Could the last one to leave, please turn out the light.
Will we end our time here in the middle of a
or will we expect it?
Will the last person to know of Venice, New York, Amsterdam, know he is the last? Like a seed without light, what is left the entire collective knowledge of our culture left to one improbable man, in an equally improbable place. A shout into the void.
This last flicker of humanity, would he be proud of us?
For what we did, and what we failed to do, together. For we don’t remember the individuals that built these buildings, that wrote the Britannica; their hands or their political affiliations , we remember them as a collective, just as we ourselves will be remembered as a collective.
Surrounded by out of print, instantly out-of-date Encyclopedias. There was a time where this was the be and end for information. This was the final word.
It contrast so heavily to now in our constantly loading lifes. Forging community, feverishly trying to make connections with other people. We have a hyper connectedness. The ease of movement and ideas in this time.
While there is an ever expanding collection of people, we must remember our existence is a bell curve. It is the recognition, that there were people before you were a person, which reminds you that there will be people after. We owe the dead and the not yet living the same thing, that human life is ours only in trust.
The light that surrounds the Man as he devours the writings, represents the energy that went into creating it. The time of the writers, the cost of their education, the trees that succumbs to being thinly sliced. All of this combined into a collective, third place of knowledge and ideas, neatly contained, and accessible. This slow resistance to entropy, the very idea of containment goes against nature, and therefore, nature will pull it apart.
Will we end our time here in the middle of a
or will we expect it?
Will the last person to know of Venice, New York, Amsterdam, know he is the last? Like a seed without light, what is left the entire collective knowledge of our culture left to one improbable man, in an equally improbable place. A shout into the void.
This last flicker of humanity, would he be proud of us?
For what we did, and what we failed to do, together. For we don’t remember the individuals that built these buildings, that wrote the Britannica; their hands or their political affiliations , we remember them as a collective, just as we ourselves will be remembered as a collective.
Surrounded by out of print, instantly out-of-date Encyclopedias. There was a time where this was the be and end for information. This was the final word.
It contrast so heavily to now in our constantly loading lifes. Forging community, feverishly trying to make connections with other people. We have a hyper connectedness. The ease of movement and ideas in this time.
While there is an ever expanding collection of people, we must remember our existence is a bell curve. It is the recognition, that there were people before you were a person, which reminds you that there will be people after. We owe the dead and the not yet living the same thing, that human life is ours only in trust.
The light that surrounds the Man as he devours the writings, represents the energy that went into creating it. The time of the writers, the cost of their education, the trees that succumbs to being thinly sliced. All of this combined into a collective, third place of knowledge and ideas, neatly contained, and accessible. This slow resistance to entropy, the very idea of containment goes against nature, and therefore, nature will pull it apart.
