A seed becomes a tree. A small thought becomes a big thought, a few paragraphs turn into a novel. Quarters become dollars. A bubble grows in time. I feel that Twitter cuts off that process, for me. By giving in to the temptation to tweet brief thoughts, I jeopardize the possibility that the small thought can ferment into a better thought. The small thought remains a small thought. Words don’t grow beyond one sentence. The bubble bursts too soon. 140 characters can stunt my thought-growth. Fast food for thoughts. More self-reflection, more monkey-chatter (((a Buddhist term for the constant self-reflection of the brain))). Your milage may vary, but in my case, I am glad I stopped tweeting and don’t miss it. When I notice something on a walk through town, I no longer feel the need to pull out my phone and communicate it. In fact I might turn my phone off altogether and enjoy an hour of not being connected.
And when I walk here, in the Mountains, I don’t get reception anyway:
This week I spent several days cleaning my garage – got rid of 500 lbs of stuff… then I couldn’t stop there and cleaned out my closet. Then started on the studio…
I am trying to remove disposable items from my life. Pruning and paring down.
I like a well-made item. I don’t need ten items in various colors. Just give me the one, made with the right attention, the correct intention, with dedication and expertise. I don’t need ten or thirty or a hundred guitars. I don’t need lots of clothes. Just ones that were made by people who enjoy their work, instead of in a giant factory under horrific work conditions. I discovered that I like clothing that is somewhat atemporal, not made for today or imagined for tomorrow, or retro – just well-made and functional. To hell with Fashion and their seasons.
Here is a very good sentence from William Gibson’s new book “Zero History”:
She was big on patination. That was how quality wore in, she said, as opposed to out. Distressing, on the other hand, was the faking of patination, and was actually a way of concealing a lack of quality.
That sentence is brilliant and says so much. Patination is a fake story, a fake history. Distressed clothing delivers a false story… acid wash, stone wash and so on…
No, I live my own story, thank you very much. Serious denim, long-lasting denim, raw denim, Japanese denim, clothing that will outlast the less expensive, giant factory-made fashion.
I like small restaurants where the chef is also the owner, and preferbly is a person with no interest in creating a chain or franchising. We ate in such a restaurant a couple of days ago, the tiny “La Boca” on Marcy Street. Specials created from fresh local produce, like a grilled peach, wrapped in ham and cheese – well, the ham was probably from Spain, but the peach was local.
There is a theme here, somehow. Maybe it’s simply “real stuff”… handmade, preferbly local, from people with expertise, items that are lasting, things that can be cared for. Somehow my rejection of Twitter, Facebook and MySpace and all of the other social media, my enjoyment of real denim, and small restaurants, it all fits together somehow. It makes sense to me, but maybe just to me.