Life, as an article of disclosure.
(As un-folding in a medium, exposing the business of scribbling as un-punctual writers, The Series of Life. Or LAAD.)
When i started journalling life, age 11-ish. Scribbled away in a tiny tiny poem notebook with my little twinstars pen, i think to myself, and then write it for others. I do this, to visualise my thoughts, and reading them on the page, am both ridding them off my mind, as well as binding them on paper - as if to place an import to their meaning and give them life on a page.
As it were, there are heaps of meaning in a historical glance where placing meaning gives life to it, and meaning is thrusted forth via versions of what is “word made flesh”.
Today, movies are a way to make concepts in minds of writers come alive - as if they were concepts waiting around lallygagging in our amygdala to be brought forth to life, and be “written into history”. They are a series of “animated shots” of moving pictures - that when moved fast enough, would seamlessly go from one pose into another. This was how they made movies, initially stringing pieces of pictures together. And now, they continue to arrest their
Is this what things were made for, and by people who wanted the moonlight of scripture written into their DNA, and be recognised or witnessed into the medium chosen: book, video, published paper, Facebook post?
Contemplating how momentary our lives are - or could be - make this top priority. The profound realisation (probably in Uni, or sometime after its notoriety at being a debatably useless acquisition at the behest of our family’s humble requirement of formation, to join them more adequately at adulthood) - that at, in a blink of an eye, it could all just vanish.
The indian neighbours to where i used live - would always uphold the deepavali /(festival of light) tradition in the form of celebratory mandalas, those things that are made of coloured powder, and to understand how they are made, leaves me in awe everytime.
That each carefully considered grain of coloured sand can be formed to make the bigger picture.
Now, i wonder if all the ancient civilisations had wanted their creations: in forms of architecture, art, pictures, paintings, jewellery, to actually be in “ruins” - for tourists someday. And waged war for them? Or let it all go to ruin, like pieces of mandalas, or what artist made that sold in sotheby’s early this year - a picture of love worth millions, only to be scrapped in the shredder. The concept of its inception which - was actually meant to be shred, not kept in the frame hung in some place to herald artist’s power to draw in an associated mass media calling, in itself.
And where was the value in that? Is the value kept in storing in museums, sharing it to the public archived, in volatile markets assessment of goods, or in the insistent ascribing to all the produced creation, that is compounded by being known in a shared knowledge pool to a tenth of a thousandth in honour of what actually quietly came to pass?
The value in knowledge, is in the knowing. And its constant river flow of passing on this knowledge - whether intrinsic, capacitated, adapted, or derived. If i didn’t know about van gogh, would i value the painting someone gives me? The trouble with this equation, is the necessary orientation to it. Ergo, the internet. It frees up the value of knowledge, to help us find value in the “already historically valuable”, but at a price where attaining its value, is no longer as valuable as actually knowing it.
(At time of publish, #LAAD - life as an article of disclosure, is now where the actual established craft is lost on the masses, ironically because the knowledge is partaken in an ill-gotten time, in an ill-gotten manner, in a sensory-acquired time of knowing. Or what is, how “all illegitimate knowledge” can be dangerous in disorganising the order or structure to the masses - thus, its unending appeal to the non-masses.)