Could it be that a person loses a decade or two without noticing? I mean, the body ages, but sometimes, it is a sudden leap into creakydom. One night you go to bed on the futon, exhausted from kayaking or backpacking the Santa Monica Mountains for three days and the next morning, rising becomes an issue! What happened?
Same thing with friends. One day you are attending a party, there are thirty to fifty friends around. Some are dancing, some are dancing with each other, some are drinking some are recreationally engaged in other endeavors, some are just gossiping with neighbors. The next day, you call or e-mail or just drop by to discuss the evenings goings-on and no one is home. Or available for comment. No one.
Suddenly there are kids and new relationships taking over where the old ones broke off. People are getting on or off the wagon of sobriety. People are in or out of hospital care. Or hospices. Or hotels. Or hotel businesses. Or just plain "holes". Everyone is moving from one coast to the other. Some are going North past Alaska. Others south beyond the wild horn. Some in planes. Others in ships. Others on the backs of motorcycles or bicycles or by foot. Some have luggage with Gucci tags. Others are sporting over-stuffed backpacks. A few only travel with plastic cards and sunglasses.
When I inquire, I get wedding invitations; shower invitations; birthday party for the kids invitations; house-warming invitations; bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah invitations; anniversary invitations--all instead of conversations. I seek out a dinner date and get down-sized to coffee--standing up--between Iphone calls and e-mail warnings.Sometimes a Skype will interrupt a latte date! Even in the remaining few bookstores around, the sounds of cell phones and Ipads break in...sometimes, ironically, discussing if the hardcover edition in the store is cheaper on Kindle or Nook...makes me weep.
It isn't the technology. There have been advances since I received my first real set of drawing pens and India ink. However, it is the people behind the technology--literally--who seem only to exist on-line or between the flying bytes. No one is really around...or really present, if they manage to show up for a quick event. Events are only attended for a few minutes--then on to the next one. Popularity is managed by how many invites you receive and whose parties you are simultaneously attending/dismissing. (Or what you brought for a present/a dish/a bottle of wine.) Or, what giftbag did you get away with.
I thought, like my suddenly aging body, it was a figment of my over-active imagination and only an L.A. phenom. However, upon returning to New England--even in this small town--it is via our cyber connections that people are most "alive"--or sharing. Of course, since all cyber connections, including Skype, can be manipulated, staged, edited and re-cast, what we are sharing may only be the fantasy life of the person on the other end--if that. It could be the soccer Mom's fantasy for her daughter; it could be the proud Papa whose son's sports camp achievements and trophies are generic, but screen well; it could be a tot's ballet recital YouTubed to look like a national production for the White House. But it is what we share, and we receive.
Even submitting written material--short or long--fiction or prose--poetry or editorial--must be in a form that is digital. Must be accompanied by short bios and jpg. headshots and be ready for instant publication.If we all need biographies and headshots, just like the "famous people", in their industries, then does that mean we are all famous? Or duped?
I feel as if I've woken up and my body objects to what's in front of it, for the day. I'm too young to be out of the game and too aware not to be pulled into still playing. I have my semi-okay headshots and I have several forms of biography--all of which have been edited, commented upon and honed for particular audiences.
Has my writing improved? Have I been reaching more people? Perhaps the latter. But I know my poetry remains quantum measures behind where I thought it would be when I was 21. I know that many of the poets I've studied with, whom I was promised were the up and coming famous ones, didn't reach their peak, either. Were they rushed from behind by the wave? (Some of them retained a reputation on one poem or set of poems, written decades ago and surfed on, since. Tsunamis of students keep them afloat...and yet, are they better? Deeper? More closely read?) Where are we all moving if nothing gets a finer patina? If we don't
hone our spirits? Faster might, indeed, be better. Maybe all of this equalizes us into basic physics and molecular structures? I'm not sure.
I just wish that I could find the moment it began to change and begin to feel unreal...that morning when I first woke up and didn't want to jump into the kayak before dawn...but, instead, wished for a couple more hours of sleep.
Same thing with friends. One day you are attending a party, there are thirty to fifty friends around. Some are dancing, some are dancing with each other, some are drinking some are recreationally engaged in other endeavors, some are just gossiping with neighbors. The next day, you call or e-mail or just drop by to discuss the evenings goings-on and no one is home. Or available for comment. No one.
Suddenly there are kids and new relationships taking over where the old ones broke off. People are getting on or off the wagon of sobriety. People are in or out of hospital care. Or hospices. Or hotels. Or hotel businesses. Or just plain "holes". Everyone is moving from one coast to the other. Some are going North past Alaska. Others south beyond the wild horn. Some in planes. Others in ships. Others on the backs of motorcycles or bicycles or by foot. Some have luggage with Gucci tags. Others are sporting over-stuffed backpacks. A few only travel with plastic cards and sunglasses.
When I inquire, I get wedding invitations; shower invitations; birthday party for the kids invitations; house-warming invitations; bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah invitations; anniversary invitations--all instead of conversations. I seek out a dinner date and get down-sized to coffee--standing up--between Iphone calls and e-mail warnings.Sometimes a Skype will interrupt a latte date! Even in the remaining few bookstores around, the sounds of cell phones and Ipads break in...sometimes, ironically, discussing if the hardcover edition in the store is cheaper on Kindle or Nook...makes me weep.
It isn't the technology. There have been advances since I received my first real set of drawing pens and India ink. However, it is the people behind the technology--literally--who seem only to exist on-line or between the flying bytes. No one is really around...or really present, if they manage to show up for a quick event. Events are only attended for a few minutes--then on to the next one. Popularity is managed by how many invites you receive and whose parties you are simultaneously attending/dismissing. (Or what you brought for a present/a dish/a bottle of wine.) Or, what giftbag did you get away with.
I thought, like my suddenly aging body, it was a figment of my over-active imagination and only an L.A. phenom. However, upon returning to New England--even in this small town--it is via our cyber connections that people are most "alive"--or sharing. Of course, since all cyber connections, including Skype, can be manipulated, staged, edited and re-cast, what we are sharing may only be the fantasy life of the person on the other end--if that. It could be the soccer Mom's fantasy for her daughter; it could be the proud Papa whose son's sports camp achievements and trophies are generic, but screen well; it could be a tot's ballet recital YouTubed to look like a national production for the White House. But it is what we share, and we receive.
Even submitting written material--short or long--fiction or prose--poetry or editorial--must be in a form that is digital. Must be accompanied by short bios and jpg. headshots and be ready for instant publication.If we all need biographies and headshots, just like the "famous people", in their industries, then does that mean we are all famous? Or duped?
I feel as if I've woken up and my body objects to what's in front of it, for the day. I'm too young to be out of the game and too aware not to be pulled into still playing. I have my semi-okay headshots and I have several forms of biography--all of which have been edited, commented upon and honed for particular audiences.
Has my writing improved? Have I been reaching more people? Perhaps the latter. But I know my poetry remains quantum measures behind where I thought it would be when I was 21. I know that many of the poets I've studied with, whom I was promised were the up and coming famous ones, didn't reach their peak, either. Were they rushed from behind by the wave? (Some of them retained a reputation on one poem or set of poems, written decades ago and surfed on, since. Tsunamis of students keep them afloat...and yet, are they better? Deeper? More closely read?) Where are we all moving if nothing gets a finer patina? If we don't
hone our spirits? Faster might, indeed, be better. Maybe all of this equalizes us into basic physics and molecular structures? I'm not sure.
I just wish that I could find the moment it began to change and begin to feel unreal...that morning when I first woke up and didn't want to jump into the kayak before dawn...but, instead, wished for a couple more hours of sleep.
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