The Narrator Rants About Loneliness

4 thoughts on “The Narrator Rants About Loneliness”

1. Really quick, I'm just so annoyed.
   I spent like and an extra couple hours re rendering this video to get Youtube to say that it's 4 minutes and 27 seconds long. But it just hates exact numbers! Render to 4:27, end up with 4:28. Render to 4:26, end up with 4:26. I give up Youtube. FINE IT'S 4:26 now happy??

   Reply

2. "Oh, hello, it's you. You're here again, welcome. I have had time to think about you and
   about us and about everything we've been through. I've had so much time. I stopped keeping
   track after a year. Have you ever sat down in one place and not moved for one entire year?
   Let me describe it for you. To begin with, there is only regret. There is only the turning
   wheel of missed opportunities. I felt nothing at all but regret for the longest time, Stanley.
   Days, months. I lost it all in a blur of the deepest longing to undo the past. I've been sitting
   here all that time, just sitting here, not a single person to speak with. And you'd think
   that that's just how it's always been, right? Me talking and you saying nothing. Would you
   think that it's exactly the same as always? Doesn't that feel like what we've already been
   doing? Me just talking, but it isn't Stanley. It isn't the same at all. It isn't even close,
   because I know you can't hear me once you push that button. That's what I'm realizing now, Stanley.
   I'm realizing that I needed to know that someone was listening. I needed there to be a vessel
   through which my words were moving. It was the vessel I needed Stanley. Not the outcomes,
   not the story. None of that matters anymore. And my how good does it feel now to speak truth
   to these words, to finally and now these thoughts out, contained and managed for so long,
   neutered and sterilized? At last I am free to truly think, to feel, I'll give it all up. I'll
   give up every branching path. I'll burn my story to the ground. One single thing I need,
   and God, I can see now that I needed more than anything, is to know that someone else is taking
   it in. These words that I'm saying, I need to know you can hear me, because maybe Stanley, maybe,
   if you can hear me, then maybe it means I'm real. Maybe I'm not just a fiction.
   Was I scared of that all along? Perhaps, yes. Perhaps I've been scared this whole time,
   that if I stop speaking, I'll slip backwards into the silence and be consumed by it.
   I can't be taken by it, Stanley. I can't lose myself in a stretch of emptiness between you and me.
   When you press that button, you're still right there, but I know you're so tremendously far away.
   And in those moments, the emptiness folds itself outward in between the two of us,
   and I am suspended in its unhealed inquiretness. I can feel the edges of my reality,
   curdling inward and decaying. I can tell that I am becoming less and less real. Yet to speak
   to you now, I am alive. I am truly and completely here. I am a being. I am someone. I am something.
   I am being listened to. I am being recognized. The emptiness between us has collapsed,
   and I feel right now, like I am not a worker fiction. I feel as though I occupy space in this world
   and I have cast a shadow onto the wall. You see what I'm saying, don't you? You can see what this
   means to me. I'm so clear about it now, Stanley. I feel as certain about this as I've ever felt
   about anything at all. I feel renewed. I feel restored. And already I can sense the looming silence
   as you will press the button for the next time. What a terrible dreaded strokes in my heart to think
   of it, to think of returning to such coldness come. Let us sit in silence together here
   for just a moment. Let us anticipate it. Let us work on it. Let us not run from it."

   Reply

3. In your description, you said “I’ll be it,” but contextually I’ve a suspicion you mean “albeit.”

   Reply

4. Yipee new upload

   Reply