Vocal Satisfaction

“Let’s see,” I whispered, picking up my iPad.

“Connected,” I hear in my ear as my Bluetooth earbud connects. Setting up a classic rock station on iHeart, I begin singing softly along. “I can’t get no …, Satisfaction. I can’t get no … good reaction… Cause I tried, and I tried …” Swiping up my screen I pop onto Chrome and type vocal.media. As the screen whirls, the page loads up. Sighing, I navigate into the challenges section. Maybe I can actually win something … For Once.

“Let’s see…, Out Of Season; Negative Space; Dead Air…” That sounds interesting. As the tones of Mick Jagger segue through Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’ and into Jim Croce’s ‘Time In A Bottle’ I tap along with my left fingers. Closing my eyes a moment, I tap the notifications icon which shows 28. Nope. After checking for any comments, heart likes, or such, I sigh. Nobody cares. So few people read my stories. Why do I bother?, I wonder. The Beatles sing “Paperback Writer…” as I smile dreamily. Don’t I wish? Would I be satisfied Mick? John, Paul - Would being a paperback writer bring me the satisfaction Mick never got? Or would I just roll over like a stone in a pile of dogshit?

Unconsciously, as John, Paul, George, and Ringo sing about dime store books followed by Prince singing about “raspberry beret, the kind they sell in the secondhand store,” my finger taps on the screen. Of its own volition it clicks on a story.

As fingers continue unconsciously tapping along with Jim - now Morrison instead of Croce - I hear “Riders On the Storm”. Smiling nostalgically, I return to challenges. ‘Dead Air.’ Sounds cool. I lick a corner of my dry mouth and take a sip of soda. Clicking the pause button on my earbud: Silence drops into place like a thick obscuring mist. All sounds fade to a quiet sussurus. “These are the Sounds of Silence” plays. Weird. I turned that off…Good song though. I click the button again.

A modern-tech-calloused fingertip taps on the first of the most recent entries. I begin to read. Just as I’m getting lost in the tale of a group of people in some weird situation on an eerie tree lined beach, I once again hear… “I Can’t Get No…” in my ear. The words echo in my brain. Huh? What the hell?

Clicking my earbud again, I return to the entry. It draws me in, reminding me of the thrilling shocks and haunting twists in an old Twilight Zone episode about ghosts. “Like A Ghost From A Wishing Well…” Gordon Lightfoot. apropos… WAIT A FRICKIN’ MINUTE! WHAT THE HECK IS UP WITH THIS DAMN EARBUD?” Opening the charging case I insert the earbud into its receptacle, severing any connection to my iPad.

As I stare at the case sitting there, inert, The Doors, “Come on baby, light my fire …” drifts upwards from the closed container.

FUCK! I jump from my seat. My iPad topples over, the story page forlornly looking up at me. In the center of the screen, in bold letters, “ARE YOU SATISFIED?” Yanking the earbud from its case, I hold it a second: It buzzes in my clammy palm causing my fingers to clench. My heartbeat pounds a rapid staccato in my chest. Fearfully, I bring the bud to my ear, but do not insert it. Silence. Freaking electronics. Must be a short circuit. Easily spooked much?

I chuckled, and set the earbud down once more on the table. Picking up my iPad, I set it back on its stand. Returning my eyes to the verbiage on the screen I noted the words had changed to…”Nobody Cares. Admins won’t pick you. You can’t win. Like Mick, you CAN’T GET NO SATISFACTION.”

The fuck?

Rubbing a clammy palm over tired eyes, I focused once more. Gone. Were they ever there? Did someone slip something in my coke? I must be hallucinating.

Returning to the eerie tale, where some guy seemed about to be lured to a watery death by an unknown voice … “It’s Hard To Believe Such A Calamity…” I jerked back in my seat as Styx sang loudly from a disconnected earbud lying on the table. Singing about ‘too much time on my hands.’ I felt my chair tipping backwards. I froze in place. Unable to stop my fall. Unable to reconcile the voice of Rolling Stones lead-singer Mick Jagger whispering .. “Are you satisfied yet?” directly into my brain.

A red Like-Heart popped onto the screen as I felt something give in the back of my head as it impacted with the marble windowsill. The last thing I heard was “Now Mick’s Satisfied… …”

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Coming slowly to consciousness, I tried to open eyes. Eyes I didn’t have. I tried to rub my face with trembling fingers. My consciousness focused. My fingers were wavering lines of electrical impulses. WHAT THE HELL? Closing eyelids, or at least processing a command to do so which simulated such a physical action, I concentrated.

Once more willing visual orbs to perform their natural purpose of seeing, I absorbed my surroundings. Watery lights. 1’s and 0’s. Pulsing lines of code.

‘Oooooookkkkaaaaayyyyyyy….” Blinking sight orifices that were but impulses in the diodes, I peered closer. There. A page. vocal.media/challenges/negative-space. Mentally pressing it I found the entry labeled “Consolidate…Locate…Create… Be.” Huh. My entry for the Negative Space challenge. Nice poem…

Reaching out with an electron chain, I nudged the LIKEs counter upwards. With another thought I created comments… Most positive, a few ambivalent. Let’s see … 82 likes should be good. They appeared in digital glory.

Guess I’ll be the judge of that now. It’s probably the only satisfaction I’ll ever have. Except, of course, for editing some of the McIdiots poems. Deus Ex Machina. Look out vocal … here I Be.