Jujube/methods-session-6

From Media Design: Networked & Lens-Based wiki
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Calendars:Networked_Media_Calendar/Networked_Media_Calendar/09-01-2019_-Event_2

Loglines

In the crumbles of a mountain,

under the shadows of birds,

a tree tells me

where you might be.



Alternatives (minimal, breaking news)

  • A young woman seeks her past in the mountains.
  • A woman has been going down to the ravine — or as it is called in Spanish, barranco — in search of her past. So far she has received intelligence from an almond tree.


Synopsis

Have I forgotten you?
No. I simply don't remember.
I try without knowing. I seek without memory.
Through the mountains, shadows, stones, air.
Will I find you?

/// edited from ///

Forgetting assumes pre-existing memory.

I can't really say I have forgotten you. I simply don't remember. So I look for signs: mountains, birds, shadows, stones, air.

To seek is to try without knowing — to remember without memory.

Will I find you?



Alternatives

/// pseudo-scientific-paper ///

"An egg does not unbreak, and we do not un-age," writes Brian Greene in The Fabrics of the Cosmo. The arrow of time has existed since the initial moment of the universe. Why does time go in one direction? Is it possible to have no past? To be specific, is life livable without memories?

Our hypothesis is that life is constantly lacking — a bearable agony — without a personal past. In this experiment, individual Z, who claims to have no memories, attempts to find the resemblance of a memory through trial-and-error in the mountains. We will draw our conclusion from her findings.

/// for children ///

Aly's mother had a belly,

belly with a baby named Aly.

When Aly was born, her mother smiled,

"look at my beautiful beautiful Aly!"


"Wait," she woke from her dream, "I am not Aly."

"I am not Katy. I am not Sally. I am not Emily."


"Do I have a name," she asked the bird.

"Perhaps," the bird said.


"Do I have a mother," she asked the rock.

"Perhaps," the rock said.


"Do I have a past," she blinked as the mountain turned pink.

The wind echoed, but the mountain did not answer.


/// horror ///

There's no one.

She doesn't know.

There was no one.

She doesn't know.

There will be no one.

She doesn't know.

Something breaks — shatters, rather.

Was it a cold brittle vein?

Who will answer her?