Wednesday, January 27, 2010

in dog years, i was already an adult

my sister was about to be born; i was three. her (well, not quite hers yet) room shared the upstairs bottom right corner with mine. they were almost the same, but i had two windows. my father had bought garfield ceiling mount light fixtures for all three rooms (i wish i could find an image of the imposition of his orange and white striped face on a watch glass fixture, complete with pink knob conveniently disguised as his nose). i always thought garfield was stupid, the whole premise of the comic strip, i mean, but i didn't know that yet.

i sat on the floor next to the little bookshelf in her room. michael was almost two, but he had a toybox instead of a bookshelf in his room, so all the books were in emily's future room. my parents read to me a lot, i suppose, and so my mother was not surprised when i trotted over, GO DOG GO, in hand. it just freaked her out a little when i sat down in her lap (she was sitting on the floor), opened the book, and instead of waiting for her, began reading the story of dogs in cars, in trees, in beds.

the book is quite boring, actually, although these people have transcribed it into a play (

i've thought a lot about that night as a sort of cleaving point, mainly because as much as i'd like to, i have never, ever been able to recreate the visual and mental processing that occurred during encounters with text prior to being able to read. it's not as simple as "ican'timaginelifewithoutmyiphone," but moreso what i'd imagine a blind believer would feel after a touch of the hand restored his sight. it's not like being in the witness protection program either, because at least there remains the possibility that if you really, really wanted to, you could return in some form to your old life.

by the way, i've decided to start posting on a blog i started and sortof wrote on this summer. i just have a lot to say, always, about a lot of things, and i figure it'd be polite to offer you the option to check out what i'm working on without filling browser frame upon browser frame with half-finished, but needing to be expressed somehow, ideas. oh, and excuse anything already on there that you feel needs excusing (it would be easier not to elaborate). you can even follow it, if you want. i'll probably update it every couple of days or so, but that's not a promise.

county zero

1 comment:

  1. A beautiful post! —thank you for it. And I love county zero also. I hope that i've decided to start posting on a blog i started and sort of wrote on this summer. i just have a lot to say, always, about a lot of things doesn't mean that you won't be posting here also.

    Fill up Limited Fork Theory Remixed Culture if you can (the single page that it is, is [apparently] endless: it grows, bifurcates with the links, and accomplishes this grand unfolding with technology —we make public diaries, public encyclopedias of thoughts as they emerge, remixes of experience as experience becomes words in whatever raw forms become necessary, so some would say that these digital diaries could indicate enhanced forms of authenticity; I am an advocate of the sharing —so much to say and a wonderful parallel cyber universe in which to say it [a cyber universe that exists easily within the physical universe; when it emerged, so did the space it needed without displacing the physicality of the 3D world].

    By the way, I have entered into an ican'timaginelifewithoutmyiphone configuration, that device like part of my hand or an additional hand, one that can travel between realities and dimensions of realities, sometimes by opening them. A tool that makes it possible for me to enter spaces, to be a more fully formed cybernaut.

    Really an exceptional post. Thanks again. I look forward to more here and on county zero.