s no light behind my vacant stare.
I’ve never heard a speech I liked, though I’ve read quite a
few. My firmly held conviction is, if you have something longer than three
sentences or so to communicate, write it out.
As for the homily, while not listening to one the other day
in church I was thinking about my history with instructive, “how to improve
yourself,” talk. All my life I’ve pretended to have listened to and even to
have understood these kinds of discourses. I never succeeded at either. But
always, out of politeness or fear, I tried to give the impression that I got
the message. I was perpetually seeking to mislead, like a prostitute faking an
orgasm, though with less sincerity. Now, I simply don’t bother. I no longer
have any responsibility to understand, so no longer have any need to pretend.
Here’s my idea: if
the priest wants me to know something, he should hand me a flyer when the
service begins. I’ll read it quickly, then reflect on it while he talks. Fair?
