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Thread: Morphosis

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    Default Morphosis

    The internet. A developing extension of the human organism or a developing organism in its own right? Bowie once jokingly referred to it as an "alien life form" and I sometimes feel there was some truth in that, Carpenter's Thing being dug out of the ice and gradually assimilating everything on the planet.


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    The Internet of Things is fascinating. The thought of all these household appliances communicating with one another like something out of a Pixar film, the equivalent of a mycorrhizal network. A forest of appliances. There's that new phone that can charge other phones now too.
    Last edited by version; 30-08-2019 at 10:55 PM.

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    Now it turns out that this light bulb over the colonel’s head here is the same identical Osram light bulb that Franz Pokler used to sleep next to in his bunk at the underground rocket works at Nordhausen. Statistically (so Their story goes), every n-thousandth bulb is gonna be perfect, all the delta-q’s piling up just right, so we shouldn’t be surprised that his one’s still around, burning brightly. But the truth is even more stupendous. This bulb is immortal! It’s been around, in fact, since the twenties, has that old-timery point at the tip and is less pear-shaped than more contemporary bulbs. Wotta history, this bulb, if only it could speak—well, as a matter of fact, it can speak. It is dictating the muscular modulations of Paddy McGonigle’s cranking tonight, this is a loop here, with feedback through Paddy to the generator again. Here it is,

    THE STORY OF BYRON THE BULB

    When M-Day finally does roll around, you can bet Byron’s elated. He has passed the time hatching some really insane grandiose plans—he’s gonna organize all the Bulbs, see, get him a power base in Berlin, he’s already hep to the Strobing Tactic, all you do is develop the knack (Yogic, almost) of shutting off and on at a rate close to the human brain’s alpha rhythm, and you can actually trigger an epileptic fit! True, Byron has had a vision against the rafters of his ward, of 20 million Bulbs, all over Europe, at a given synchronizing pulse arranged by one of his many agents in the Grid, all these Bulbs beginning to strobe together, humans thrashing around the 20 million rooms like fish on the beaches of Perfect Energy—Attention, humans, this has been a warning to you. Next time, a few of us will explode. Ha-ha. Yes we’ll unleash our Kamikaze squads! You’ve heard of the Kirghiz Light? well that’s the ass end of a firefly compared to what we’re gonna—oh, you haven’t heard of the—oh, well, too bad. Cause a few Bulbs, say a million, a mere 5% of our number, are more than willing to flame out in one grand burst instead of patiently waiting out their design hours….So Byron dreams of his Guerrilla Strike Force, gonna get Herbert Hoover, Stanley Baldwin, all of them, right in the face with one coordinated blast…

    At 800 hours—another routine precaution—a Berlin agent is sent out to the opium den to transfer Byron. She is wearing asbestos-lined kid gloves and seven-inch spike heels, no not so she can fit in with the crowd, but so that she can reach that sconce to unscrew Byron. The other bulbs watch, in barely subdued terror. The word goes out along the Grid. At something close to the speed of light, every bulb, Azos looking down the empty black Bakelite streets, Nitralampen and Wotan Gs at night soccer matches, Just-Wolframs, Monowatts and Siriuses, every bulb in Europe knows what’s happened. They are silent with impotence, with surrender in the face of struggles they thought were all myth. We can’t help, this common thought humming through pastures of sleeping sheep, down Autobahns and to the bitter ends of coaling piers in the North, there’s never been anything we could do…Anyone shows us the meanest hope of transcending and the Committee on Incandescent Anomalies comes in and takes him away. Some do protest, maybe, here and there, but it’s only information, glow-modulated harmless, nothing close to the explosions in the faces of the powerful that Byron once envisioned, back there in his Baby ward, in his innocence...

