Moleskine01
I can't find my physical moleskine and therefore I am going to use my livejournal. ten minutes of writing starting...now. 11:49 to 12:50. Future art is pretty sweet I feel. Robots. Machinary. a little bit of hope and sometimes a little bit of fear. Keeping a log of your actions is scary. Time passes by so much quicker when you account for it. Focusing on one task is incredibly difficult in our hyperactive future. clicks. glances. we can't just stay on task. technology breeds a lack of concentration which is quite unforutnate. when we lose our ability to focus on tasks , what will come next? the inability to focus on work on people on thoughts? the world promotes a disposable culture. buy a new razor. buy new makeup buy a new computer. buy. buy. buy. buy new friends. don't let anyone get too close. happy. fun. light. shallow. thousands of people watching your twitter, but none them in your heart. fun to see but never drag you down. disposable friends. Its an incredulous thing really. How locked away in our worlds we are. throw away the lock and key. It's fun, but maybe this 'information technology' isn't the best thing. I don't know. However we can't stop moving forward. Time never stops. It ticks and tocks and the the clock hands shift click by click by click. Never ending. If you live alone always in the dark without any sense of time. You still grow older. bodies create a sense of time. we sleep in cycles. awaken in 'mornings.' sometimes we get hungry. You can't live apart from time. Perhaps attempting to enumerate its actions, quantify its passing allows us to feel as if we can control. In some ways it is a tool. we understand it passes and then we can best manage its effects. If you constantly watch the clock though can you truly relax into a moment, a fleeting touch, a laugh? I don't know. I'm not a philsopher. I'm just a girl (who misses much) It's okay though. The story of humanity is a story of attempts at control. so it goes. so we go. If we philsophize so much in an attempt to understand is a waste if we never do? a waste of secons, of clock hands ticking, the gongs of the grandfather clock. tick.tock.11:59.