Oh ffs its gone all Westworld. The world is tipping for Trans-human, I’ve no idea what’s real any longer. Am I nature’s child or a slowly mutating nano-example? Is this the human heart or a programmed farce? How morphed and warped are we? How far back do you have to go, to still recall social interaction away from Social-Media?
I remember, which is why I have a such a problem with it. Have felt always somehow disconnected from ‘the connection’ of it all. The wit and the grit of reality, morphing to the modern medium of artificial intelligence and constant gaming. Anyway, I’ve just been unceremoniously dumped. Given the termination note, my Summer 2017 cyber daliance just posted this to our shared Twiitter DM box.
The Dr. Van Heilsing; the point of no return. Thus I write this as the conclusion. The end of a story begun in July. Its a good story. Funny, really funny. Yet within it, I ask only what is the inner lesson here?
A lesson in my Social-Media ineptness or a tragic example of how disconnected, even the deeply connected have become??
So what’s the story? Well, this is how it began, as I first wrote about it back in August 2017.
Ouch ffs, I just did something hopelessly Tourettes’eee. A moment, that was definitely not cool. Ffs I’m such a twat. Powerless to change it, putting my feckin’ Converse All Stars right in it. Oh god, what 2 do; the blush of it?? Another KosieT classic unleashed.
Forever treading where all other’s would have more discernment??? And now I’m sat here, squirming like a Thames eel with ADHD. Honestly, omg I just did that!
It is as it is; over the last week or so, following my re-emergence on Twitter. Another half-hearted effort to be socially connected? Anyway between all the scroll of general daily wah wah. The whole analytics of popularity and how the fuck do you work Hootsuite? Totally lost to my insignificance, shouting into the abyss of distractions own nothingness, heading nowhere soon. When appearing as some luminous different amidst the otherwise droll, comes a stranger.
Who knows who followed who first. Perhaps me, touched by sentiment; following some character who shares both the name and family location of my own long since deceased father? Surely, no harm here? Anyway it’s innocent, a game, a deliciously funny one, that began with a photograph, that was duly replied to with another photograph. And this is how it began…
A week of intermittent photographic conversation, beguiling, bombastic and just funny. A rapid rant of creative nonsense, that’s kept me laughing through an otherwise ‘Eclipsing’ week. Then, whilst holding my own quite well in the medium of photographic dialogue. It was actually me, that conceded to ‘up the game’ of this Twitter dalliance. New ground; new medium 'music.'
It is as it is, intrigued by some person that calls themselves ‘an art vendor.’ Appearing sharp, too sharp to be too young, but then, again maybe he stinks of piss and TCP and is on his way out? Who knows ‘this is social-media’ really. who is anyone? Still he’s got a pocket full of classic photos. I'll play. Game on; You Tube tennis with new balls?? And so it is, from very first thing this morning, my laptop has been pinging with a Nadal V Federer Direct Message Grand Slam. Sat writing all day; what else to do hey?
Flirt with a faceless ‘art vendor’ creatively with out words??? An expression of music, film and photographs, a play of pictorial linguistics, and there play on the perception. Child’s play! Still, whilst this whole conversation remains something a little out of the blue. I'm not unconscious to the fact that, that this is the kind of game played only by a particular kind of creative crazy.
With quirk in abundance; what could possibly go wrong???
Okay maybe having to run a bit with the swift speed of returns, a test for agility, bouncing about the net, trying to hit back the quintessential response. Too many You Tube tabs open, add all those Google ones, cause I can’t remember the name of feckin’ anything. So no, an easy mistake??? Yet oh ffs. Thinking I’d just pasted in the Kovac’s ‘Diggin’ in response to Sharon Tandy’s ‘Hurry Hurry Chou Chou…….???’
Then...idiot…. Leaping this tangible, intangible, twittering tennis into an altogether bigger game. Oh ffs, I, she, me, hopeless that I am, just pasted in a whole genre of conversation, that just, well, blushing here, in this Thames Eel coat; oh ffs.
So instead of playfully Diggin’ a bit.
