please be quiet please
I’m a collector. I don’t know if it’s a genetic thing or something I could consider changing, but ever since I can remember I’ve hunted treasures and I haven’t known myself to throw many fish I’ve caught back into the ocean. I use them. I become infatuated with them. I take them home, I build them shrines, I put them together, wrap them in brown paper packages, and send them away to someone who might like them. So I understand archiving. I’m not very good at it, organization wise, and I don’t know why I store half the things I do, but I’m so prone to it my desktop is usually invisible behind constellations of photos and screenshots. Who knows how much time I’ve spent seeking, finding, “curating”, displaying, sharing…. and I’m like, a total amateur. <William Mcdonough> has started the first legitimate living archive with a team of librarians at Stanford.
"This means that the architect, a leader in sustainable development, has started filming all of his meetings and recording all of his phone conversations. He will send them in something close to real time to Stanford, which will be making much of the material immediately accessible on the Internet. Even presidents are not observed so closely and so continuously."
I liked the <Buckminster Fuller
> connection, since I’m partial to <geodesic domes
>, but this deep archiving thing has become an issue. Especially if it involves almost immediate publishing. And especially since it seems like these days, so many of us are doing it, in one way or another. It’s like we can’t eat a sandwich without letting everyone know. I think we’ve evolved into digitally farting. This is probably not the case with Mcdonough. I understand the academic value of his archive since he’s a really successful genius and 99.9% of his life is probably worth documenting. But I already feel so overwhelmed by the content and words and data that’s out there, that pushing out more, and more, and more, so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about the word criteria, sometimes seems really crazy.
Right now I just feel laden, eyes agog, slack jawed and asfixiated by more pictures, more words, more status updates, more noise.. constantly, more.
Sometimes, I want less
to turn off
I want to be quiet and to make things with my hands.
“One girl is worth more use than 20 boys,” photographed by Ben Toms for Under the Influence #12 S/S 2013
Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in ‘sadness,’ ‘joy,’ or ‘regret.’ Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, ‘the happiness that attends disaster.’ Or: ‘the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.’ I’d like to show how ‘intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members’ connects with ‘the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.’ I’d like to have a word for ‘the sadness inspired by failing restaurants’ as well as for ‘the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.’ I’ve never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I’ve entered my story, I need them more than ever.
Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex
other necessary feelings that need words:
"happiness contaminated with self doubt"
"resentment because you made me want to set myself on fire"
"the pleasure of knowing what to get someone for Christmas"
“Love Letter Written in a Burning Building” — Anne Sexton
I wore movies in my eyes,
and you wore eggs in your tunnel,
and we played sheets, sheets, sheets
all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics.
What is your favourite word?”
“And. It is so hopeful.
Do you remember the way the girls
would call out “love you!”
conveniently leaving out the “I”
as if they didn’t want to commit
to their own declarations.
I agree that the “I” is a pretty heavy concept.
David Berman, ”
Self Portrait at 28” (via oofpoetry