Monday, May 10, 2010
I write this from onboard a train across the UK. This alone is amazing to me, technology and the fragility of it all. The frailty of it all, the by-a-threadness of us all. The ice cubes in my whisky and coke (real glass, lover) are clinking like something out of a disaster movie as we, I and they, hurtle through the purple darkness a journey that almost feels like a plane ride (a plain ride, a plein). Time and space, distance and direction, lost, from my head at least, though hopefully known to the great invisible hands that turn the wheel and steer the ship to shore.
Only a few days ago the whole continent was brought to a halt by a volcanic ash cloud that seemed suspiciously simplistic. And here we all are, going about our business, tenaciously, as if there were anything under our feet but earth, which melts and slides away, congeals elsewhere, cracks open wide, shifts, erupts, erodes, is swallowed.
We hang by a wireless signal, on frequencies we don't really understand, but take for granted all the same. That to me, does not seem like the definition of wisdom, or indeed of learning from one's previous mistakes. Back it up, lover. Only there's no external hard drive big enough, no usb stick with enough memory to handle all of this, experience.