I, she, the squirming one, just pasted in ‘Machiavelli’s frigging nemesis...’
And so, now well, after what was a ‘Stop.’ Quite a moment of pause in our game’s proceedings. Me left diggin’ about in a nervous bluster of helplessness, giggling only to myself; devoid of anywhere else to place an inept forwardness.
Anyway I just received ‘the spinner’ back over the net. Honestly, now I’m completely bemused, OMG what to perceive? Have I just been executed, or is this a salute ‘until death do us part?’
Ffs, how’d you respond to this?
Anyway so that was how I first wrote about this extraordinary, wordless game of crazy ping-pong? Yet this was a game that didn’t stop there. Turning this now into an essay. Adding a capital letter to the word Addictive. Laughter the seducer. Against, the backdrop of an unfunny and otherwise tricky summer ‘this cyber whatever’ was a gift of distraction. As well as a lesson, that would ultimately; well, let me tell the story...
Like living in apartment blocks and never knowing your neighbours; this is the internet. Just as I’d never consider putting my name into a dating site, here, retaining a handful of sound friends, I’m the anti-social media, with no desire or real need ‘to be social.’ Commenting on the news when it pisses me off, supposedly promoting my blog and photographs, when really I don’t know why I’m on social-media, I speak to a few, but do I really? Lazy, more prone to seeing what the universe brings in rather than reaching out, more focussed on my immediate space and the conversation round the kitchen table. Fuck phones.
Alas as a witness to the world changing, everyone consumed by their own pretty virtual world, talking now only in emojis. Yet when you add it all up, put the dots together. Social-Media is simply the ultimate tool to keep us all off track. Electro-magnetically fried, mumified and falsly dependent on an unnecessary accessory, that tracks our every move, dulling us by distraction, whilst maintaining we remain incapable of any inkling of revolution. The 21st Century Homo-Sapien, now just some strange mutating-nano-mammal, defined by 'the SMART weapon' he carries.
Still, while I tend to live like everything is meant, all is connected, nothing happens by chance and its probably my fault anyway. The fundamental understanding remains; wherever attention goes, energy flows. 3D or 5D, in my head its all one reality. It’s that “Just because I was on acid, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.” Reality, virtual reality is it not the same? Where am I? What am I doing? Am I missing something here? Timothy Leary said, ‘The PC is the LSD of the 90’s.’ My first mobile was a brick in the 80's, my first computer purchased in 1993, I've taken acid a few times. Yet never could I have imagined 'What's really been created...' What the TV, the PC, Playstation, would actually manage to achieve.
Orwell, Leary, Burroughs, Anton-Wilson, they all wrote about 'the onslaught of the machine...' what it would do to us? Yet they're all dead, all they wrote was imagined. They never got to witness the reality.
The fucking Zombie Apocalypse of it all.
Anyway, this puerile crazy, this game without words with ‘the art vendor.’ The art vendor, known now as ‘The Bot.’ It starts getting under my skin. Like I started feeling incoming correspondence before they came in, could even sense the laughter in the ether at a response. Profound connectivity, or the signals of fibre-optics; which is it? In a creative rally of well over a hundred, maybe two hundred returns? You’d be intrigued wouldn’t you; you’d want to know who your opponent was?? Man, my feckin’ intrigue was tripping; triggered by the humour in The Bots game, just left me wanting to shake this man’s hand.
Yet still I’ve no idea who I’m playing with, or really what I’m playing at? Yet there is something inexplicably intense within this cyber exchange; that I still don’t quite understand. A mysterious cyber summer interlude, with a faceless bot on the internet. My life so dull it means something?
Yes actually. Today, understanding a little more about Saphio-Sexualism, yet I also get how sad it is to be a bot. Alas this is what we are becoming, it is the Trans-human experience. Reality dies, whilst virtual becomes real. Yet I’m not a feckin’ robot; mine is not a AI Google Brain. I’m human; here living in the illusion and delusion of it all, but still human.
