When it’s not raining outside umbrellas take on something of the quality of an orphan. They seem entirely out of context and almost forlorn hanging there with nobody to protect and nothing to protect them from. Of course you can’t live your life feeling sorry for umbrellas.
– Place smells like opium again
– Beds make me want to do two things, mostly, neither of which is “study”
– I have to get up early; first I’ll write an article, then I’ll go to work
– I feel like my diet isn’t giving me enough of something
– I haven’t added to my quotes file in years
– I brought a hand-crank flashlight to New York but I’ve never used it
– We are all forever running out of time together
– It’s a bigger world than we like to admit, even with telephones and e-mail
– Cats never cry, but dogs sometimes do
– Every place is haunted by the ghosts of things that never happened
– Even if it’s not you that they never happened to
– Today the entire world is full of bamboo household goods
– Bells bring the causal nexus into temporal relief as aural shadows
Material culture is the storage media for an ever-accumulating narrative. It is WORN (Write-Once-Read-Never), which is the alphabetic successor to technoculture’s abandoned but vernacular WORM (Write-Once-Read-Many). The half-life of WORN media is transcendental, going from “new” to “deleted” at unanticipatable, yet still temporally and typically causally connected, inflection points. Another difference is that there is no danger of blindness when staring directly at WORN mechanisms in operation.
(Okay, unbelievably silly.)
Thinking about the past makes my head swim. I wonder if this sensation will grow more acute or become more moderate over time.
I’m going to bed, goddammit. There is nothing I can say here that will do me any good right now. I don’t need any good done right now anyway. Sometimes it’s just time to make tomorrow happen.