Trans-hi-tech versus Virtual Communities

A pan-idiomatic performance piece. Distributive, digital-organic, anonymous, rootless: a performance/sound space, accessed through the Internet [computer, laptop, mobile phone, PDA] or in person via cafe drop-in centres. Perpetually transforming, evolving, growing.

The original concept was that the process would feel like stepping into an old-time payphone booth: the contributor / reader enters a 'booth' [café / chatroom / fttp site], and uploads / edits material. The music/sound/text/image equivalent of talking to someone over the phone: the contributor is free to rant, confess, or take a piss: create or destroy. Anarchic audio-visual-textual virtu-real scene. One contributor suggests:

"Mobile phones, like PDA's and laptops, are wonderful things, but a payphone or a primitive Atari has an equal appeal. Just because it's not cutting edge doesn't mean it doesn't have a place anymore."

Data Nodes are accessible to even the slowest processors, the most ancient browsers

A potentially infinite virtual concept engine; a creative space that people, in total anonymity, can access, edit, manipulate, translate and interpret, along with a covert community of cloaked, nameless coconspirators. An egoless space where everyone is an artspy.

Steve Hood goes Blank.

I've always been intrigued by the way that old media attempts to compete with new media by assimilating their styles and forms: the way that kids TV shows style their visuals after CD-Roms, streaming video, web pages, just like they did about twenty years ago when video came along, using basic editing effects to simulate Fast Forward, Pause, Rewind, even going so far as to style entire shows on the theme of 'Video Show': "Rewind", "Ovid Video", "The Kenny Everitt Video Show".

I'm always warey of new warez. Innovations in communications exclude as much as they include. But even I can see that the increasing availability of digital phones with camera capabilities has created all kinds of possibilities for a new kind of discrete spy-cam subversiveness. An example that hadn't occured to before: why buy the magazine / paper when you can visit its web site, or in the case of video phones, scan-snap the pages you like the look of.

Link via Gibson blog archive.

"Where are you?" He asked her.
"I'm in Trigue... in Trigue..." She said.

The Art of Frozen Yogurt

Much has been occuring on the creative front. Over at Scholtz Vitrine a list has been compiled of every article it has on offer to date. We are also getting around to assembling a play-list for a long-overdue 'Scholtz Vitrine sampler' CD which currently features some frankly embarrassing yet compelling covert-audio of an office argument between SchVtrn head's Martin and Steve, as well as a lot of mind-bogglingly diverse music. A lot of new audio material is also awaiting upload. I've been having fun with 'spoken word' improv and editing some phone conversations / dictaphone recordings.

"Something far aways."

I have much to blog but no time at the moment to organize. Life doesn't seem to be getting any simpler.

On thursday night I awoke at about 2 a.m. in a state of breathless panic. I was lying face down, and it felt exactly as if there was someone sitting next to me on the bed, with their hand in my hair. I could feel a serious amount of static building up in my hair. I could practically feel sparks flying from my head. I just lay there scared stiff. I live alone and I always lock my door. Eventually it stopped and I plucked up the courage to look around and check the time. I'd also heard someone say a person's name, and that this person was dead. It wasn't a name I was familiar with, and by the time I found the courage to get up I'd forgotten the name. Freaky.

Wild, Sun Dried Figs - You have Never Seen Them

Tis morning, and all the flies are singing. Tis evening, and all the flies asleep.

Next week: Rollo Kim's stir-fry secrets.

After years of trying to remember who wrote a certain book, I rediscover Barry Yourgrau , only to find he's writing for Suicidegirls {which is basically CuteyGoth Porn}. If there's a Suicidegirls {and I'm not linking to it!}, how about a Suicideboys: "Trey is 19, he likes Limp Biskit and Sandman comics, and you can do whatever you want to him." Maybe not.

I haven't watched TV in over a month. My old flatmate / philosophical sparring partner / Husband has moved away and it's his TV that I miss, not him. So inevitably end up discussing TV. And Queer icons from kid's TV: the guys from Rainbow, Long Distance Clara from Pigeon Street, King Rollo, and even Zee icons like Pob and Bod... {oh, the cheap gags are still the cheapest!}

Let us blog.

An overnight guest remarks on a number of small, brightly coloured toothbrushes resting in a small beaker beneath the sink.

"They're for my children." I tell her, despite the obvious lack of children about the place. "They are ghosts. I mean, they may be ghosts but still, clean teeth are important, especially for children."

It doesn't occur to my guest to ask their names.

"I'm only joking," I tell her, "they're not ghosts, they're invisible."

Enjoy your minty Magnum madame, enjoy it, while it lasts...