The image on the header is a photograph of my grandmother’s pillows. My grandmother has a knack for collecting pillows, or any possible thing with a garish pattern. Preferably floral, but any pattern will do as long as it clashes enough with everything else in the room. My strongest memories of childhood come from rooms thus furnished. These rooms no longer belong to our family, and I have since moved between so many countries that I no longer even feel like I have a homeland; therefore these patterns, the memory of my grandparents’ living room as it used to be, becomes the closest thing to home. After all, home is not a place but a collection of lived memories.
Memories, like thoughts, do not reside in the world in the way that objects do. In her meditation on where we are when we think, Hannah Arendt writes: ‘The thinking ego, moving among universals, among invisible essences, is, strictly speaking, nowhere; it is homeless in an emphatic sense’ (The Life of the Mind). At best, the internet can be such a non-space, where thoughts can leave their original ‘here and now’ and mingle in a medium where every thought is equally close and distant to any other. Maybe it is precisely because the internet is such an inherently homeless medium that the word homepage has come to denote the interfaces where thoughts encounter one another.
Thus, I take my grandmother’s pillows to decorate my ‘home’ in the internet’s ‘nowhere of thought.’
Thoughts fallen by the wayside 