I have been presenting MoToons with Lily Fermi-Gødel every Saturday Morning for more than 2 years and I still cannot understand a single word she says.
But it gets worse. I cannot fathom her fashion sense or body language. I don’t know if she is a new x romantic or a post-mo-formist. When she stares at me out of the corner of her eye, coyly, I can’t tell whether that coyness is coyness, lust or disgust. The book of her face is written in a hieroglyphic tongue. I can’t even tell if she wonders about me like I wonder about her. Maybe she’s a solipsist, maybe she thinks I’m a figment of her all-engrossing imagination.
I suspect our pairing optimises the audience reach for MoToons, and that’s enough. Sustaining our weird psycho-alien-sexual-call-it-x (which is an important element of the show’s mainstream appeal) requires keeping us in the dark about each other’s cultural-cognitive paradigm.
But it gets worse. I think I’ve fallen in love with her.
And I don’t know if this is what Mo-Toons Media Producers intended from day one.
One thing I know. I know that this weekend is our last, I wasn’t meant to find out but I did. MoToons is getting a makeover, with new presenters coming online next week. Lily Fermi-Gødel has a ticket booked for the Daisy Age System on Monday. What are their plans for me? I don’t know, and I don’t care, without Lily Fermi-Gødel, my future is void.
Tonight is my last chance. I have hacked her scheduling system and discovered that she will be at the Unselfreproducing Automata disco between 3 EST and 5 EST doing a feature on the Intersectors, a tribe that is trying to bridge contemporary society’s cultural trenches organically, instead of top-down, like the Media Producer Class does. Very revolutionary, and ripe for cultural phagocytosis I suppose.
One of the Intersector’s main brokering tools are Pop sonics (songs?) with a high level of emotional generality, executed in the context of dyadic/collective dancing. According to epsi/Wikipedia.org, these ‘songs’ were part of our species shared courtship & mating rituals, before we evolved away in a myriad market segments.
It all sounds quite weird, but I have nothing to lose. Tonight I will go to the Unselfreproducing Automata Disco, and listen to the ‘Pop’ sonics, I will grab Lily Fermi-Gødel by the hand, and I will dance with her, and perhaps she will understand that I love her, and love will have the same positive connotations in her cognitive system that it has in mine, right now. We will travel together to the Daisy Age System, and my future will be never-ending joy. Yes.
(The Media Producer Class precogs had of course forecasted that Enrico Karman-Unceta would behave this way. The live footage of his failure is available for body-glove simulation at MoToons/MoMotoons.life; The Interceptors continue experimenting with Pop Sonics, one day they will succeed. Translated from the Cute-Naïve dialect by Siri43.02)
Motion Studies are interstellar trovadours making torch songs for an uplifted civilisation that jettisoned fire in a distant segment of the vector that joins their origin to our location.
Hearts will Beat supports the panspermian hypothesis with its meme-o-type traces of the Swedish creep-pop diaspora, Bristol’s metal gun grey melancholia & Chicago’s dancefloor sex gospel. It will help us communicate with the self-same civilisation when it arrives, anytime soon (this post is part of the propaganda campaign preceding their advent).
The Passenger’s remix of Village ‘Stranger Thoughts’ rises from the Venusian Cloud Ocean which was Justin Bieber’s x800 coma like a crunk ghost dressed in primary colours, or an early pang of self-awareness electrifying that primeval soup of dumb bliss.
If Animal Collective hadn’t ripped off (ok, paid tribute to) Jamie Principle in My Girls, and instead taken its polygamist undercurrents to their Brian Yuzna flesh-sharing conclusion, maybe it would have sounded like this. And we’d probably be dead, given how much it was played at our club-night.