Knowing only that there is something different and not ordinary in this exchange with The Bot? My soul says this. However really, I know nothing. Yet I will say the essence of the soul, the feeling I get off the person I've been playing, is that of someone hurting, someone healing from something. Someone killing pain with a game. No need for a cloak, when everyone is your mirror. Yet all the time, there are no words between us; music and photographs, but no fucking words. So what do I know, its only a Play on Perception?
My opponent a cyborg, a bot merely pinging about? It seems he won’t bend the rules, wont speak with any eloquence beyond this You Tube medium? Who is this soul?
Yet ffs where is my head? I tried three times to get The Bot to communicate like a human. Alas I'm dealing with someone who obviously believes 'Lauguage is a virus from out of space.' The first time I used words, asking if we’d played for long enough, and could now be friends? Having genuinely been contemplating asking 'the art vendor' for some in put, on something I’m trying to do creatively??? But hey fuck that, when he replied...
Responding with the below, obviously I let those thought's slide...
Still, in a game played without words its difficult to explain how a summer of tennis can make you feel, it was a little later following another intense game, that I sent this….
Sadly, with only this as a response, obviously The Bot has no intention of revealing himself?
So I replied.
And the game ended. Just at the point I left the UK, it didn’t really matter. Nor would it have, if it hadn’t lingered, but it did. The whole game really fucked with my head. What I felt, didn’t bode with my thoughts. The line between real and unreal, warped. The whole Westworld of our emerging human reality on my senses. The cold manufacturing of our Trans-Human selves and greater virtual disconnection from the real. The mutation of our gender; the whole sex=doll simulated plastic passion, now being the evolving preference. ‘Disconnected’ the new black? The virtual game, now greater than the reality of our real human situation? Ffs...
In less than thirty year’s our civilization has gone from living in one reality, to existing in two. It is, it is feckin’ remarkable. And now this is where we hide, ever looking for virtual wine, while ignoring the depleting water resources of our reality. It’s a bit like this, isn’t it?
Anyway so how does the story end? I’m a twat, fabulously un-cool. Why did I get dumped from the game? Alas I went back, it was Halloween, naughty in the air; I sent this.
Same shit, different day; ‘pictorial tennis’ back on. Honestly there is no depth to this game. It’s just fickle, funny but fickle. So why is it under my skin?? This irrational lingering desire to know who The Bot is? Intrigue itself the game? Addicted to the facelessness? We haven’t played for over a month and still this weird sense lingers…
This is madness. I’m dealing with a virtual player, but my soul says not. Here, screaming ‘This is one of your crew?’ Stop, wait, none of this is real. Its the virtual world, alas then came another ping on phone. I’m walking to the gym, I’m in Athens, I’ve just got back from a little island hoping with Woozy. The reality of my life is chaos; where am I? The practical where am I living, what am I doing, how the feck am I gonna pay for that, all consuming. I don’t want to play in the virtual world any longer, I don’t understand ‘Why I feel like I do?’
So I wrote...
I'm walking to the gym.... Have to respond with words.... its a dangerous game this 'Play on Perception' ..... Personally I've no time for headbanging (this some reference, to a previous photo). You however, I've loads of time for you... Feckin intrigue has had me tripping.... Messing with my head; your sharp humour a rarity.... a joy. I've no idea who you are, but in a weird esoteric kind of way maybe I do? But really all I know for sure, is that in the last month of no communication, no game, no moments of churlish glee opening my DM box.... and well, I've missed you every day.....while querying lunacy becoming me..... It as it is..... Sometimes the words shouldn't be rubbed out.... Maybe we should up grade to whole sentences ..... I mean we've known each other a few months now?
Look I took the red tab, he took the blue. Eloquently, as I’d so perceived he could, The Bot declared our game absolutely over.
Somebody once told me a simple but very true thing; human relationships are almost always thwarted because one individual’s expectations are almost always different to the other’s. We lack empathy and perception, and are driven by ego. The true self gets buried alive. The Hall of Mirrors otherwise known as Social Media exasperates this situation further. I believe that no one is truly themselves in the virtual world, including me. Especially me. What you are experiencing is a vibration. A regurgitation of cultural flotsam and jetsam. An echo of an idea. Nothing more. But thanks all the same, for tuning in and taking the time. X
'What your experiencing is a vibration?' Ffs, this is my point!
