[Airplanes used to be one of the true few spaces a person could really be alone.
Now we can, at thirty-six thousand feet, watch porn or Facebook-friend-request the third cousin of a guy we vaguely remember from a sophmore-year Microecon. lecture at Damascus U. and two mixers.]

But seatmates would usually talk to one another – planes were usually full of people – how is that alone – 

{I think what she’s saying is that the airplane was alone, like how the cabin was totally isolated from the real world and all you had to do was breathe and eat peanuts.}

What about missing planes – like us – we may not have existed ourselves – but the idea of the plane at least had outside significance – maybe to just radio traffic control tower operators and seagulls – 

[This whole plane-space is ahistorical; we’re a floating piece of not-there-at-all-isms.  A symbol without the signifier.  A supermarket with no doors.  We don’t even have business talking.]

we’re flying ahistorical.

If history is time – and that’s what you’re arguing, I think – the Gregorian calendar is built on its own history – the Catholic Church – pagan rituals – Roman Europe – does that mean we’re in some extratemporal space right now – 

{Yeah, sure, that’s what I’d call any time spent forcedly watching Marley and Me over the Adriatic.  I had a dog like that back in Aleppo.  He had his own corner of the couch we shared in my brother’s aparment.  In the sun.}

That’s history – that doesn’t exist here – you can say it and remember it and experience it but you can’t make this space recognize it at all – so it doesn’t exist – 

[Isn’t that a question of the experience of time?  Whether our experience of past/present/future is of individual objects or all at once over and over in each moment?]

we’ve got no present here.  not even teanna trump’s twitter is loading.  god i want to die.