2004-06-16 17:38:27 ET|
i'm in napier right now, sitting at the lounge of this big art-deco styled hotel that turned into a hostel over the years. actually this whole town is like a little architechional bubble: a mega-earthquake distroied the entire town on the 30's and it was rebuilt in three years during the big art deco phaze, so its arches, ornaments and paste all over the place...
walking up bluff hill today to get to the lookout i started thinking: how the hell can i record my memories? to put them down, share them, pass them on? because its so much more then a sum of info; its the feeling, the small details... the guitar reef that bursted out of my headphones the second i got to the hilltop, the bone-chilling loneliness the moment you get off the airplane in a new place, the wormth of excitment that replaces it after a few seconds, the delightful pain in my bashed ancles after walking 20 km, LOOKING AT THE SKY...
its the things that you forget only a few seconds after you sense them... but thats the stuff memories are made of...
how's that for a paradox?:)