http___margaretcho.com_hr_2012_10_15_shut-up__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 se ljudi ne mogu prestati govoriti. Ja sam sramežljiva izvan razuma, i gotovo nikad ne može skupiti ni riječ, osim ako sam apsolutno morati. Doing komedija zapravo ne računa kao razgovor. Već sam to mislio do - Znam što ću reći. Pokušavam ići na apsolutni minimalni iznos od riječi relej maksimalnu količinu informacija. Ne želim trošiti nečije vrijeme, a ja ne želim govoriti više nego što je potrebno. Upoznao sam čovjeka koji je izgledao zanimljivo - sve dok nije otvorio usta. On neće zašutjeti. I on je zadržao ide. Vrijeme usporio. Sekunde su vukli. To je bio dosadan i monoton, ali i nevjerojatno neprimjerena - govori mi što nisam htio čuti, a osim toga ne treba čuli. Obiteljske tajne i seksualna indiskrecija je moj zaštitni znak, no ja sam neugodno s drugima otkriva previše. Znam da nije fer, ali ja ne mogu pomoći, kako se osjećam. Ja sam stidljiv na način da ne žele priznati, i ja zadržati za sebe na neki način želim biti uzvraćena. Ovaj tip nije bio u to. On nije bio u dati i uzeti. On je uzeo riječ i onda bi ne bi ne bi prestati. On je otišao na i na i ne čini se da primjetiti da sam ga tuning out, blijedi, smanjuje i kratkotrajna. Osjećao sam se kao da sam gubio je zrak, kao unutarnju cijev s pinhole puknuća. Moj srca počeo usporavati i tamne krugove ispod očiju pojavila. To je izvan dosade. Bilo je to kao puzanje smrti, me okružuje i mene guši. Njegove riječi i glas mu je bila 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 maglovito svjestan toga, i stalno ponavljala "možete samo mi reci da šuti ... .hee ... hee ....", A ja bi da nije posve iscrpljene svoju snagu. Više je manje sam mogao odgovoriti govorio. Svaki put kad mi je rekao da mu kaže da šuti, više je govorio. On je govorio o svim svojim uništenim odnosa, loših dečki i rodbine - neizrecivo (još govorili više i više) okrutnost onih koji su trebali da ga volim, ali moje srce izađe na negativaca u njegovim beskrajnim pričama - mogao sam vidjeti kako je zlostavljali druge sa svojim malim razgovor. Njegovo neprestano potreba za ćaskanje bio ništa manje od noćna mora. Kad me napokon ostala sama čula sam glas u mojoj glavi, razbijajući svoj mir s razmišljanja o emisijama i filmovima i bendova te knjige i hranu i mode i modama i tkanine i festivalima te zemlje i sve ono što on osjeća nije živjeti do hype i albuma koje je slušao od početka do kraja, nikad pjesmu pjesmom, nikad preskakanje, slušajući ih nije parče, ali u cjelini, kako mu je umjetnik namjeru da čuju. Bio sam iznenađen što je ikada čuo ništa izvan vlastitog glasa. I dalje možete ga čuti i to me izluđuje.