Everything has an ebb and flow; an equal and opposite reaction. This concept can theoretically be applied to anything.
When appreciating the complication of modern linguistics, and the evolution of language since dawn of print, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the semi-state of the written word. (I still cringe when people say brb aloud.) Looking at communication as a whole, though, our current pattern makes sense. Time is circling in on itself.
Build Then Burn
Development is first a physical feat and then an aesthetic one. Look at our basic achievements; a physical building first was a block of rocks and mud and now there are designer skyscrapers. Our minds can take on complexity and have an imagination for interpretation once we understand basic concepts.
Language did not start as the written word, however it was perfected by it. Imagery is representative enough in that a picture of a table in China will communicate the same thing as a picture of a table in Minnesota; the word table will not. The written word took our original language—pictorals—and added specificity. Illusion. Impact.
At the dawn of the internet, we had designer skyscrapers for language. Imperfect as it may be, the written word had its time in the sun while our communicative techniques favored it (and our constructed borders almost defined its necessity). As the international community evolves and we increasingly communicate over visual means, the natural ebb and flow of things will likely take the written word down a notch or two.
Dancing On Reserved Cemetery Plots
Writing, however, is far from dead. We have a new, globalized community that does not understand the technology it is playing with. Much like constructing the first buildings, or trying to speak of ideas for the first time, we’re working in pictures. We’re using easy, internationally available notions (or at least vague concepts) to see where we can take this new invention.
(Blogs are a pretty good example; the way Free Darko turned sports writing on its head with completely on point, but otherwise random, visual anchors to incredibly insightful basketball commentary laced with pop culture references.)
The word will come back, language will survive. Writing proves itself time and again the perfect counter to visual language; without the word there would be no such thing as Shakespeare, television or abstract art, after all.
For now, though, we’re shifting into a time of misunderstanding. It’s back to basics. Don’t blame the Mercury retrograde; we’re still trying to identify what color that fucking dress is.
Yes yes yes yes yes. Though I’ve already heard the new record live (it’s a single, 45 minute piece titled “Behemoth”), the fucking production on this clip is stellar and I absolutely cannot wait to hear the rest.
Really, I have three days of the world / internet to catch up on and all I can do is sit and listen to this.
Are you wishing on a star? Did you know your dreams are sold to people who dream only of gold? They’ll find a way to pull stars down. Stand there. Dance with a memory. The caption reads, “It’s all over now.” Do you feel alone in the secret? Are you standing there just weeping? Do you feel the light is gone? Is it hard to remain strong in the face of all you know, in a world that’s brought you low?
Seems as though PAM took down the Kline, though. Bummer.
Posted January 29 at 7:34 pm to Dispatches. Titled (Only Slightly) Snobby Adventures in (Only Slightly) High Society. Tags: But Is It Art?, Mystery and Wonder.
The main hook of this is used over the end credits of Museum Hours, and after seeing that film and hearing the guitar riff I wasn’t sure there could be any beauty to add until I heard her sing.
Probably the only thing worse than being in New York right now is being on the internet anywhere else, because everyone in New York (who we traditionally rely on to be interesting) is sitting inside talking about the storm. This storm isn’t even severe and it has a tending #blizzard2015 hashtag; we’re defining events before they happen now, ladies and germs.
So, here’s an interesting tidbit: The last two times I visited my dad in my birthplace of Fairbanks, Alaska, the weather snapped from your average temperatures (around -10) to well below that (around -45) for the duration of my stay.
This is all to say, weather is an ongoing experience. Take what you can from all of it. Tweet about it less.
The bad part about procrastination is when you schedule work days for days when the weather has killer fog scheduled for the morning and killer sun scheduled for the afternoon. As I write this, blue sky is breaking everywhere and it’s supposed to be 60 degrees. And I have so much work to do.
Sarah and I were bumming around New York and doing what people who haven’t seen each other in six months do: checking Instagram. She asked me where I got my handle, and like the sci-fi nerd I am at heart, I tried to bumble around an explanation that began with, “I like space.”
Well, I tried to explain the visual nature of time as it applies to space but really I could have just waited and shown her this, because holy shit that’s so awesome.
They were destroyed, blasted by a supernova that happened 6,000 years ago. With our telescopes, we can see the supernova advancing, unstoppable, destroying everything it touches. From Earth, the shockwave has not reached the Pillars of Creation yet. For our senses, they are still there—intact. (Gizmodo)
Well, at least people in 1,000 years will have really good HD telescopes to be able to see this with, providing humanity survives that long.