It Just Looks Like One.

I have a little box, and inside that box is some cellophane and powdered metal. When I’m walking around and I tell that box to blink, it blinks, and in that blinking moment a small amount of the light that surrounds me, that confounds me, that astounds me, that assaults me gets into that box and makes a painful splash on the cellophane, one that will later look vaguely familiar, with shapes and forms that I believe have some importance.  Triangles and squares, some arcs and the shape of mama, or a dog or a tree, a roof over my head; shapes with millions of years of history stamped on to dna molecules like music on vinyl. It’s not a memory, it just looks like one.

Now, you can get a computer to generate those shapes if you want to. Just ask your phone to do it; it knows where you’ve been. Like the Google AI systems that generate generic celebrity photos, they look remarkably like yours. That’s because a computer doesn’t leave time for pain the way a box with cellophane does.

My photos are on Flickr
Follow me on Instagram @smalagodi