Flotsam and feckin’ jetsam! When you get the message, hang up the phone! Its over, its finished 'The Mission has been Terminated.' That was back at the beginning of November, we’re now well into December. Life is good, exciting and funny, Athens is being good to me. Yet like a mystery never to be solved, the question still lingers ‘Who is The Bot?’ Why? Why has this interaction left such a mark?
Writing this conclusion, I believe ‘I reacted as a woman who doesn’t lack empathy, nor perception, and isn’t driven by ego...’ In my head I think exactly as The Bot does, its but a social meeting of flotsam and jetsam. In my heart, who gives a fig, its just some art vendor. The twisted bit is that of all of the relationships and interactions I’ve shared through 2017, something within my soul tells me this was the most important.
It is the one that has taught me the most.
William Burroughs wrote “Nothing exists until or unless it is observed. An artist is making something exist by observing it. And his hope for other people is that they will also make it exist by observing it. I call it 'creative observation.' Creative viewing.”
In context, anything can mean anything and yet while it is only our senses that we can properly call our own, and whilst I don't believe the soul discriminates between the virtual world and reality, remaining present through all experience. As the virtual realist around here, maybe I'm just too creative for Social-Media, because I still believe...
Or else, I'm just an anologue girl lost in the digital world; not your average virtual bitch, cause I just want a new friend, not a bot? Ffs...
So now as a sub-note; I put this piece on Social-Media, where Taz responded.
Taren McCallan Moore 'All the world’s a stage / And all the men and women merely players; / They have their exits and their entrances / And one man in his time plays many parts...' - Will S. As You Like It. Interesting piece K. Incidentally I love throbbing Gristle. If you've not already had the pleasure, grab a copy of Here To Go by Terry Wilson which is a wonderful collection of interviews with Brian Gysin; I suspect that you might find it appropriately insightful. The first question you have to ask is the premise to all methods of trust in the nature of perception, WHAT IS REALITY? All philosophers begin their task at this step. A reason driven analysis makes the point that a sentience is the sum total of all given variables embodying the sensory means of an organism; its 'reality' determined by it's physiological requirements to survive. Beyond this caveat there is an Alexandrian wealth of theoretical conjecture, reasoned polemic and peer reviewed research at work in the manifestation of models and maps; guides for clearer analysis and illumination. We have our reality and all other creatures have theirs too. The point is that when we speak of reality we are being subjective and this is very important. Beyond our paradigm of sensory awareness by default, there is the way in which we have evolved meaning in the world, What is it that I am in? What is it that I am? What the hell is that? In answer to these questions we have illuminated darkness with stories, myth, ritual, the pantheist, polytheist and the monotheist. In short, our reality, based on perennial fundamentals such as ocular feedback, taste, hearing and touch, those of which we can all agree on, is a question of cultural and historical perspective. The internet, as you well know, is a post WW2 technology commissioned by the U.S. federal Government as a decentralised tool of communication in defence of a cold war driven nuclear strike; an evolution of our means to collaborate through the inevitable disunity after such an event. The tech was later incorporated as an intranet amongst universities in America and it was there that the medium began to flourish as something more. The speed with which this tech has impacted on all our lives and changed it irreversibly, short of civilisations complete collapse, leaves those of us with the received preconceptions and expectation of a world without it in a state of dissonance. I think if you put your expectations behind you and take the position of observer, you'll see this new reality for what it is with all it's unusual patterns of communion, anonymity, deceits, paradox, wonder and wisdom. It's flawed yes, but everything in our image is. I think he's right too by the way, I think that you should put your ego aside. Our ego is like an old oak tree in a storm, looks big and strong but more vulnerable than all the saplings that bend ('It is as it is'). Much love X
With one of my oldest mate's concluding 'it's really my ego that's too big for social-media???'
Fuck it, I'm headed to India...
ACT 3 - Back on.... the NOVA EXPRESS