One thing that came up this week was “dead metaphors”. Frankie mentioned it in passing after a brief discussion of this nice video of letterpressing:
As marvellous as the video and the practice is, what cropped up was the amount of terms that have become part of daily language, but whose meaning is lost. We know what “out of sorts” means to us now. We no longer think that we have run out of characters for typesetting, just that we’re a bit under the weather. It’s a dead metaphor. re-rewind.
Notes from week one-thousand, three-hundred and eighty-nine
A quick point to make: a whole pot of coffee is not ideal for writing. A lot of people have propogated this lie over time. It makes you write a lot, definitely, but it’s all wildly meandering and directionless. It lacks the tunnel-vision clarity of a whisky write, even though whisky will lead you down terrible rabbit-holes.
It is only week two of the attempt to do weeknotes, and I’m stuck on where to start, again. The week has blurred hugely. I thought it was finishing much earlier than it was, and then it lingered on considerably more. Time, and my experience of it, got deeply monged along the way.
I wanted to return to my twitter account to see what I’d been saying (as much a guide as anything about the ongoings, despite the semi self-censorship). Unfortunately, twitter’s handling of time is shocking. Scroll, scroll, scroll. It’s quite disrespectful really, treating everything as being so deeply ephemeral and meaningless. There’s no history. I did find an online app that would do what I wanted: create a calendar view of my posts. Twistory links out to iCal, Google Calendar & any apps that support either. Mine is here, if you’re that way inclined.
