February 9th 2019
One thing I can't quite work out is how my memory relates to my imagination. In memory, I'm very visual: I remember images, not sounds, principally. I even picture words and quotations, rather than hear them, when I'm flicking back for the right one (just realized: "flicking back" came to mind, not "rewinding": I think of memory as a book to look at, not a tape to listen to, although of course both conceptions are absurd). But I don't imagine visually at all. I never picture descriptions, I'm never surprised at representations in films not looking right as I have nothing with which to compare them. When I'm making things up I'm fitting words together, not putting pictures into words.
So the problem is that there's no real difference between memory and imagination, recollection is a creative act, but I conceive of them as different because the former is visual and the latter verbal. I don't know why that should be.
When I think about Sparrow what comes, sometimes, is pictures. I describe those. Memory. Other times, I get words and I just write them. Imagination. Today was one of those days.
One thing I can't quite work out is how my memory relates to my imagination. In memory, I'm very visual: I remember images, not sounds, principally. I even picture words and quotations, rather than hear them, when I'm flicking back for the right one (just realized: "flicking back" came to mind, not "rewinding": I think of memory as a book to look at, not a tape to listen to, although of course both conceptions are absurd). But I don't imagine visually at all. I never picture descriptions, I'm never surprised at representations in films not looking right as I have nothing with which to compare them. When I'm making things up I'm fitting words together, not putting pictures into words.
So the problem is that there's no real difference between memory and imagination, recollection is a creative act, but I conceive of them as different because the former is visual and the latter verbal. I don't know why that should be.
When I think about Sparrow what comes, sometimes, is pictures. I describe those. Memory. Other times, I get words and I just write them. Imagination. Today was one of those days.
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