avatarDarren Richardson

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Abstract

s with a convenience machine.</p><p id="dfcc">Everything behind us is frozen already, except it’s not, it’s still accessible as we turn toward the past, almost timeless, almost out of time.</p><p id="32d4"><i>More poems by this writer:</i></p><div id="ab25" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-rain-the-snow-the-wind-33c004f15ad9"> <div> <div> <h2>The Rain, the Snow, the Wind</h2> <div><h3>That which is recurring comes and goes, yet always remains</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*9rTA_hpxQmJ-Fex5U5oxcA.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="4ac4" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/a-glimpse-of-the-mystery-209258b10a3b"> <div> <div> <h2>A Glimpse of the

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Mystery</h2> <div><h3>If poetry were raindrops, would they only fall in the shadows?</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*jBnriJk8R95YqOeV6xte2g.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="3537" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/dream-poem-for-the-waking-world-48f234038afd"> <div> <div> <h2>Dream Poem for the Waking World</h2> <div><h3>‘Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.’ - Carl Jung</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*MprYHlfw6gZEXyjSEnyiFQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Replaying Yesterday

Technology makes living in the past easier — is that our future?

Photo by Ralph (Ravi) Kayden on Unsplash

Everything becomes a verb eventually and probably is to begin with. It just takes some time to notice things, and things are not always what they seem.

I’ve never trusted nouns, their fuzzy specificity constantly blurred by the moving picture that is Life, the motion of action around and within.

To do, to be, to see, to free, to witness it all again in unreal time after preserving the procession of moments with a convenience machine.

Everything behind us is frozen already, except it’s not, it’s still accessible as we turn toward the past, almost timeless, almost out of time.

More poems by this writer:

Time
Technology
Nostalgia
Poetry
Blue Insights
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