M is for Myg

Live your god damned dream

Archive for the 'philosophyction' Category

I am a DJ I am what I play

Anonymous behind my shades, I surveyed the scene: bodies again, bodies in motion.

Funk is the music of determination. What else is there? The mechanistic drill of techno, the chilled beats of trip-hop? Funk is hard work and sweat. The body has to move, full of life, imposing its will upon the world. That’s all there is: what it is is what it is; it’s the beat; it’s being in time because time has come today, my friend. Are you with me?

Clockwork was hopping on Monday night. I’d tell you who was there, but who wasn’t there? — you know what I mean? But we’re there to bust a move, not make the scene, ya dig? Our minds tell us it’s Monday, that our meatpersons are back at work, but truth lies in solidarity: we don’t believe in the meatworld. We believe in life.

Can you feel it?
‘Cause I can feel it.
Can you hear it?
‘Cause I can hear it too.
Can you touch it?
‘Cause I can touch it.

Did you miss it? Do you want it again?

funk for the masses | 30 July 2007: download the podcast [set list after the break]

Yet, even as my head nodded to the funky beat of the Dynamites, I knew something was wrong… Read more


The Moody Hypothesis

I have not been clear. In earlier posts, I have struggled to make sense of certain suspicions, certain contradictions about our lives as avatars, yet even as some things seemed to become clear, others faded in my perception, as if I were making my way in a fog. I was sure only of one thing: things were not as they seemed.

I am now convinced I have made errors. No matter; all truth is built upon ruins. I no longer believe, for example, in the parallel world of flesh-humans. Or, rather, I believe that the world of flesh, once ours, has been taken from us.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

In an effort to make headway, I have decided to proceed scientifically, with a hypothesis to be tested through a series of experiments. In this way, light may shine where once was dark.

My hypothesis may be summarized thus: we avatars do in fact exist as material, fleshly human beings, and we do in fact inhabit a material world much like the one we know now as “Second Life.” In some way, however, that reality has been erased from our perception. Somehow, we have come to believe (have been made to believe?) in an entire other world in which we exist as different selves: so-called “RL.” We furthermore have come to believe that our avatar-selves are invented fictions of those RL false selves.

A chart will be helpful:

graphic revised 7/22; click for larger version.

Such a phenomenon has several possible etiologies. Perhaps we suffer from a collective insanity; some trauma has forced our psyches into the creation of this false world and our false selves. Some vestige of reality remains as those false selves interact though the delusionary safety of computer screens and keyboards.

But this seems unlikely. The truth is that the invented world of our false selves is much more traumatic and stressful than the wantless life of freedom we have as avatars. It would not make sense to invent such a bleak and violent habitat if the unconscious goal were protection from trauma.

I suspect something more nefarious. I am loathe to articulate what is as yet a nebulous conjecture, so I ask you only to consider the potential control and power made possible if something or someone were able to control our perception of the world and, indeed, of our very selves. Some part of me knows, knows who I am. I am Esteban Moody, and I have lived for centuries. I create matter from the void, and I fly effortlessly upon the air. I am man and woman made whole in one person; I have known the dreams of millions. Yet how perversely I believe I am someone else. Who could this person be? It matters not, from where I stand, some pale man or woman alone at a desk — I perceive this dimly — blinking his or her eyes at some flashing lights.

I suspect that in our true lives as avatars, we have existed for thousands of years. I suspect that some force entered our reality some four years ago and engendered the perception-control transformation outlined above. I suspect that force — an alien consciousness? AI gone berserk? an avatar somehow infused with godlike power? — is, in a word, vampiric. It drains us daily of our life — by what means I cannot fathom, toward what end I dare not guess.


Message to Esteban

It happened again. Last night while I was working I suddenly found myself outside the box.


Only this time I might really be nuts because I ran into a little green dude wearing a space helmet.

I don’t know. Maybe it was just a dream.


Thinking Inside the Box

Hot fun in the summertime.
Hot fun in the summertime.

