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time and relative dimension
Sep. 11th, 2011 02:51 amFor me the world is at best clever, and frequently dumb. Just thinking about what I respond to. The world touches my emotional side as lightly as a cobweb but might screw a delighted grin out of me for its novelty. Plenty I see or experience elicits in me sharp feeling, nothing has a lasting counterpart in memory or in the bones of feeling. I find songs, books, films, the arrangement of words to provoke revelation gravid only with echoes. My feelings last seconds, my memories minutes and meaning freights no hardship.
Something in us responds and consistently. It's rarely any deeper than a touch with me. I don't remember words and I can't say how words on a page make me feel because they don't. This is faked up as analysis is required (I have no ability for performance whatever because I can't feel the words I read). This is scarcely any different when listening to music except where genuine and rare genius is in evidence. With drama it's easier; naturalistic acting is like a direct feed into the systems of human interaction. That said I can get completely into a scene while it's playing and have forgotten it by the next one. I make a claim for that consistent response - I know when I have liked a thing and hold on to it in the ledger, but the experience itself has to be renewed each time.
I guess what this means is while everything I've told you about the things I've enjoyed is true, most assumptions you might make about what I carry around in my head are probably wrong. Words and feelings don't mean much to me, if I respond it's at the level of pure reaction, and it is without much temporal component. I am the person who likes a thing while it's happening, and have almost nothing to relate when it's done. Describing anything is like a half-remembered dream and efforts to sew a continuity are an ongoing performance. I'm not very good at it.
I could suggest that there might be a reason why I have no creative urge - this constant push to consume media in order to fill my life with relationships to other people is the most complete and continual creative act I can manage.
Something in us responds and consistently. It's rarely any deeper than a touch with me. I don't remember words and I can't say how words on a page make me feel because they don't. This is faked up as analysis is required (I have no ability for performance whatever because I can't feel the words I read). This is scarcely any different when listening to music except where genuine and rare genius is in evidence. With drama it's easier; naturalistic acting is like a direct feed into the systems of human interaction. That said I can get completely into a scene while it's playing and have forgotten it by the next one. I make a claim for that consistent response - I know when I have liked a thing and hold on to it in the ledger, but the experience itself has to be renewed each time.
I guess what this means is while everything I've told you about the things I've enjoyed is true, most assumptions you might make about what I carry around in my head are probably wrong. Words and feelings don't mean much to me, if I respond it's at the level of pure reaction, and it is without much temporal component. I am the person who likes a thing while it's happening, and have almost nothing to relate when it's done. Describing anything is like a half-remembered dream and efforts to sew a continuity are an ongoing performance. I'm not very good at it.
I could suggest that there might be a reason why I have no creative urge - this constant push to consume media in order to fill my life with relationships to other people is the most complete and continual creative act I can manage.
