I am convinced that we are interacting with time, and realizing time in a completely different way than before the Internet. Time is now truncated, simultaneous and occurring on many many channels at once. If you spend most of the day checking a Blackberry, email, or iPhone, the day is a short whiplash of moments all strung together to resemble a day. We don’t know what the new time will look like, but it will be as radical as the farmers in pre-industrial Europe who first got jobs in factories. All of a sudden there was Saturday and Sunday, there were clocks that meant something; there was leisure time. The spacing changed completely.
So to counter all this, and when I am feeling particularly parsed and fragmented, I read poetry. I never read poetry before, when you are supposed to – young and in love in a college dorm. No, I discovered it really while in a hospital after the birth of my second son. I read Anne Carson’s novel in verse, Autobiography of Red, while lying in pain. It left with me an indelible image of a young man with wings flying close to a volcanic mountain, so in love and torn. There is something about reading short sentences that doesn’t fight the time and space of the Blackberry ridden mind. Poetry is really on the same wavelength, but absent of fact and communication. It is indirect, and cures the woes of short attention spans.
Post by Brooklyn Industries CEO, Lexy Funk