Nato Welch (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} natowelch) wrote,@ 2009-07-08 18:20:00 |
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The Royal We
I forgot in June, but I am resuming my monthly habit of reviewing my LJ for the month in years past. I'm also digging out information on what I've been up to in general, based on tags and such. At times, I feel compelled to update years-old entries, and link connections between old passages and new, refined, or even poeticized versions of the same thoughts that spontaneously erupt years down the line.
I should think about taking a year, somewhere down the road, and dedicate it to reviewing all the things I've written throughout my life. Call it "A Year in Review". heh.
I have conversations with myself all the time. But when you start chatting back and forth with yourself after you have forgotten, over the span of years, it feels more like an other. It starts actually connecting with my sense of sovereignty, respect, and company, like it could comfort loneliness.
These are just words, of course. Letters across life. Time capsules. But there are other relics to be found: drawings, music, videos. Some I've created, some are mashed up, and some are pulled from others' work. Then, there will be software, like "siteblast", my first perl script for assembling web sites from templates (before I learned PHP).
Even more interesting is the kinds of memories we could create for ourselves in the future. suppose you could build a "home theatre," stocked with robots, that could precisely record and playback performances made years ago? Disney's hall of Presidents in every living room. Your own personal Chuck E Cheese's pizza time theatre. Now wipe the cheese out of your mind, and put your own content in it. Youtube it. Share digital performance files online. Mash them up. And THEN, after all that, archive them, let them gather dust, and revisit them years later, and see what you had to say decades ago. Have a conversation with yourself. Confront your own younger demeanor.
Krapp's Last Video Game.
(Bonus points for anyone who claims the reference without Google)
Imagine sitting in a room with the android presences of yourself, recorded at ten year intervals, as you describe your year. Record how each of you reacts to the others as you go.
Were you ever alone?
The past is looking a lot more interesting than it used to. I often imagine having contact with a multitude of me, with me everytime I imagine having contact with that multitude. A council of myself.
I forgot in June, but I am resuming my monthly habit of reviewing my LJ for the month in years past. I'm also digging out information on what I've been up to in general, based on tags and such. At times, I feel compelled to update years-old entries, and link connections between old passages and new, refined, or even poeticized versions of the same thoughts that spontaneously erupt years down the line.
I should think about taking a year, somewhere down the road, and dedicate it to reviewing all the things I've written throughout my life. Call it "A Year in Review". heh.
I have conversations with myself all the time. But when you start chatting back and forth with yourself after you have forgotten, over the span of years, it feels more like an other. It starts actually connecting with my sense of sovereignty, respect, and company, like it could comfort loneliness.
These are just words, of course. Letters across life. Time capsules. But there are other relics to be found: drawings, music, videos. Some I've created, some are mashed up, and some are pulled from others' work. Then, there will be software, like "siteblast", my first perl script for assembling web sites from templates (before I learned PHP).
Even more interesting is the kinds of memories we could create for ourselves in the future. suppose you could build a "home theatre," stocked with robots, that could precisely record and playback performances made years ago? Disney's hall of Presidents in every living room. Your own personal Chuck E Cheese's pizza time theatre. Now wipe the cheese out of your mind, and put your own content in it. Youtube it. Share digital performance files online. Mash them up. And THEN, after all that, archive them, let them gather dust, and revisit them years later, and see what you had to say decades ago. Have a conversation with yourself. Confront your own younger demeanor.
Krapp's Last Video Game.
(Bonus points for anyone who claims the reference without Google)
Imagine sitting in a room with the android presences of yourself, recorded at ten year intervals, as you describe your year. Record how each of you reacts to the others as you go.
Were you ever alone?
The past is looking a lot more interesting than it used to. I often imagine having contact with a multitude of me, with me everytime I imagine having contact with that multitude. A council of myself.
