November came and went, as did December. If I had kept my usual publishing habit, I would’ve had a post for each of those months. I put my energies elsewhere, however, so here I am, doing a two-for-one.
To keep with the two-for-one theme, I’ve got two ideas that have been on my mind the past two months.
Idea One: Intangibility
This stems from my notebook entry on November 12th:
Reality and experience are intangible now. Music doesn’t exist on CDs or tapes but in your little metal box that contains everything else. You can’t hold the photos you take. The words you write to other people don’t exist.
The limitlessness of phones devalues the artifacts of our lives. If you can take an infinite amount of photos, stream any song, and read anything, can any of it be savored? Savoring something depends on the knowledge that the thing is unique and has an end. Having access to everything means you never really hold anything.
I prefer things in the real world. I love my notebooks because they’ll still be around twentythirtyforty years from now, and that’s cool. I’ve started printing out pictures I take. That’s also cool.
I still feel, however, like I’ve been brought up by the digital world, so my impulses push that way. Living in that direction is ephemeral. I scroll the feeds, and they are palpable, but as soon as I press the lock button on the phone, they disappear, and the present rushes in on my senses. Oh yeah, I’m in my living room. The internet isn’t even a whisper in comparison to what’s in front of me.
The digital illusion is convincing. Persuasive. It needs to be because it’s making up for everything it lacks, which is...well, everything.
The internet is good insofar as it can be made tangible. We must pull it into our world rather than get pulled in by it.
“On TikTok, anything and everything can be content. For those who are willing to play that particular game, they can film and share and monetize every mundane or salacious aspect of their lives. Nothing is sacred and everything is scalable.” — Roxane Gay
Idea Two: Modes of Operation
What is my mode of operation? Often, it is efficiency and bang-for-buck calculations.
Our GPSs assume that the best way to get anywhere is either the quickest way or the least-amount-of-miles way. That’s it. That’s its mode of operation.
What about a GPS programmed to take you on the most beautiful routes? Or onto the roads that tuck you in and out of the oldest neighborhoods? What about a GPS that inserts a few laps around a block before moving on so you remember that you’re already somewhere even before you get anywhere?
Charles Taylor talks about social imaginaries. These are the background assumptions that frame our thinking. We are typically unconscious of them just as fish are of water. These imaginaries, though, are historically constructed. They are results of society + culture + time.
An example: society assumes the world to be explainable. It seems like that’s simply the way it is. The world is quantifiable and measurable, and with enough grit and panache, by golly, we can understand it all.
Well, is that really how the world is, or is that an assumption? Is the world understandable? And if it is, is the best “mode of operation” to seek to understand it? Could there be other ways of framing the world?
Maybe the world is not our puzzle to solve but simply a puzzle to be in awe of. Maybe questions grow inside us as flowers in a field, and our desperation for answers simply turns out to be lawn mowing.
Photography
Driving South; December Golf; Driving North; Clouds
Goodies
Daniel Cloud Campos ☞ C’mon now! So cool.
Ali Gallop ☞ Watch the video. Replace “kite” with something that ought to be cared about.
VOCES8 Nightfall ☞ The full album is here. The first song I heard from the album is this one. I love the soprano climb at 3:29. 🥹
Persona by Half Alive ☞ Certainly my favorite album of November. The song “Thank You” made me teary-eyed (especially the second verse).
Make it Yourself ☞ Have I made anything from this resource? No. But it’s cool.
Cheers!
p.s. Winter morning skies are pretty. A little layer of lace diffusing everything, softboxing the sky.
p.p.s. In 2024, I wrote over 36,000 words between this newsletter and my teacher newsletter. Almost got a full little novel.