“Write about the most precious thing you’ve ever lost.”
The option was “inspire me”. Trick? I might fault my intention–though hardly morbid curiosity in the conventional sense, I was certainly curious in that addicted if not profoundly self-effacing, possibly destructive, way.
But fine, my inspiration generator, fine. Time
I’ve spent so much of it–even in thinking through these brief lines: Aristotle’s Poetics; Alzheimer’s, shrinkage of the cerebral cortex and novel stimulus indifference; and how this loss of time also serves as a kind of loss of self. Desperate & shallow, but effective. You’ve come to a corridor, and each door opens into a room of yet more doors to pass through. You can spend entirely too much time exploring them, further & further removed from any real interaction or design. I even tried my hand at a bit of automatic writing, earlier, as well. Simple tasks: name that blog. I produced bvbn\ aka Bible voices broadcasting network. Useless challenges. Persistent casual interests.
So nice of you to join. During the day, I deliberately leave these devices behind, or I find my focus becomes too constricted. Not simply in terms of having a screen perhaps two feet from my face, but also because my body begins to “power down”. My breathing and pulse slow, my fingers & toes grow cold or numb. I feel like a burrowing worm feeling its way through something, source by source, where nothing accumulates. As the rains fall and the temperature drops.
I know Aristotle also had an observation regarding that, and we have clichés galore that are so much more easily recalled. Rushing, unbidden, readily to mind.
Timelessness… on the other hand. Because that is the artificial moment approximated here–browsing, channel surfing, searching without reflection. Thinking in readymade phrases.