It’s come down to the wire. I’m revisiting old blog assignments that have yet to be posted and posting them now. Perhaps I give this preface because I’m writing from the computer lab and I question the validity of this environments worth on the Perfect Storms blogsite. But it’s actually very fitting.Wires. The air is cold, there is a slight draft coming from the vents above my head. I’m sitting in a side room with only four other people. I can only see two of them because of the layout of the room and the way my computer screen takes up the space in front of my face. The air feels colder than it did when I started this blog.Wires. I’m taking my headphones off to emerge from the dense electronic music I’m absorbing, to completely give over to what this environment has to offer me on its own terms. I immediately heard the rattle of a scanner. The footsteps of someone behind me. The sound of paper being turned over, plastic bag and boxes being loaded or unloaded behind me. As I write this I’m finding that the very act of blogging while actually in the environment of the computer lab is kind of restricting because a majority of my attention has to go directly TO the computer; its bright, glossy colors seem destined to capture my attention. I turn my head to the right; I can feel the presence of the computer screen beckoning my return, asking my approval or my attention to alter something on it… like a person standing in front of me waiting for me to say something. I keep looking at wires. The computers look grossly exposed right now, like all their insides are left naked coming out their backs and emerging into holes where their power source lies. Like an alien species. There are so many whites and blacks in this room. White and black keyboard (piano), white and black keyboard (computer), white and black computer screens, white-with-black-specks floor, white walls, white-with–black-specks ceiling, black chairs, black and grayish tables, black and white sign, black and white electrical outlets. The air seems even colder now. I feel stereotypically drawn away from the earth (as in dirt ground) and absorbed by this sterile environment. All of these things are things that humans have made from something that the earth gave us, and yet there is hardly any trace, except for maybe the wooden doors. I’m trying to assess if this makes a difference in my connection to them. I’m having a hard time. I look away; the computer draws me in again. There’s the silhouette of a plant through two glass windows in the room ahead of me. It’s a small window and the color of the plant is blunted, so it looks watermarked. The sight of the plant made me feel immediately better. And I just realized that I used the computer term watermarked to describe its color. Hmmm. Is the feeling brought on by the sight of the plant and the term I used to describe it the difference between gut response and acquired knowledge? The difference between where we were as humans, and where we are now? Between what’s really meant to be here, and what is a distracting add-on? I can’t decide if I feel any less connected to the materials in this room than I do when I’m outdoors, in a seemingly untouched environment. Sean Parker
