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The Plains by Gerald Murnane
The Plains by Gerald Murnane







The Plains by Gerald Murnane The Plains by Gerald Murnane

Every memory is rebuilt anew every time you remember it… What you’re remembering is that memory reinterpreted in the light of today, in the light of now. The act of remembering - on a literal level it’s an act of creation. In the 2007 “Memory and Forgetting” episode of WNYC’s Radiolab, the currently under-fire Jonah Lehrer explains the aspect of memory that makes it truly phenomenal. Recall your friend showing off his musical talent and remember how little of it he had.Īt first the phenomenon of memory seems like a scratched-up mid-nineties hard drive groaning as it looks for a file, but the brain doesn’t work that way. Recall this and remember that you wore eyeliner to school. In asking, you find a person you knew, and you contort their face into disgust. In searching for a memory like this, you have to ask yourself what kind of stare a high school-aged intolerant would give you if you looked the part they were supposed to hate. If I think about it, I can picture the high school, and I can picture the spots where my friends and I congregated in the hallways. In the boys’ parlance, the tongue piercing made me a cocksucker, and in the girls’ the red hair made me even pastier. Though, to be honest, I can’t definitively say that I ever wore eyeliner to school. After all I’d just discovered Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails and was just beginning to express myself in unique ways by wearing nail polish or eyeliner, dyeing my hair, and piercing my tongue.

The Plains by Gerald Murnane

Musician seemed like a logical progression. I’d been creative before that, as an aspiring architect, a child model, an attempted actor, a failed painter, a diligent scientist (or, more accurately, a putter-of-things-in-small-containers), and a writer of absurd stories. “I thought we could do this,” he said, like it wouldn’t, over the next three years, ruin our friendship for good. All I knew was that whatever he played for me sounded awesome. I also didn’t know that he’d simply strung together a handful of the program’s pre-installed royalty-free loops. I had no idea that I’d come to use this software to compose music over the following year, nor did I know how much I’d come to love composition itself. The program - nothing but little bars of soundwaves all stacked on top of one another - turned out to be a track sheet made in MTV’s Music Generator software. “Let me show you what I made,” he said, slipping a disk and a memory card into the PlayStation. This future took shape in 1999, when I was 15. It sounded like guitars, kick drums, and a brass section recorded underwater and played on blown speakers hidden in an empty filing cabinet. It looked like the low-ceilinged tunnels underneath stadiums and it smelled strangely sulfurous. My future, back then, was very different. Is a traveller in a boundless landscape.”īEFORE I LOVED BOOKS I loved music. “This writer had argued that each man in his heart









The Plains by Gerald Murnane