The quilters made a mark on me. They touched strands, patches,
threads of memories I had forgotten. They reminded me of things
that come and go, then come and go again. Memory is always a
mixture of sadness and joy, I guess.

I spoke briefly of nostalgia on Cybermind yesterday, discussing
why some mailing lists should be archived and how those archives
(conserved text, as it were) can be made meaningful to the list
community (living text). I have been preoccupied with memory
lately, both on the net and off. I have been busy re:membering 
myself and what I am, and the quilters struck an instant note.
For what is memory but a quilt, and what is a quilt but a memory?
Memory is always the bricollateur, piecing things together 
according to some not always obvious plan, following a pattern
that grows and evolves.

I have spoken (too much and too long, perhaps) of what I always 
thought was strong about FC, which is its memory of itself. The
tradition of retelling past events to the newcomers but also to
the oldtimers has kept the memory alive. And that memory has been
the book which we have continued to write on.


This is the old FC myth. The old mythology of epic events, the 
pantheon of FC giants. The giants are now silent, the events are
no longer epic. We discuss our memory, but we do not add to it.
This is the danger of memory, of remembering so much that we think
we have seen enough or lose have the energy to seek out more. 
"This is what's happening in our world, even as we speak".

There is a danger in memory. Memory implies slowness, contemplation,
inertia and finally lethargy. A wild guess: does "lethargy" relate
to the mythological river Lethe, the waters of which made you forget
all you had learned? If it does, it is only too right. We are
forgetting how to grow.

I look at FC now and I see apathy. Some people who know what FC can
be like express implicit jealousy over the activity on the Cybermind 
list, thinking (somewhat rightly) that there has been a brain drain 
from FC. Others, who are newly arrived wonder at the sense of inaction
and negative energy that pervades the list. There's a bad smell in 
the air, something rotting. There is resentment and frustration in 
concentrations large enough to stink. But there are no voices around
to stop it, no energy to recharge the atmosphere. Noon tells the
newcomers what is good about FC's memory, even when that memory
forces them into silence.

When Erich wrote of the silence on FC, he concluded:
"I personally think we've (or I least I've) just run out of things to
say. It's time we let the list die with dignity and stopped being
burdened by the name, past, and personality cults of "FutureCulture"."
Erich unsubscribed a while after writing this.

So, is FC dead? I do not know. I think some of the old magic has 
died, exhausted at last. It is better to be rid of it than to 
linger over its corpse. I feel there is a lot of repressed anger
on the list, which for me is the thing that keeps me from participating
too much. There is anger against certain events and certain people
who many people seem to feel have destroyed a positive atmosphere.
No matter if one agrees with that or not, it feels vaguely 
uncomfortable in here now. It doesn't feel like a good space.


The quilters struck a spark of beauty in all this, and reminded me
what has been beautiful about the list and still could be, without
resorting to old mythology. What's beautiful about this list is
the people here. Their  willingness to listen to each other.
Their ability to share, both on professional and personal levels.
The people here are *real people*, with real pain and real joy.

That's the reason why we remember Andy, even if he no longer wants
to be *that* Andy (memory is not about truth, it's about how we
remember things and sometimes people remember you for being things 
you no longer want to be). That's the reason why we remember the
agony when the list was killed for the first time, and the urgency
when the FC-NEXUS appeared, everybody in shock, trying to find
out what was happening and why did Andy send postcards saying
"mY iNSIDES bURN"?