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Dear rotating woman,

Fuck you.

Don’t think I don’t mean it. Fuck you, rotating woman. Fuck every degree of your rotation, fuck your pretentious oh-so-casual arm-dangling pose, and fuck fuck fuck the greyscale background you rotated in on.

“You’re overreacting,” you say. “You’re just angry.” Well, hell yes, I’m angry. There’s poverty in this world, there’s injustice, there’s a war on in Iraq, and what do you do? You rotate. You turn. You circumvolve. You are, in microcosm, everything that is apathetic and self-centred and vile about our generation. You epitomise every “look-at-me” impulse and casual abdication of responsibility that ever degraded the world another notch. You are part of the problem, and the stench of death surrounds you like a miasma.

And what’s more, it’s clearly bollocks that you can look like you’re rotating either way.

You’re obviously going clockwise, you dreadful harridan, so don’t try to pretend otherwise. You wonder why I’m angry? I’m angry that everywhere I go, your revolving silhouette smirks back at me (I cannot see you face, but I know you are smirking). I’m angry that you haunt that precious, fragile space between sleeping and waking. And yes, I’m angry that I spent the best part of twenty minutes staring like a fuckwit at a blurry point several inches below your feet because Jason Kottke told me to. And still – still - you didn’t turn round and spin the other way.

Not only are you purest evil made manifest, but you’re plain stubborn with it.

I sometimes wonder to myself: what would it have been like if things had been different; if you had suddenly started going anti-clockwise? Might I have caught something different, something endearing in your manner – a different tilt of the head, a certain charming lopsidedness in your stance, a carefree flick of your ponytail? Maybe that single frame where the outline of your nipple is visible would have seemed enticing and coquettish, rather than cheap and slutty… Maybe. If you’d just been open to change. But you weren’t.

So, to return to my earlier point: fuck you, rotating woman. We could have had something beautiful together. But no, no, you just couldn’t stop spinning long enough to see it.