When I hear the word bodega or even think of one, I see this image. It is a container for all my experiences with or within the crowded and minimal shops. For me, the two are synonymous. One is the other.
Actually, I don't think I see an image at all. It's more like a 3-D model that I can disassemble and reassemble. Something not all together different from a suped-up QuickTime VR.
The mixed six-pack floats lazily in my mind, easily rotated and examined. Once I've glanced at it for a moment, I can access all the information filed under it.
It's as though the image is a folder that I can invisibly double-click, revealing all the smells, sounds, images, and thoughts that I have associated with the visual proxy.
The image, the icon is a portal to my memories. A necessary pit-stop between the word bodega and my understanding of one.
The whole process takes a fraction of a second. In fact, I'm barely aware that I do it anymore.
Actually, I don't think I see an image at all. It's more like a 3-D model that I can disassemble and reassemble. Something not all together different from a suped-up QuickTime VR.
The mixed six-pack floats lazily in my mind, easily rotated and examined. Once I've glanced at it for a moment, I can access all the information filed under it.
It's as though the image is a folder that I can invisibly double-click, revealing all the smells, sounds, images, and thoughts that I have associated with the visual proxy.
The image, the icon is a portal to my memories. A necessary pit-stop between the word bodega and my understanding of one.
The whole process takes a fraction of a second. In fact, I'm barely aware that I do it anymore.
A.
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