Wolf's Rain

I'm seeing things I don't understand, and thinking about things I can't understand.

Brick

Desire to Become Digital

Current Mood:
Quiet

Are we different online, more interesting, and does our internet and physical presence change geographically? Perhaps Dallas holds too many memories, a mass that leaves no room and will to create; or Colorado holds too few, a void and longing needing to be filled by some outlet. The DFW character, during a contentious scene in The End of the Tour, stated, "If we had done this by the mail, if I had access to my library, if I could look stuff up... When I’m in a room by myself, alone, and have enough time, I can be really really smart." Maybe it's just that most people, myself included, aren't that interesting in person, even if we have much to say. There isn't a conclusive answer here, it's probably dependent person to person, but I definitely feel more coherent and intelligent and in my own rhythm when I post here. I often wish I could merge the two.

R.O.D.

There is so much on the internet, an inordinate number of moments and images that would take a lifetime to sift through. Somewhere, within the mass, there are moments and images applicable to each of us - perhaps others waiting to be found by like minds. How many will go or have gone undiscovered? Likely, there are some who went on to be discovered off the net, their digital image continuing its plea; and likely, there are digital images that have outlived their source and are discovered too late.

*****

Rather than wanting actual things, I want the experience of those things. I want the fluid endless possibilities that come from not having anything, because not having anything is not committing. This is why I like books, and blogs that gather and stream less-known images from over the internet. For the cost of a used book or a monthly subscription to the internet, one can have access to many lifestyles without particularly committing to it. The problem is you have just the timeless two-dimensional image, or the passage, and your imagination; you can be in it as long as your muscles of attention hold out. We can't yet fully immerse ourselves in it, short of showing up at the owner's doorstep and being invited in. And who wants a casual observer sitting at your breakfast table or in your den. Alternately, I'm sure there are people who would be interested in similar images of my lifestyle: a warm setting sun's light on my crumpled t-shirt draped over a wicker chair, or a few bones and leaves on one of my bookcase shelves. However, I'm more interested in perceiving and mentally being in other's lifestyles than in documenting my own (sorry!).

*****

One day:
When resources become too thin for the number of people, their bodies will be maintained with very basic elements, while their mind lives in the digital space. Where end products can be traced back through layer after layer of essential units, in the digital space, those essential units and end products are the same - an infinity of ones and zeros - everything can be endlessly had. It's just a matter of the quantity of information.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time

Wolf Children

Life on Mars

No Exit

R.O.D.

Sword Art Online

The Nomad

Modern man becomes a nomad, like his ancestors. Traveling with the herds of steaks and hot dogs across the continent, based on the season, back and forth like ocean waves under the tug and pull of the tide. Then came the learning of roots and forage, man becoming stationary tending vegetables. In some time, with stable employment at one of many multinational corporations, man himself becomes a vegetable at a desk, tending a garden of paperwork. Paperwork is converted to paper-leisure the end of each week; traded for some life experience or at one of the countless plastic gardens, plastic petals peeled to reveal rich sugars and fats. This is a time of plenty and stability. In little more time, man becomes interchangeable thanks to the machines which are also interchangeable. Employment becomes a stopover, a job; where one could suffice, man may now hold several over a lifetime. The herds of steaks and hot dogs replaced by the promises of money and meaning and a lower cost of living, man travels, and those who cannot travel or adapt slowly vanish. Thus man is again a nomad.

Personal Map

Today I found a short hair stuck to a sticker on my library book. It's interesting how people casually leave their DNA around, the coded map for all they are. We can't help but be a part of this world.

Which is scarier: what humans have done on the skin of this planet, or the way it was before what they did?

The View

Today at work, I was listening to beat tapes, which are generally instrumental (original or previously released) with a snip of interview or lyric thrown in, set to a repetitive beat. Apparently, the beat aspect was too loud and bothered my boss, who referred to it as a clock.

The interesting thing was his focus on the beat aspect of the music. I realized that I became accustomed to the beat because of it's repetition, and was mostly listening to the actual music and lyric choice of the beat producer. In this way, the image of a window came to me.

In the context of a beat tape, the beat is like the muntins and the view from the window is like the underlying music. Of course, there is the argument that the beat is an inherent part of the song not to be separated. Applied to other disciplines, say literature, perhaps the muntins are like reading the surface meaning of the words, or reading without actually perceiving; and the subtext is the view from the window. When we perceive things, are we unconsciously focused on the mundane, or are we going beyond?

Sword Art Online

Sword Art Online

Reality Layers

René Magritte - "The Victory"

VPI Harmony - Mood Rings album cover

R.O.D.

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time

Wolf Children

In a Matter of Seconds

      He’s waiting in line to complete a task that would take ten seconds. He’s been waiting five minutes. The end of the day is a cloudless charcoal-blue, and the word on the street is that everyone will leave their offices in about ten minutes, at which point the drive home will seem near impossible. This doesn’t cause him any anxiety. He envisions it as a flow of water following the same paths after every rain; an ephemeral stream.

      He makes eye contact with the woman behind the counter. Probably around his age, she has short dark hair in the pixie style and an extended oval face her chin protruding slightly, like a jellybean, he thinks. She knows everyone in line, the regulars dropping off company-related packages. He would become one too in a matter of Fridays and Mondays. They make eye contact again.

      They meet for coffee after work and speak about the banalities of office life, about art and recent books read, about his favorite houseplants and her orange tabby. He neglects to mention that he doesn’t brake for cats, but takes in and gives milk to the homeless. They look at each other with that shimmering excitement that comes from barely scratching the surface of a first encounter. Mutual attraction, a purchase made after learning just a few of the facts.

      They take walks in some of the open spaces that litter the town. She smirks as he scratches the back of his head, the other hand on his hip, having led them to another exit. He makes a Woody Allen-like comment about the rules governing labyrinths. From a distance, they stand within the bending tallgrass, an Impressionist scene.

      He meets her cat, who immediately takes a liking to him. She goes to make tea the old-fashioned way. There are textiles everywhere, draped over the couch and pinned on the wall. When a breeze enters in a million pieces through the open screen door, everything flows, like the ephemeral stream he envisioned, like living in a tent. In her bedroom, copies of Alice in Wonderland and the Tao Te Ching are found within the tousled bed sheets, as if she slept with them. His turn comes to smirk.

      They walk to the grocery store to harvest the ingredients that would become a stay-in dinner. The newness is subsided and most of the stories have been told, and retold. They now have that comfort of proximity, without feeling trapped, for which most relationships hope. The day is a charcoal-blue; clouds wreathe the horizon as if they had tried to climb the dome of sky and slid back down.

      The line is gone. He completes his transaction in the estimated ten seconds, and is out the door, and on the road.

Pom Poko