This is my first post.
Okay that’s enough of that, let’s get to it.
What do you value more, your time or your space? As we barrel through the information age, it feels like we’ve lost our sense of space, while our sense of time has been exhaustively sharpened. Efficacy and has been traded for efficiency. It doesn’t matter what we do, just that we do a lot of it very quickly. Our bodies cannot keep up with our brains and our brains cannot keep up with our computers.
I am a terribly impatient person. The internet has blurred the line between virtual information and my physical experience. If I have an idea, I get frustrated that I can’t manifest it instantly. I have no time for meat space, I want only the techno-core, the matrix, the infinity of the screen. Neurons click and fire with silicon transistors and I want to sing the singularity symphony.
But what is this body I am in? What is this space I am in? Haven’t we transcended this yet? This input/output device that houses my brain seems terribly inefficient and smelly. Can’t I upgrade to a different model? Maybe one that can interface a bit more efficiently than these ten flailing meat stumps and this complex tracheal wind factory.
We are creatures of space and object, not just screen and byte. But there are those things that live on the edge. My phone is no longer an object – it is a conduit of information. I keep it in my pocket, I touch it more than I touch anything else, I caress it, I gaze into it, I put it on my nightstand as I fall asleep and it sings me awake in the morning. But as soon as I get a new phone, this thing I’ve carried with me for 2 years is immediately forgotten. No ceremony, no decorative wooden box or detailed urn. I have my new conduit, my new “phone.” It is no longer the object ‘phone’, but the concept “phone.” It feels like I’ve always had my “phone”, even though I’ve had 5 ‘phones’.
How do I see myself? Do I still have a ‘self’ or have I become the concept “self”? I’ve uploaded my experience into the Google oversoul, to mix and mingle with all the other uploaded “selves.” If I spend all my waking time plugged in to the “self” what of myself is left? Pooping and eating, to be sure. Walking sometimes. Talking sometimes. Sex and tomatoes. Coffee and naps.
Suddenly, to me, the most simple art has become the most necessary.
Put a rock on a pedestal. Holy shit, I’m hooked.
Stand onstage – curtain up, curtain down. Whoa, that was deep.
I don’t want to explore the world we’re in, I want to reject it. I want to smash the hard drives, crack the screens and go live on a farm somewhere. The last bastion of necessary space. Grow lettuce in a server rack. Butcher a copy machine. Set a campfire of silicon and fiber-optic.
So for me, I like “15 feet.” My world runs on “15 minutes” but I’m trying to remember what space feels like. Just sitting and taking up space – I need that kind of profound simplicity more often.