Currently, a large majority of my time is spent tapping away, or staring at my laptop. Like many of us I spend HOURS gazing at the screen, for work, for play, for social networking, for research, for entertainment. Occasionally the screen darkens and I’m surprised by my own reflection and become cognisant of the solitariness of my interaction in a way that I don't feel when watching TV. Is it to do with distance? Interaction with a laptop is intimate, it rests it on my knees, my stomach, I take it to bed with me.
As my online usage has increased I’ve gradually assembled a variety of usernames and passwords that allow access to my online world. Each username and password reflect where I was at the time of their invention and tapping them out takes me on a trip to past lives, for example, a romantic trip arranged by an ex for my 30th birthday, door numbers of previous homes, cities lived in and memories of a much loved deceased pet. So a simple transaction online can bring to mind the past self while accessing information relevant to the now.
As my online usage has increased I’ve gradually assembled a variety of usernames and passwords that allow access to my online world. Each username and password reflect where I was at the time of their invention and tapping them out takes me on a trip to past lives, for example, a romantic trip arranged by an ex for my 30th birthday, door numbers of previous homes, cities lived in and memories of a much loved deceased pet. So a simple transaction online can bring to mind the past self while accessing information relevant to the now.
Could a chronology of passwords tell a life story? Could this tumble of words become a poem? What would a stranger make of your passwords and the secrets that your online fingerprint holds?
