The meme of the minute will expire shortly.
The clock starts with the first mention of tiger’s blood and ends some time after the doors of rehab slam shut.
Or else the meme of the minute begins with a morning announcement, alarming and aggressive like the coffee grinder, of some political debacle destined to occupy us for the next 24 hours, which, of course, can be measured in minutes.
The meme of the minute is always expiring.
It will go right on expiring for ever.
It excels at this.
Remember when Elizabeth Taylor died? That was a meme of the minute. By the time Sunday came, her syndicated obituary was pronouncing ancient history.
The meme of the moment generates no discernible revenue, little buzz, and operates under an ambiguous conception of time.
The moment is always now.
Except that its primary activity is re-imagining the past in service of the future.
The meme of the moment is not a sound bite to consume; it is a reality in need of a creator.
We have become so obsessed with playing God we have forgotten to play as God.
“God is dead” was the meme of the moment once, twice, again. Ancient history is the newest new.
The meme of the moment is the news of the universe, to borrow a phrase from Robert Bly.
There is never anything new in the universe.