March 21, 2007
Together awhile

It surprised me that many passengers on the plane were reading, certainly all the individuals sitting within my line of sight. All of them had brought hardcovers with them for the journey, which was another surprising thing. In the tiny airplanes that zipped me homeward bound, these monstrous volumes seem to make a statement, exerting their presence, as if to assert that the gravity of words they contain must surely be important. It's reassuring to see that reading is still a viable pastime, or a viable thing to do to pass the time, but then, one is intrigued by the book titles — what are these people choosing to fill their heads with? A pop detective novel, a business self-help book, some cheap newsstand fiction? Hrm.

It is hard to imagine that the book should ever disappear regardless of the kinds of discussions over the course of the week that was SXSWi. Even with the changing landscape of media as we know it — be it publication, knowledge retention, television and music — you'd still be able to buy the crappy romance novel with the glossy cover sporting the woman's slim stockinged leg garnished with a red high-heel, the author's name splashed across the bottom in blinding bold letters at the newsstand for $2.

I can't say that I was entirely sad to be leaving Austin because the end of this year's SXSWi wasn't the end of something; it was the beginning of many beginnings. I met many wonderful people whom I will remember. I think I made an effort to tell them in person that I thought them wonderful, because face-to-face meetings are difficult to come by. In a world of fleeting friendships, many people would have forgotten me by the time they got home or soon after, but one could hope that a precious few might remain a part of one's life for a time.

I didn't take many photographs, only a few on a film camera that may or may not have worked. In the era where recording mediums are affordable and cheap, we have the tendency to document everything — and for what? To honour the memory? Yet the human memory serves as a sieve to dispel information that's no longer relevant, while retaining important information at close hand; how then could recording tons and tons of everything be "honouring" a process that is self-filtering? You could tell me that I'm taking the fun out of it all, but maybe I'm just the kind of person who would much rather be enjoying the glass of wine, remembering its flavours and savouring the company with whom I am enjoying it with, than merely taking a photo of it.

If I want to remember you, I will think of you, and think of you, so I won't forget you.

My memory of you would then be worth more than all the photographs I could have ever taken, all the voice recordings I could have made — because it was done with care, over and over again. If I'd stolen you in time's moment and given it away to the world, it seems no longer something shared and therefore no longer special.

I am deeply suspicious of days that pass like dreams. It tends to mean that I'm not living the day fully enough, or perhaps I've lived it too fully, but it's always difficult to tell.

Posted by sniffles at 07:34 PM | Comments (6)