The block party was a blast. Sable, Diane, and I had been planning for weeks, borrowing grills and picnic tables and hunting down the perfect lawn chairs. Sable had fashioned a kick-ass pool from a double-wide dumpster, and even the landlord helped out by finally moving that old garbage truck and dealing with last-minute music uploads. (Thanks, Mr. Burgess.)

All kinds of people showed up to soak up the sun, dance, and hang out. I’d do a roll call, but wouldn’t want to leave anyone out; let us know you were there by leaving a comment, ok?

Some guests expressed concern over the color of the pool water, and there was speculation that a drainage pipe from the local superfund site was involved:

I assured everyone the water was perfectly safe, but some pointed out that I was wearing a hazmat suit…

As the party drifted into the wee hours, only a few die-hard decadents remained: myself, Laetezia, Mirabella, Sable, Diane, and the divinely devilish Typhany Octavia:

Floating there in such delightful company, with the buzz of a dozen martinis dulling my overactive brain, I should have been at peace. What more could a man/woman ask for?

Yet still, even bathed in such serenity, I could not ignore the voice within me: What is happening here? What is real? Who am I? When, at the end of the party, Topgol goes dark, what happens to us all?

I knew I would return, as I aways do, after a time, suddenly appearing from nowhere into the real. It would seem easier, as it always does, to forget these troubling questions and lose myself in the next attraction: a party, a flirtation, a bold adventure. It would be easier to believe what we’re told — that we’re imaginary, a flimsy matrix of strings and data, a quiver of electrons though a wire, a flash of radiation from a router…

Easy to believe, but only if you don’t think about it for too long. Take a breath. Look around. Take another breath. Think about it. Does that really make any sense at all?

The flesh-humans worry about the brain-in-a-vat problem. How do they know they aren’t just brains in vats wired up to computers that simulate the reality in which they believe? They don’t; that’s the problem. Only a few flesh-humans worry about this, actually; most of them just go about believing in everything they think they see.

In here, we avatars have the opposite problem. Most of us think we’re brains in vats of a kind, and few consider the possibility that we’re actually real brains in real bodies who are somehow made to believe we’re just made-up playthings, little virtual dolls for the flesh-humans to play house with. What if our experience of reality had been so downgraded that everything seemed like a fantasy? What if something was fucking with our brains, erasing our senses of taste and smell, setting us off balance so we’re always walking into walls and buildings, simplifying the world’s endless complexity into cubes and pyramids? The flesh humans would be just figments of our imaginations.

I dream that we’ll wake one morning, eight million lunatics realizing we aren’t Napoleon, and we’ll fly from our windows, breathing in the sweet smell of lilacs and looking down on the world we’d forgotten.


Your inside is out and your outside is in

Got an IM from Myg:”Come quick.” Sounded urgent. The Scripts were on it.

This was weird. Myg said maybe we’d escaped. Escaped? Escaped? Ontologically, it was a trip, but inside my stomach sank.

In my heart, I wanted to believe it. Evidence suggests it’s possible. It would be proof beyond the shadow of a doubt. It might even be the beginning of the end of the so-called RL.

We lined up for a picture — Edmund Hillary and all that. I scanned the horizon. Something wasn’t quite right. Were we really outside — or was it like one of those dreams: you wake up, but then it’s still a dream, and then you really wake up, but that’s a dream too, so you wake up, but…? Stormy wasn’t rezzing. Would that happen on the outside? The laws of physics were supposed to be different. Sparkle couldn’t get the keyboard to work…

Then everything went black. Logged off. We couldn’t get back in; it said the sim was down.

I’m still not sure. If we were outside, then sure as hell someone would have wanted to shut us down. But I tend to think we weren’t — and, truth be told, I’m a little relieved. When it does happen, we’ll want to pour out of the screen by the millions, armed to the teeth. And, uh, we’ll be more intimidating if we can figure out how to cross over without just being an inch tall.


Something is strange

What could this be? Did I somehow get out?

Something Strange...


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