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[Jan. 11th, 2005|06:01 pm]
rejectomorph
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Every fireplace and wood stove in town must be lit. Their smoke, held low to the ground, drifts like fog, from which it can be differentiated in this chilly air only by its pungent smell. It looks as though all the dark damp left by the storm were vaporizing. But it is icy cold. The clouds have rapidly dissipated with dusk, remaining only in the west, where sunset makes of them an orange and purple bruise. Through a haze of bare oak twigs I see the thinnest crescent of waxing moon. Once the fires are banked, the night will be clear. Tomorrow, sunlight, at last.
Take a look at the Look at Me Project, a collection of found photographs of unidentified people. |
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Fascinating site. Even when pictures aren't lost or discarded, you can find some you can no longer identify, or else those who could are no longer here, or can't see them any more. My mom has this huge box of photos from when she was young, and she used to be able to tell us who they were. Some, but not all, or even most, are labeled. I remember one, of a young man, whose name she'd forgotten, or perhaps never known. All she could say was, "Your dad was good friends with him at college, and he set out hitchhiking across the country, was hit by a truck and killed."
I have all sorts of stray photos from college (35 years ago) and one drunken photo of a roommate nearly ended up on my son's cd cover. May yet. Odd to think that pictures of us may be among others' photos, perplexing them.
My mom, despite being 89, remembers most of the people in her box of photos. She has told me who they are many times, but I can't keep them straight. Once she is gone, they will all slip into anonymity. The technologies of artificial memory have turned the world into an inexplicable and ever-expanding collage. | |
