Let’s think, - just lightly, it’s too sultry to think deeply- let’s think of newspapers articles.
I don’t mean just crime news or society gossip column, or sport page.
I mean good , well written, meaningful articles , accurate prose by talented journalists, who are professional writers, intellectuals...someone qualified, who can properly and elegantly use words, this is what I mean, just to avoid misunderstandings.
Well also these articles of high standard live the same ephemeral life of all the rest of a newspaper.
They are valid only on the very day they are published and the day after they are already obsolete and neglected like the rest of the newspaper,
which becomes old in only 24 hours, just good for its paper quality, to wrap up vegetables
( if someone still wrap us vegetables in newspapers in the age of plastic bags).
Usually thinking of that made me feel a bit melancholy and I could see a reflection of this principle, this urge to burn out all what is not brand new, also in PBase.
I speak of PBase because here we are and also because it’s a fascinating microcosm where we can perceive many features of real life.
It made me slightly melancholy and quite annoyed to realize that the greatest majority of visitors paid attention only to the most recently update picture.
This kind of anxiety for new is mutual and we can see it not only in visitors, but also in photographers, who feel the need to create galleries called “My most recent photos” to always feed visitors’ curiosity with something new, considering quite logical that all what is a bit older could be deprived of any interest.
Of course it’s not an axiom that our most recent photos must be necessarily better than some of our old ones, but their nearly a little overwhelming and petulant presence in foreground creates a screen which prevents the other one to be more noticed.
I have started, without any specific plan, this interaction between scattered thoughts and casual images and I’m aware that if a couple of patient visitors might take the time to read and look, their attention would be very probably limited to the most recently posted picture, the one of the day.
It means that practically none will go back to give a look at the former ones, which will become even more useless than old newspaper, since it’s impossible to wrap up vegetables into a virtual page.
So all what I’m doing here, without considering the objective lack of worth, is useless because of its dramatic ephemeral quality.
And you know what?
I don’t feel melancholy anymore and I don’t feel like giving up either.
I’m starting liking this immaterial, inconstant, ephemeral dimension.
Words are a nearly imperceptible breeze which slips away on the surface of an imaginary lake,
where also waves are quite ephemerals, always repeated, never the same twice.
It’s not frustrating; it gives me a sensation of lightness.
I think I have already told that, it’s just my attempt to think over by writing.
I don’t know if I succeed, but it’s already good enough to try.