My attention span is not what it used to be. These days instead of reading a book, I easily lose an evening meandering the infinite fields of the internet with streamlined software, becoming ever more efficient at consuming vast quantities of vaguely amusing content.
*Scroll* *Click* "heh" *Click* *Scroll* *Scroll*
Looking back, it's a world away from my activities of old; I used read books, listen to albums in their entirety, and when I'd write a song I'd keep rewriting it until it became something complete.
But then of course, that's not really true. I've always been surrounded by albums I've only half listened to. I have drawers full of scraps of paper with a tenth of a song, or a clever line or a thought for a theme scratched onto them.
Maybe, then, it's just the things you finish that you remember. They're the things that write themselves into your life and become a part of you, and give a fullness to your past. And if that's true, that's all that matters. The scatty airy time wasted should be forgone, and in it's place a subject of substance that would stay the unbearable lightness.
*Scroll* *Click* "heh" *Click* *Scroll* *Scroll*
Looking back, it's a world away from my activities of old; I used read books, listen to albums in their entirety, and when I'd write a song I'd keep rewriting it until it became something complete.
But then of course, that's not really true. I've always been surrounded by albums I've only half listened to. I have drawers full of scraps of paper with a tenth of a song, or a clever line or a thought for a theme scratched onto them.
Maybe, then, it's just the things you finish that you remember. They're the things that write themselves into your life and become a part of you, and give a fullness to your past. And if that's true, that's all that matters. The scatty airy time wasted should be forgone, and in it's place a subject of substance that would stay the unbearable lightness.
