snared moments

Am I killing myself?

When I blog, I take moments of my life and I trap them in complex cages like fishes, funneling them down to the enmeshed center and then splashing them across the internet, where they can never escape. When I take photographs, I rectangularize infinitesimal fragments of time. I strip them of context, smell, taste, sound, touch, and kinesthesia. When I film, I add back sound, kinesthesia, and a little more context: but it is still a snatch of time has been divested, somehow, of life.

When I do this, am I killing myself?

Am I taking life I ought to be present for and instead detaching myself into nothingness - shortening my life by just that many partially-lived moments?

I don't know. A while back I wrote about an afternoon canoe trip I took on the Catawba river with my friend Dan. I talked about "the silence that speaks" and about the need I felt to immerse myself in the slower pace of nature. I took that raw moment, processed it down into a few photographs and word-clusters, and then exposed it to the immaterial hive mind.

Am I killing myself? I don't know. But I can't seem to stop:

an afternoon on the catawba from josh barkey on Vimeo.


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