http___margaretcho.com_hr_2012_10_15_shut-up_comment-page-1__1.xml
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I cannot deal with it when people cannot stop talking. I am shy beyond reason, and almost can never muster up even a word unless I absolutely have to. Doing comedy doesn’t really count as conversation. I’ve already thought it through – I know what I am going to say. I try to go for the absolute minimum amount of words to relay the maximum amount of information. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time and I don’t want to talk more than is necessary. I met a man who seemed interesting – until he opened his mouth. He wouldn’t shut up. And he kept going. Time slowed down. The seconds dragged. It was boring and monotonous but also incredibly inappropriate – telling me things I didn’t want to hear, and moreover shouldn’t have heard. Family secrets and sexual indiscretion is my trademark, yet I am uncomfortable with others revealing too much. I know it’s not fair, but I can’t help how I feel. I am prudish in ways I don’t care to admit, and I keep to myself in a way I wish would be reciprocated. This guy wasn’t into that. He wasn’t into give and take. He took the floor and then wouldn’t wouldn’t wouldn’t stop. He went on and on and didn’t seem to notice that I was tuning him out, fading away, diminishing and depleting. I felt as if I was steadily losing air, like an inner tube with a pinhole puncture. My heartbeat started to slow down and dark circles appeared under my eyes. It was beyond boredom. It was like a creeping death, surrounding me and suffocating me. His words and his voice were like weapons, bludgeoning me into oblivion. He went on and on and I felt like I was doomed. He was vaguely aware of it, and kept saying “you can just tell me to shut up….hee… hee….” and I would have if he hadn’t utterly depleted my strength. The more he talked the less I could respond. Every time he told me to tell him to shut up, the more he talked. He spoke of all his ruined relationships, bad boyfriends and relatives – the unspeakable (yet spoken over and over) cruelty of those who were supposed to love him, but my heart went out to the villains in his endless stories – I could see how he abused others with his small talk. His incessant need for chatter was nothing short of a nightmare. When he finally left me alone I heard his voice in my head, shattering my peace with musings about shows and films and bands and books and foods and fashions and fads and fabrics and festivals and countries and all things he felt didn’t live up to the hype and albums that he listened to from beginning to end, never song by song, never skipping, hearing them not piecemeal but whole, as the artist had intended him to hear. I was surprised he ever heard anything beyond his own voice. I can still hear him and it is driving me crazy.
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Ne mogu se nositi s time, kada ljudi ne mogu prestati pričati. Ja sam sramežljiva i izvan pameti, i gotovo nikada ne može skupiti ni riječ, osim ako sam apsolutno morati. Doing komedija zapravo ne računa kao razgovor. Već sam razmišljao - Znam što ću reći. Pokušavam ići za apsolutnom iznosu od najmanje riječi na relej maksimalnu količinu informacija. Ne želim gubiti ničije vrijeme, a ja ne želim pričati više nego što je potrebno. Upoznao sam čovjeka koji se činilo zanimljivo - sve dok nije otvorio usta. On neće zašutjeti. I on čuva ide. Vrijeme usporio. Sekunde vukao. To je bio dosadan i monoton, ali i nevjerojatno neprimjerena - govori mi stvari koje nisam želio čuti, a osim toga ne bi čuli. Obiteljske tajne i seksualna indiskrecija je moj zaštitni znak, ali ja sam neugodno s drugima otkriva previše. Znam da to nije fer, ali ja ne mogu pomoći, kako se osjećam. Ja sam stidljiv na način da ne žele priznati, i držim u sebi na neki način želim biti uzvraćena. Ovaj tip nije bio u to. On nije bio u dati i uzeti. Uzeo je s poda, a potom bi se ne bi ne bi se zaustavio. On je otišao na i na i ne čini se da primijetiti da sam ga tuning van, blijedi, smanjuje i kratkotrajna. Osjećao sam se kao da sam stalno gubila zrak, kao unutarnju cijev s rupicom puknuti. Moj rad srca počeo usporavati i tamne krugove pojavio pod mojim očima. Bilo je izvan dosade. Bilo je to poput puzanje smrti, me okružuje i mene guši. Njegove riječi i glas mu bili poput oružja, mi bludgeoning u zaborav. On je otišao na i na i osjećao sam se kao da sam bio osuđen na propast. Bio je nejasno svjestan toga, i ponavljao "možete samo mi reci da šuti ... .hee ... hee ...." I ja bi da se nije posve iscrpljene svoju snagu. Više je manje bih mogao odgovoriti razgovarali. Svaki put kad mi je rekao da mu kaže da šuti, više je govorio. On je govorio o svim svojim uništenim odnosima, loše dečke i rodbinom - neizrecivo (još govorio više i više) okrutnost onih koji su trebali da ga volim, ali moje srce iziđe na zločince u svojim beskrajnim pričama - mogao sam vidjeti kako je on zlostavljali drugima sa svojim govorom. Njegova neprestana potreba za ćaskanje bio ništa manje od noćne more. Kad me je napokon ostala sama čula sam njegov glas u glavi, razbijajući moj mir s razmišljanja o emisijama i filmovima i bendova i knjiga i hrane i mode i modama i tkanine i festivalima i država i sve stvari koje je osjećao nije živjeti do hype i albumi koji je slušao od početka do kraja, nikad pjesmu od pjesme, nikada ne preskakati, slušajući ih ne parče, ali cijeli, što ga je umjetnik namjerava čuti. Bio sam iznenađen što je ikada čuo ništa izvan vlastitog glasa. Ja još uvijek mogu ga čuti i to me izluđuje.