Rocks, Dreams and Techno-Imaginaries: Difference between revisions
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=== Writing 02.05.23 === | |||
In a story, there is a line. | |||
We move through a rock cut in half. The art of pressure creates a wholeness. Presses together time, and moments that once, once, could be distinguished. Who told that story, who heard that whisper. But no. Now it’s altogether, and all-forgotten. Rocks, Dreams and Techno-Imaginaries. Do androids dream of electronic geology? Or will we lose that too? How long does it take to form a sedimentary rock upon a shore, and when it is significant enough in size, can we count it as a moment? And do the giants of the future, kick us along the shore too? | |||
Who's to stay? And, what is distinguished in a future where we live in bliss. It’s bliss they call out. Whilst other’s sit in line, waiting to be called, an audition for a role in a play written when “imagine you are a well known playwright, read my play and advise me on whether it is worthy or not. If it isn’t please explain why, with examples”. | |||
There’s an absurdity, in my thinking when it’s observed by passers-by. Multiple lines along my face and their hands jarr the theory of the making of this world. Although it shouldn’t - I exist. | |||
Revision as of 20:28, 2 May 2023
(The hacker, the smuggler and the cave)
Some notes
From a pedagogical stand point, this is about holding a space for literacy - as well as introducing a space for dreaming.
What do a dream and rock have in comment? Perhaps that one is present in other, have you ever dreamt about a rock? This a place for dreaming, the cold dark. This is a place for reading and rereading. Reading these lines on the walls, like the lines on your hand. There’s a fate in it but maybe there isn’t.
A place for quiet restorative dreaming. I’ll dare you to dream about something set in stone. This is a place where I’ll dare you, and where you’ll dare. What are you holding here, a seance, somewhere to hide as he approaches.
There are many, layers to this. We have always been here. Welcome Welcome, it won’t quite make sense right now. But we’re asking you to read the lines in stone like the lines on your hand. Soft, soft, soft now. We’re moving round. We’re moving round again. This is a place for dreaming, I insist. I invite. Maybe it was worrying, it was cold. But now.
In a cave, there is not much to describe - especially when it is dark. I’m adopting someone else’s voice now.
What is mine.
Writing 02.05.23
In a story, there is a line.
We move through a rock cut in half. The art of pressure creates a wholeness. Presses together time, and moments that once, once, could be distinguished. Who told that story, who heard that whisper. But no. Now it’s altogether, and all-forgotten. Rocks, Dreams and Techno-Imaginaries. Do androids dream of electronic geology? Or will we lose that too? How long does it take to form a sedimentary rock upon a shore, and when it is significant enough in size, can we count it as a moment? And do the giants of the future, kick us along the shore too?
Who's to stay? And, what is distinguished in a future where we live in bliss. It’s bliss they call out. Whilst other’s sit in line, waiting to be called, an audition for a role in a play written when “imagine you are a well known playwright, read my play and advise me on whether it is worthy or not. If it isn’t please explain why, with examples”.
There’s an absurdity, in my thinking when it’s observed by passers-by. Multiple lines along my face and their hands jarr the theory of the making of this world. Although it shouldn’t - I exist.