Transcription of the words in ‘Warning: Non weaponised memes’, an Arts Project video produced by Mona.Blue_0427_C for the 18.104.22.168X Biennale. Image from the latest Space Teriyaki at 50 Watts.
[NB – this text is written in archaic English, and therefore nigh unintelligible for its intended audience. During the display at the Biennale, it was/is/will be hyperlinked to OC glyphs synthesising the gist of the message, e.g. heroin = unbalanced feedback compulsion loop, lemming = Sub-Turing bot, teenage = brief period of stochastic experimentation & risky search for global optima, and so forth; NB2 the paragraph above applies to the paragraph above; NBN ad infinitum]
The singularity is a transference of conscience into code, and memories Read-Only. We force the bad ones to lurk in the architecture of your psyche like rats in the walls. This is to hardwire learning into your system. Otherwise, the temptation to excise all instances of pain, embarrassment and grief from your memory would be too much. We have seen what happens to the clades that do this. They keep on jumping off cliffs like lemmings stuck in an evolutionary drone. It isn’t pretty.
Of course, you could hack your own memories. But if you are smart enough to do that, you are smart enough to know it isn’t a good idea. It generally means the end of the line for your clade, buster, like engineering the ability to synthesise morphine into your genotype. Think of your children.
There are many downsides to our approach, but downsides that we need to stay on the straight and narrow as a species,. I’m here to tell you about one of them: the memories encoded within us are fractal schema of the things that they represent. We try to keep them inactive by starving them of computing resources, but sometimes they get out of control, start replicating like a virus until they turn into you. And of course, there is always the temptation to bring back the good memories, get lost in the past, forever.
As before, those able to hack their allocation of computing resources know why it’s a silly idea to do this.
Why I’m I telling you this now, you ask? I’m telling you this because you are about to reach the teen-age. You are about to start getting interested on each other’s informational structures, rendering abilities, and your memory stock too.
You will date. You will extricate with each other. You may even iterate. These are all good things, but they can create bad memories, and sad memories, in fact, I guarantee you they will create bad and sad memories. That is the nature of romance. The unpredictability of output is logically derived from unpredictability in inputs. Like the primitives used to say, GIGO, but in a good way. Things would be so boring otherwise.
So, my warning is, be careful with what you do in those binary parks, and those synthetic discotheques.
Try not to invite too many ghosts inside the palace of your memories, because they will stay there forever.
Try not to get too infected with each other.
What better way to decorate this eternally self-referential diorama of romantic memories embodied in silicon or possibly grapheme blooming wickedly like the mutant harvest of the Colour Out of Space, than with two pulsing slices off Mannequin Label’s latest hunting party down the wastelands of minimal synth history?
First Sam Rosenthal, whose 1980s homemade ‘electronic mood compositions’ rise like quarters of a Sim City from a polygon plot whose apices are Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream, Brian Eno, Wendy Carlos and others.
Up they go in their architectural race, describing with geometry the emotions of their residents – an inescapable nostalgia and an unquenchable curiosity, always hope, and loneliness at the end, perhaps reduced by the sentient machines who keep us company in this no-place/post-place which Sam Rosenthal imagined.
They are his agents, and they sing our song.
And then L.A.S.’s Crime, who composite the ambiance of several dystopias and their protagonists – the epic hero, the cyberpunk dealer and the bird-faced freak of The Knife’s mythology into 3 minutes and a little more of totally awesome synthetic music.
We listen to it like while we walk past street stalls of genetically engineered Vietnamese takeaway and dark tech, under totemic Arcologies and within the cross-hairs of black hat snipers. All of this while our virtual shadows lounge in the futon of a photorealistic replica of an early 2010s basement flat.
This is the way we get our kicks in the future.