Not only has the Internet augmented technological advancement, the Avenue of Progress well paved, it has completely transformed our social culture. In the latter, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad. On the one hand, a private person such as I can feel her space invaded at any given moment with a mere “click” from another. In order to manage and survive in this culture, especially as a writer, it’s difficult to turn off the Internet. I’ve come to depend on it in many ways for many things, and I feel disabled if I can’t gain access. On the other hand, it gives a taciturn introvert a voice. When I might stand silently and blink, weighing things out, holding my tongue, instead of conversing in the hardcopy version of life, online I can be quite outspoken. Gregarious, even. Sometimes I think this is good. Other times, I’m not so sure. I suppose, with everything, finding balance is the key.

After pouring myself out all week long, I wake up on Monday morning expecting things to look differently than they sometimes do.
This song echoes in my mind…

Dorian Gray, led by his vanity into insatiable lust for pleasure, much later recognizes how depraved he had become. Pleasure did not his happiness make, so he goes to a priest and begs for help in a 2009 movie remake of the classic. The priest, unfamiliar with the depth of this man’s sin, in turn, gives him a trained response. In Dorian’s profound misery the priest’s pat answer wasn’t enough, because his soul was rotten to the core. He’d done despicable things. Help. Me. Gray beseeched. The priest glanced away, lacking the words to bring solace to a devastated individual desperate for a chance at good.

“Speak, man! Do something,” I retorted to the out-of-touch priest. I implored that if I have ear to a broken soul bleeding sorrows, those words already burning in my heart would trickle from my tongue and propel a dark character to light.
 
Not for the sensitive viewer, this particular film is full of unsavory, hard to
swallow scenes. But I must say that the pivotal point of Dorian Gray would not have been as powerful had I not witnessed them. It fed my compassion for the desperate seeker.

I saw a bird. Only it perched in a cage. And there it sat. Eternally, it seemed, with the dull reflection of bars in its sharp eyes. I wanted to set it free. But then I realized neither could it fly. For someone had clipped its wings. I leaned closer to discern that I knew this bird. Better than anyone.

There’s a very large Black Rat Snake living in my garage. When I first discovered him, I had opened my car door ready to hop out only to find him right there staring up at me with those unblinking eyes. I had almost stepped on him!—and it about scared the light out of me. 
 
But we’ve come to an understanding, the snake and I. You see, he favors my garage, molts, hangs out—literally, and is welcome to come and go as he pleases. I won’t try to kill him or ask him to get lost. In exchange, he keeps the rodents away…and very well, I might add.
 
Yes, it’s a nice arrangement, my garage his den, for everything works together for good. I’d rather have a rat snake nearby than a rat. I’ve named him Fig, either because his head reminds me of one or that I break into a few bars of “Figaro” whenever I see him. I can’t decide if he likes it or puts up with it. But we have an agreement, you see. My snake and the snake’s crazy human.
 
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro! ~ ~ ~ Figaro qua, Figaro là, Figaro su, Figaro giù...