    Through his years of survival, all these various rescues of Byron happen as if by accident. Whenever he can, he tries to instruct any bulbs nearby in the evil nature of Phoebus, and in the need of solidarity against the cartel. He has come to see how Bulb must move beyond its role as conveyor of light-energy alone. Phoebus has restricted Bulb to this one identity. “But there are other frequencies, above and below the visible band. Bulb can give heat. Bulb can provide energy for plants to grow, illegal plants, inside closets, for example. Bulb can penetrate the sleeping eye, and operate among the dreams of men.” Some bulbs listened attentively—others thought of ways to fink to Phoebus. Some of the older anti-Byronists were able to fool with their parameters in systematic ways that would show up on the ebonite meters under the Swiss mountain: there were even a few self-immolations, hoping to draw the hit men down...

    Byron, as he burns on, sees more and more of this pattern. He learns how to make contact with other kinds of electric appliances, in homes, in factories and out in the streets. Each has something to tell him. The pattern gathers in his soul (Seele, as the core of the earlier carbon filament was known in Germany), and the grander and clearer it grows, the more desperate Byron gets. Someday he will know everything, and still be as impotent as before. His youthful dreams of organizing all the bulbs in the world seem impossible now—the Grid is wide open, all messages can be overheard, and there are more than enough traitors out in the line. Prophets traditionally don’t last long—they are either killed outright, or given an accident serious enough to make them stop and think, and most often they do pull back. But on Byron has been visited an even better fate. He is condemned to go on forever, knowing the truth and powerless to change anything. No longer will he seek to get off the wheel. His anger and frustration will grow without limit, and he will find himself, poor perverse bulb, enjoying it…

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    I typed in 'jewish octopus' to get an image of the nazi propaganda with these giant jewish octopuses with its tentacles all over the world, but rather aptly for this thread this came up:

    https://images.app.goo.gl/PUberaTtFpBKqG8i6

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    “with the rapid progress of communication technology, every one will have a “brain wave receiver” in his ear, which conveys directly and exactly what other people think about him and vice versa. What I think will be known by all the people. There is no more individual consciousness, only the will of mankind as a whole”

    Noboru Kawazoe

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    the terminology of "the web" speaks to this notion of sinister interconnectivity. we're all flies entangled within the interconnected threads of our impending doom.

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    Quote Originally Posted by version View Post
    The internet. A developing extension of the human organism or a developing organism in its own right? Bowie once jokingly referred to it as an "alien life form"
    siri, alexa

    https://twitter.com/CFCamerer/status...78442282418178

    https://www.theverge.com/2019/6/13/1...sociated-press

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    Quote Originally Posted by sadmanbarty View Post
    I typed in 'jewish octopus' to get an image of the nazi propaganda with these giant jewish octopuses with its tentacles all over the world, but rather aptly for this thread this came up:

    https://images.app.goo.gl/PUberaTtFpBKqG8i6
    Taibbi who writes for Rolling Stone coined something similar to this in relation to Goldman Sachs. It's walking a very fine line, if it hasn't already crossed it. He characterised the firm as a "Vampire Squid". There's an old cartoon which depicts Standard Oil in similar terms too though so I don't think it's an exclusively antisemitic image.

    4.jpg

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    There's a Herzog documentary on technology where someone suggests that a form of artificial intelligence could spontaneously evolve on the internet and that he can't conclusively say that that hasn't already happened.


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    the death of the individual identity:

    1) drill's masks, artist's dystopian code-like names (v9, c1, gt), the fact that these names are indistinguishable from gang names like m20 in drill youtube titles, individuals being numerical in drill lyrics ("they say 150, but 146 instead", "i'm 300 and more"), "no face"

    2) all the masked antagonists in the purge

    3) online internet anonymity

    4) the hactivist group anonymous (and their guy fawkes masks)

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    identity politics ironically works in this way; the individual becoming a proxy for a broader culture (whether it be ethnicity, sexuality, etc.)

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    In a recent comic The Joker cuts off his own face, wears it as a mask and later forces Batman to wear it.

    joker_face.jpg

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    Quote Originally Posted by sadmanbarty View Post
    the death of the individual identity:

    1) drill's masks, artist's dystopian code-like names (v9, c1, gt), the fact that these names are indistinguishable from gang names like m20 in drill youtube titles, individuals being numerical in drill lyrics ("they say 150, but 146 instead", "i'm 300 and more"), "no face"

    4) the hactivist group anonymous (and their guy fawkes masks)

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