you should be worried
if we are story machines and our senses send to our brain signals that transform a fragmented non continuous experience into a coherent story, what happens when these fragments stay fragmented? what happens if we realize that a continuous experience is not even an impression anymore? what if our consciousness, our cognitive processes fail to draw a line from past to present to future? what happens to the story we tell ourselves about ourselves, about our own perceived unity, our identity? what if this continuous flow is just an impression, a delusion created by our perception? what is reality then? where it is? what happens if all falls back to fragments? how can we, story machines, narrate these fragments?
différance (the digital machine bursts on the scene)
the ubiquitous screen showsays:
is GPT-3 aut.of(r)iction aut.onomous
th
e(e)
possible
of(f) the machine
in
vent
i
on
(in?vain)
it writes lies
(from the imagined lives
multiple,but,binary
and between
a 0
and a 1
the critic lies, unwritten,
in the shapeshade of a
?
Forcing a fork of(f)/on myself?
if fork for human is possible:
# for human and machine are on a continuum
fork (me into multiple selves so my I is less me)
# rizhomatically becoming plural
else:
forkbomb!
# what's the :(){ :|:& };: for human?
(en)différance
s'il n'y a pas de hors-texte
que suis-je? (et ce je est le jeu entre le moi qui écrit et l'écriture qui se dit)
un mot
perdu
fragment
qui vient d'où?
(car tout est réécriture
) [<– cet espace vide: aussi: faites-le durer 4'33”]
[hypothèse en hypertension]
CRISPR* comme évolution ultime du word processor
mot-gène : langue parfaite : code absolu (
vivement 2022?
car dans cette fin qui n'en finit jamais:
le rythme de notre galère
est =(syncope;fatigue;anxiété;in loop)
donné(es) =(comme “data:extracted from:us”)
par =(mais qui l'agit?)
une drame machine
human + machine cognition = distress
impostor syndrome:
guilt:
never enough:
eyes wide open at night
discomfort:mine & image manipulation:https://hypnogram.xyz/
and do we still believe that we cannot be saved?
doomscroll me
out of this dystopia
(if) apophenia is the new paranoia:
Philip K.'s gone, Strindberg's Inferno a nice dream
(and in that dream someone far away was singing
verses that sounded like this:
“despite all my rage
I am still just a rat in a cage”
and you wake up [but: is it really happening to you?]
to no rat:you've become the
C A
[here: just:
alienated void]
G E
Away, who may (instructions for a possible end)
Drink in / pass out
(get high and/or manipulate the language)(so you forget those beauties)
Lay down / keep up
(don't know if I can do it – unquote, deny, fall asleep)
Astray, I say:
] the eyes of a white dog in the summer heat
thoughts of a (possible) me
[pass out? don't wake
Narra[c]ting the unimaginable
Even the most hypothetical of the stories we tell ourselves
– regardless of the medium –
:
('quantic parallel universes')
('non-linear time dimensions')
('aliens')
('add your own')
are: traced back to what we can imagine
what our brains can manage
with: no escape from mimesis
(or: should we abandon the representational paradigm?)
How can we narrate what we can't yet conceive?
How to find a way beyond?
Is asking ourselves about unimaginable narrations a way to get
the unimaginable closer?
Note to explorers: liminal spaces threshold worlds: start with a dream?