I have the sensation, as do my friends, that to function as a proficient human, you must both “keep up” with the internet and pursue more serious, analog interests. I blog about real life; I talk about the internet. It’s so exhausting to exist on both registers, especially while holding down a job. It feels like tedious work to be merely conversationally competent. I make myself schedules, breaking down my commute to its most elemental parts and assigning each leg of my journey something different to absorb: podcast, Instapaper article, real novel of real worth, real magazine of dubious worth. I’m pretty tired by the time I get to work at 9 AM. In-person communication feels binary to me now: subjects are either private, confessional, and soulful or frantically current, determined mostly by critical mass, interesting only in their ephemeral status…
It’s also about the primitive pleasure of constant and arbitrary stimulation. That’s why the Facebook newsfeed is no longer shown chronologically. Refresh Facebook ten times and the status updates rearrange themselves in nonsensical, anachronistic patterns. You don’t refresh Facebook to follow a narrative, you refresh to register a change—not to read but to see. And it’s losing track of this distinction—between reading and seeing—that’s so shameful. It’s like being demoted from the category of thinking, caring human to a sort of rat that doesn’t know why he needs to tap that button, just that he does.
— n+1, sad as hell (via ninakix)
(via lapelouse)
![anonymous 17th century drawings from Rajasthan, India | [via tmarie]](http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly2ngfHWhx1qzwr30o1_400.jpg "anonymous 17th century drawings from Rajasthan, India | [via tmarie]")
anonymous 17th century drawings from Rajasthan, India | [via tmarie]
‘Large Oval Yellow Bloom” by Michael Eden, 2011
| 3D printing exhibition at Aram Gallery, London
Lykke Li, Dance, Dance, Dance | [good morning.]
Nicolas Jaar, And I Say ft. Scout LaRue & Will Epstein
..& with this, any doubts about Nicolas Jaar disappear. Love.
“Women who encountered Joan Didion when they were young received from her a way of being female and being writers that no one else could give them. She was our Hunter Thompson, and Slouching Towards Bethlehem was our Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. He gave the boys twisted pig-fuckers and quarts of tequila; she gave us quiet days in Malibu and flowers in our hair. “We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold,” Thompson wrote. “All I ever did to that apartment was hang fifty yards of yellow theatrical silk across the bedroom windows, because I had some idea that the gold light would make me feel better,” Didion wrote. To not understand the way that those two statements would reverberate in the minds of, respectively, young men and young women is to not know very much at all about those types of creatures. Thompson’s work was illustrated by Ralph Steadman’s grotesque ink blots, and early Didion by the ravishing photographs of the mysterious girl-woman: sitting barelegged on a stone balustrade; posing behind the wheel of her yellow Corvette; wearing an elegant silk gown and staring off into space, all alone in a chic living room.”
The Autum of Joan Didion — By Caitlin Flanagan
IT IS INCREDIBLE
Read this, it is SO GOOD.
what they said. seconded.
Pentagon Scientists Use 'Time Hole' to Make Events Disappear | Danger Room | Wired.com →
What?
Trailer for the documentary Advanced Style. I cannot wait to see this.
The Rapture, Sail Away (Cut Copy Remix)
