mitchellirons

rough notes

Thanksgiving

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It is Thanksgiving, and in the spirit of things, I thought I’d give the internet something.

I’m actually giving something back – a crude semblance of my being. For a time resident in the cyber realism of weblogs, I grew frustrated with the medium, and abruptly left. There were too many issues in the medium that had to be resolved, leaving me conflicted with, and detached from its loyal adherents and supporters.

The problem has always been not the information nor the mis-information found on blogs, but the very format. The people are okay, and so are their opinions (as ridiculous or astute as they may be). I went under (with the occasional re-surfacing to survey the current scene) because the internet, blogs, and online publishing, singularly or together, had been an untested medium; we did not know what we were writing about, or to whom. It may not have been dangerous or life-threatening (with the exception of the odd high school fatality in America™, of course), but it sure was precarious. It still is. We, the disembodied voices, the on-screen authorized imitations of ourselves, are souls without bodies. We create our “selves”, and our “selves” have no twin in real life.

Every time we go online and write something, we give ourselves that chance to create new persons, fabricating, evaluating and embellishing the real life occurances, and turning them into new moments and realities. One has become the shadow of the other, but it is difficult to determine which one has subordinated the other, if we even give ourselves the chance to think outside of our box. Such is the case when the actor is given a blank promptbook for the curtained stage. We don’t know ourselves, or our audience, so it becomes our chance to write our own lines and shine.

The monitors we stare at, that we key characters into, are not mirrors.

The monitor is not a mirror, but a conduit, lit by a phosphorous glow that masks a darkness we all understand to exist, but willingly choose to ignore. I was tired of jacking in and choosing to exist in a world that ignores the fact that it is completely fabricated, manufactured by our feelings of what the “best of” of the moment should be, feel, look or sound. So I left the jacked-in world, to search for a more tangible encounter with the real. But here I am now, returning to the digital. The simulation has pulled me back, because the simulation has become overbearing, leaving nothing to chance, and nothing to exist on its own. We’re all on life support now, existing as cyber-shadows, next to our own withered shells. In the spirit of the holiday (not at all), I’m giving the internet my brain matter, and its ungraciously returning with a quiet, yet equally magnanimous “thanks.”


you are commodified.

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Written by mitchellirons

October 9, 2006 at 2:48 am

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