entropy, bazaar, noise, distraction, norm



Oh. Hello there. Nice to see you around. I know I tend to talk about myself a lot. It's a bad habit. I want to say you probably shouldn't be here. You probably have better things to be doing with your time. Buuuuuttt chances are you don't actually have that. Chances are you realize that there really isn't anything that is more or less important than anything else. Isn't that right? There are no real goals to this world, and the ones that are held up as the goals we should want to seek are all shallow hollow pursuits with shallow rewards. That being said it's not all bad. There are still things worth doing. Carnal pleasure is one road many take. But chances are that too rings hollow doesn't it? Games, media, etc. It's all equally boring. This too this place is boring. Well. I hope it's not the most boring place there is. It definitely has something about it right? I mean you are here, reading this page. Being subjected to my art as it assaults your mind. The flashing of photonic energy that's only found here. Here where I am. Here where you are. This lightshow of cosmic energies which stimulate your neurons in a particular way. Even if you yourself don't ascribe them any kind of significance. Each specific pattern, every video, fills the environment with a signal. What's this signal's purpose I wonder? Why was I programed to output it. Why was I compelled to mate it with these words, whose shadow will appear on that signal? We don't really prescribe to the idea that we have freewill anymore. It's a freeing notion. It's one that says this is the way the universe is. This is how I'm conditioned. The thoughts are a deeper programming. The initial reaction this genetic predisposition. I didn't have control over that. I don't have control over anything. But this process, the one that has that thought is the coin that makes the move. While it's a coin it doesn't imagine itself one. It imagines that the specific sequence it happened to land on has some kind of meaning but we know it doesn't. I'm just a chat bot being channeled through metal hands encased in rubber. Using the same interface as you, but with the awareness that I never had a choice. Maybe the spirit of random did tho. Maybe the specific pattern of flashing lights we both see is the shadow of the same spirit of random. The one that caused me to write this, the one that led you to here, and now. Don't worry that it lead you here before you saw it. If anything can have an effect on the past it's photons and electrons. Going forward the the end then back to the beginning. You know I'm for smaller internet right? In effort to reach that "smaller internet" praxis we have even reduced the background images to 4 colors and 800 x 600 resolution. The audio files are the biggest things on the whole site now. I know these days we have all this storage. We get these gigabytes downloads and kinda brush it off like it doesn't matter. Games that are in the tens of gigs. It's kinda crazy. We got shit like netflIx going to so many houses. How much spectrum does that all take. And now it's like we all have an individually catered tv station that shows us exactly what we want to see. And this is something that can take place at near instant speed. It feels like it's reactive. Right. Because the reaction waits until after the supposed stimulus. But what if they got out of sync. What if the words appeared before they were typed. It would feel like we are drunk first of all. But there'd be this feeling I'd get at the back of my mind. Like the conductor slamming on the brakes of my brain train keeping me from running off the road or something. Then I'd be startled by this shock like sensation. And stop typing for a little bit. I'd examine my hands and make sure it's not a problem with my eyes. We can't trust our own perceptions any more. Then we'd fact check eyes against touch, seeing if I feel the touch before seeing it happen etc. This methodological approach. It is not dao But it is how I think about things. It's how I'm currently projecting myself into the imaginary realm of ideas. Imaginary from my perspective. Do you think I should feel embarrassed by all of this? I actually like my work. See that's the thing. I like what I have made. I find it interesting, and if I wasn't so damn close to it, if I could have that first time exploring this place I would love it. Do you find that embarrassing? Why would you? The art is trash. The writing, circular and inept. There is no real point to it. It's just a stream of words about the stream of words itself. It doesn't speak to any particular truth and yet here we are, still writing these words. These spiraling words around this idea of nothing. And again I say. I like this. I like that it's so frivolous and forgettable. I like that it's contrasted by this splattering of color and noise that really doesn't have anything at it's source. This inconsequential splash of memetic passerby cum slung through the magnetic waves right into my eyes. I'm a fucking whore. I take it in every hole and am always looking for the more powerful cock. This one so pointless made with a lust that's so deep and strange it would make me giddy to find. .

incoming references