I am frustrated at the lack of generosity our electronic conversations compel. I am frustrated, in general, that there seems to be a social value to asserting the shortcomings of another’s ideas rather than trying to translate between one way of knowing and another, in order to engage the ideas of another with as much integrity as possible. I’m so fucking mad that we don’t want to have our ideas changed more than we want to induce shame in others. It’s so fucking boring. We are boring.
But thank goodness for reading. I came upon these words is Laura Broadbent’s Interviews (2014), which are drawn from a posthumous interview with Jean Rhys (the text is reconfigured from Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea  and Good Morning Midnight ):
The audience rocks with laughter
at the exhausted, collapsing woman.
It’s so easy to make a person
who hasn’t got anything
It’s always like that.
When you are tottering,
somebody peculiarly well qualified
comes along and shoves you down.
And stamps on you.
And I think, at least these feelings are real. This is what literature gives me, this is what poetry reveals.