No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one's existence -- that which makes its truth, its meaning -- its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live as we dream -- alone.
-- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

teaching with technology conference. concepts swimming at the popular surface of the sea. little diving to the basal bentholithic ground. why the ascendancy of the text? (and David Abram's critique of written language as the initial wedge driven between lived/immersive experience in the sensual world and the new rational sentient be-ing.) hearing things from the keynote speaker, intelligent, that I have dealt with and modeled in my teaching already. hmmmm. stating the obvious. and keeping to the center. not comatose.

deep in production states, the initial 2-hour DVD burned for the installation coming up in a couple weeks. first time in artifact production for public show since the installation at Deiglan in Akureyri in 2000. tested the plasma screen today, some sizing glitches, but otherwise, it seems to look/sound good. second iteration will happen this week, perhaps a third after that.

so little writing done here, reflections seem to be submerged by influx, hinted knowings (tongue on 9-volt battery, citrus), secretions of saliva. pressure of hearing, adsorbing.

open source, middleware, centralization, privacy, (the idea of standards, or the principle behind, actually directly decreases possibilities of innovation!) so, when standards come from open source communities of use, vs a central corporate monolith, you get different results. mandated innovation ... hah.

technology, arts, media. 'talk the talk,' but where's 'walk the walk.' the focus on a particular level of technology to implement in a teaching situation. there is no correlation between deployment of technology and the quality of the learning experience (period).

paragraphs. delineating breaks of time. illustrating the discontinuous nature of re-creating, re-production.

lost the life of language, the usage that does not spark, no internal voice. where the internal voice spends breathless hours; questions itself.

a time which I could hardly believe would arrive so soon has come and gone. Loki returned to his other home in Iceland yesterday. bravely getting on yet another plane to fly alone, with a stop-over in Boston, to Reykjavík. the not knowing of the next point where our paths will cross is the most traumatic of the circumstance. a whole year passed. a whole of seamlessly fragmented tableaus, scenes, moments, seconds, events, incidents. now memory. re-produced here and there. in re-created form. but the thing itself, gone, and partly regretful.