Dave Pires

I rarely dreamt before Darina. Or I didn’t remember my dreams.

I dream quite a bit now and I believe there’s something about having another brain a couple feet from your head, synapses firing and waves waving, which affects your own electrochemical organ. It’s a theory grounded in zero actual science, but it’s the only explanation I can come up with.

I’ve started writing down my dreams when I wake up, not with the intention of interpreting them, but mainly because the stuff that happens is ridiculously far out. It makes me wonder about the untapped limits of my imagination.

It’s like watching a good animated movie. The stuff that goes on is so unusual and imaginative that you’re happy someone could take those thoughts and visualize them through animation.

Last night’s dream wasn’t particularly imaginative, but I don’t remember anything except the very last thing. My friends Andrew and Garret were on the cover of Metro. Andrew was rapping on a stage, his hand was blurry because of the extended exposure, and Garret was leaning on a speaker with his drunk face on (one eye half-closed, perpetually looking like he’s about to hiccup). The caption listed their names as Altan Altan and Artan Eto. I have no idea where the names came from, but for some reason they fascinate me.

They’re probably aliens.

I’ve been setting aside more time for writing lately because I made one of those leaps of understanding that make you feel foolish in hindsight.

I was writing when I felt like it, and not writing the rest of the time, and I realized that things weren’t going to happen if I only wrote when I felt like it. I have to make time.

I’ve also been writing on paper more. Almost all the writing I do beyond rough notes is on the computer, but I was inspired by an interview with Vladimir Nabokov’s son, in which I learned that he wrote his books on small note cards. It’s a fascinating approach, and I’m sure focusing, revising and perfecting his writing in such small pieces contributed to his mastery of language.

I wanted to see how writing on paper would affect my writing. Would I write differently? Would my writing have more depth or feel, like shooting film vs. digital? If you take a step back, the fact that I can “find” what it’s like to write on paper again is an interesting sign of our times. It almost feels like living in one of those utopian 50’s science fiction novels. In the year 1998 nobody will write on paper anymore, your house work will be done by robot maids, and thanks to nuclear fusion your hover car will never need refueling. [Is it possible to write a realistic science fiction novel today without accounting for the total toxification, desertification, and deforestation of our earth, as well as a mass population reduction?]

Through my reflection I found that I write with a two-track mind, in one of two ways, depending on how excited I am. The first track encompasses what is being formed into sentences on the page. The second is the subject I’m thinking about, what I just wrote, what I’m about to write, and other random sensory input like the lady outside jingling her keys.

On paper I can write at a measured pace as if writing a draft to be read, or I can write in excited stream-of-consciousness fragments, trying to keep up with my thoughts, and frantically getting them all out before they disappear.

When I’m on the computer I can write clearly at nearly the speed of thought, but it requires more attention and largely kills the second track of abstract thinking, which is why I find it harder to write on the computer without at least a few written notes. Writing the notes gives my mind valuable room to breathe throughout the entire process.

Interestingly enough, writing on paper taught me what I already knew unconsciously. Each medium obviously has its benefits, and it’s all about using the right tools at each stage of the writing process. To figure this all out my mind just needed that room to breathe.

Whatever you’re doing, make sure you’re giving your mind air, and hopefully you’ll encounter positive results.

In A Man without a Country, Kurt Vonnegut wrote, “Electronic communities build nothing. You wind up with nothing. We’re dancing animals. How beautiful is it to get up and go out and do something.”

I don’t necessarily agree, but Vonnegut does make a good point, and as online communities like Facebook, Myspace, Flickr, and Twitter become increasingly prevalent, I have become increasingly careful about what I sign up for.

Second only to, “How’s it going?” the most common question people ask me is, “Why aren’t you on Facebook?” I’m clearly not a Luddite, so usually I’ll reply, “I’m not against it, I’ve just got better things to do.” It’s a base truth wrapped in a vague statement, and my deeper reasons are grounded in time management.

The question I pose to myself when considering any of this is, “Would I rather write this article/read/make a zine/go for a walk/take a photo/spend time with my friends and girlfriend, or spend time in an online time sink?”

Certain things are higher on my list of priorities, and when they’re all said and done, I simply don’t have spare time for the rest of it. This blog is a good example. Instead of starting Swampsterbate, I could have signed up for Facebook, Flickr, or Wired Journalists, and done a combination of what I do here (and more). I still think this is the most valuable use of my time, and I can do most of the stuff I would do on those sites here. The key difference is this blog doesn’t have the same “social networking” component of many online communities. However, I do get plenty of valuable feedback from the people I have told about it, which is a great benefit.

Paradoxically, I believe the whole point of online communities is to improve reality. I went from the forums of Newschoolers.com to making my own magazine and writing for the site, Facebook is useful for staying in (constant) contact with your friends and hopefully seeing them more, Flickr can be a learning tool for improving your photography, and Wired Journalists is a good place to get feedback on work which will hopefully one help you get a job. The list goes on but the simple truth is, if online communities aren’t constructively improving your reality, Vonnegut was right.

Today I signed up for Wheels and Wax, an online community created by and for some of the world’s best action sports photographers. These guys know their shit, and there’s a lot of valuable information to absorb. Not only does the site improve me as a photographer, it improves me as an editor because it teaches what makes a truly worthy photo. I considered the time I would spend against the return I would receive and decided it was worth it. Seems simple enough to me.

If I ever finish building my website and find some spare time, I’ll probably sign up for Flickr and Wired Journalists too. Maybe I’ll even sign up for Facebook one day, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.