What is practice as collaboration?
How to retain a common ground
When a public forum doesn’t exist?
Do we not run the risk of splintering
To a patchwork of private understandings,
buried communications in back channels?
Or subcultural currents, masking
As any real form of community?
How can you create an open invitation
To new worlds of fractured perspectives?
But It can feel as forced as a warning,
An invitation as a dare or
An invitation as a threat….
It is not the sanctity of any object,
In an artist’s identity,
Or in any one singular viewpoint.
How do you include others
As participants rather than viewers?
The Process of trust and hesitation
Is a Relay of miscommunication
In Flashed pasts of bad parts
Not fully fleshed, We are Winging it.
Standing on fuzzy circles
Of our own making,
Unclear where bodies shape out
We cross the lines despite
The Remote instructions
carried out in a joint challenge.
Priorities are what’s essential,
Yet We shift in between like illicit losers.
We only gather more even as hoarded things
Become Pantry rehash.
We Dig into the freezer of
Or use modular closeness to
Lessen the gravity of any object.
Resuscitation is only partial,
Or conditional and tenuous.
Things strung together loosely and
not facing outward, not yet.
Up from the basement,
The forced distortion
Of a fake party inside only
Leads to thwarted hopes
In the restoration of festivities.
The process of trust is circular.
We die a thousand deaths
In fear of letting go.
Press the space bar once more.
Start over again, then again.
The prospect of co-operative work
In the shared game does not
Stop the fact that we each die alone.
This opens up a time disconnect, and
Any attempt to reconnect in this
Mode ends only in delays
Of harsh noise and feedback loops.
We are going backwards,
We retreat in order to cope.
Reset the garden,
turn back the clock.
It is not quite Sitting still:
We gave each other slack.
Give me the ability to represent disparate
parts of myself as a whole.
So I can present as a Disembodied voice
In a multiple point of view mode.
Give me an augmented fiction mini-map,
And Birds eye view recognition.
Give me the sense of pixel-thin walls
wrapping hidden gems to unlock secrets.
Give me an Oracle.
The Point of overreach has degraded
The space; I feel we are losing touch.
“Don’t leave the room”, I said, desperate…
My Interest in monstrous hybrids remains
But only as mine, all mine.
The forced connection failed again?
Where was that breaking point?
Where did it stretch too much?
Where did it come unleashed?
It only started as a platform
for understanding, but there, there,
Can there really be listening?
In lack of real contact
Our desire to reach for another
Has us lose all understanding
of who our audience is, or what is at stake.
time limits are suspended in uncertainty.
The fluidity of our condition
lets in unfathomable scales.
Lost somewhere in the
The vast expanse between
the interval of virus micro-replication
and the scale of geology,
our own imposed calendars become flimsy;
a mere theatrical fancy.
We can talk revolution, riots, unrest;
while a tiny wormhole turns us outside in
quietly, everywhere, and right here;
A mesh of Non Player Characters
Are now Agents driving our actions,
motives and desires;
with Capabilities beyond
Any undeniable biological linkage.
No longer in luxury to ignore them
We face their force limply,
We enforce formality control
We enact distance theater,
An elegant dance of radii measured
Away from inevitable parts of ourselves.
We gain the Real feeling of loss of ground,
We Embrace the float of the untethered.
Loose lips of a thousand ships;
Ruined cruises as a testament to
Whole canceled leisure product categories.
Sludge waves of too much piled on.
Too many Objects, too much content,
Shadow archives of Poisonous production.
We don’t know how to stop:
It becomes catastrophic…
A rising presence of refusal out on the plane.
“And I’ll try…to live defeated
Come and see: the good in everything
Outside, animals sound,
Come and see: the open ending”
INTO THE VOID