a four letter word called sex: Northern Voice 2010

hello there.

this is a petition of sorts. a petition for challenge. a petition for inspiration. a petition for change. a petition for sex. at least the visibility of it within the tech/blogging community. it is sad for the idea of sex, and all of its wonderful manifestations, is often neglected when it comes to major conferences that revolve around new media, the internet and all things technological. as a complimentary resource for visibility, the sexual side of the internet has spawned separate conferences where its inclusiveness around sex and technology is the main and only focus.

i want to change all of this. at least for the internet community in vancouver.

a personal story remix

This is a personal story. All stories come forth from an experience or a moment of reflection that results in a revelation of circumstance, but this is simply a personal story. Nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Assumed authenticity : transparency remix

It has become apparent that our world of understanding has been slowly moving towards a world of transparent understanding. Transparency tends to be a blanket term used to describe a nice sense of open-nes that develops dialogue, allows for insight and breaks down barriers into sometimes closed-door situations. The unfortunate underestimate of transparency is that it inadvertently proposes an assumption of authenticity. If this assumption is conveniently overlooked, any positive ripple effect that transparency could produce would ultimately be eradicated.

Digitally our world has moved from a closed circuit powder party to an open room loud with voices screaming. Everyone everywhere have something to say and are willingly open enough to say it. The internet provides relatively free platforms for us to document our lives in excruciating detail, with listeners worldwide holding onto the edge of their seats for a slight nuance of change, hope, inspiration, communication or anything. The saturation level of noise has deafened many ears but ultimately the openness of it all is pervasive and intense. The dissection of us for the sake of transparency has started with us holding the scalpel and making the first holy incision.

Like any experiment done in a proper scientific manner, the outcome is greatly affected by the variable that is tragically depicted as the witness. We witness and ultimately change the fate of an existence that once was never witnessed. We assumed that our play into the experiment was benign and our eyes could not ultimately jeopardize the desired outcome. The open variable of the witness actually being a malignant form in a controlled environment brings to light the same dialogue on an unintentional social experiment: do we alter the authenticity of our transparent existence by acknowledging the listener on the other end as a bonafide witness?

The question revolves around the clouded aspect that our continued state of transparency becoming a deluge of auto-responses to the listener’s trained ear. Our think veil of openness can be trained and refined, even our unrefined edges have a tailoring to them from their overexposure. When someone accentuates every aspect of their everything, the dialogue can be manufactured into a tailored direction of any particular liking. I write about said topic, become associated with said topic, engage dialogue on said topic and this have spun a cleverly placed yarn around said topic in every aspect of my transparent monologue. Convenience can arise from the fact that truth may be an element that exists but when compounded with transparency can actually become an magnifying glass to just one facet of a multifaceted diamond. We are what other perceive us to be and that is merely based on that fact that living in the world we have created, we are not the only ones living, breathing and engaging with our personal lives. There are witnesses to practically everything that we put on the plate and that can and will affect the outcome of further offerings. Each of this witnesses can change the pattern of our lives when they engage with our openness in its transparent format. Reality is never as transparent as it seems so the mere belief that true transparency exists can delude even the most delusional.

Being keenly critical of true authenticity should not necessarily be combined with the weight lifting feeling that the open movement has stirred awake. There is something to be said to the fact that our collective conscious has gradually moved towards a momentum that is inclusive in its decision making process and inclined exposure to the tight-lipped sections of private sectors in public communities. We have open governments, open videos and even an open encyclopedia. All of these aspects are a direct reflection of our participation. The key element of open participation is directly engaged with the transparency in a singular format. Yet these elements are not devoid of the fractures that can occur from the facade of assumed authenticity. Our interaction must be taken with them at face value for when we put our potentially exceeded expectations on them, we ultimately change them from their presented states of offering.

Our level of understanding has been forever changed by the immediacy and abundance of our results when given a specific query. The inundation of information on anything can allow us to pick and choice how we understand, and why we understand. The underbelly flipside is that it also grants us the ability to choose what we want to understand. The process of response is no longer a linear experience, we have permanently become part of the equation and in direct effect loop back around into a non-linear existence. We systematically choose our direct interaction with our query by own choices of what we want to understand. The authenticity of our experience with transparency is immediately forfeited when this happens. We are becoming a by product of our own interactions with assumed authenticity.

Transparency in digital identity and the internet can be a very confusing matter for the undertaking. Understanding a direct emotional connection utilizing cyborg technology that can start and stop your timeline wherever you freely choose can curate even the simplest of technology users into as cyborg anthropologist Amber Case claims ‘inventors of a famous machine’. We are creating the machines of ourselves, keyed into the information as open as it may be, but programmed nonetheless to portray the image we want. Our transparency through blogs, tweets, updates, photos, anything is merely a simplified creative programming of ourselves into this technological landscape. We are creating ourselves in the image of ourselves, filtered through the digital divide and perceived as a transparent mimicry. The unfortunate circumstance is that the digital medium allows us to filter, whether consciously or subconsciously. We are editing ourselves whether we realize it or not and editing can ultimately strip authenticity down to a unconscious contrived notion.

Our lives have never before had as much exposure as they do in the day we live in. Everything, everywhere is recorded or documented and then critiqued by players that may or may not have any connection to our daily existence. We are the digital creator are aware of ears and eyes playing out our key moves in our daily lives, the mundane and important details are mixed together to an inseparable format. This is new territory and is quickly mapping our wiring to fire in ways that can be stripped of all our normal checks and balances. We are aware that others are aware. We are open to the fact that others are open to us. We listen for people are talking. We talk because people are listening. Our timelines are concrete as far back as a search result goes and our authentic self can be commented upon. Our world is no longer our world and we share our everything with anyone is logged in at the same moment. Our common definition of transparency and authenticity ultimately falter at keenly applying to the new world we live in.

The question as trite as it may be is: a farmer lives her life as a farmer and no one knows about it. another farmer lives her life as a farmer and has a blog that she journals in it. she documents the food she grows. she tweets when her crops fail. ultimately she is a culmination of her digital identity which is a farmer. and the first farmer is a culmination of her life as a farmer. just as a farmer. which one excels? the farmer who knows that everyone knows that she is a farmer, even people that she does not know and this knowledge effects her. or the farmer who no one knows is a farmer but an unknown population can not effect her. this is the question.

universal truths – understanding remix

photo by kris krüg

Universal truths tend to exist outside of themselves in a stillness that is eloquently unavoidable. Such truths can be spoken about in different contexts by various minds to pinpoint the center of such their essence. The beauty of universal truths is not so much in their undefinable definitions being coherently understood by the masses at the appropriate moment. Their actual beauty exists in the spontaneous realization at any approximate moment of understanding, with each understanding being held intently with the mind for which it is perceived upon. The universal element of such truths is the resonance that they create within us upon impact. When a building collapses upon itself with the greatest of all destruction. everyone inside gets hurt but their hurt is witnessed in emotional, physical and spiritual differences. The commonality held between them is the metaphorical hurt.
We can not escape such universal truths for when they reveal themselves they connect with the residual pieces of themselves that live in all of us. The primordial split has left dent, bruises, twigs, bits and leaves inside hidden corners that have never caught blown away in the commotion to wind ourselves into the frenzy of the unconnected. Some have spoken of this origin within the context of the primordial ooze. This idea of the primordial ooze is for which everything has come from and thus out of creation has everything been touched by the same creating essence with residual ripple effect. A ripple divides upon itself with each diligent descent but never entirely disappears. We have heard the principle of a butterfly’s wings creating the force for which halfway around the world manifests a powerful sea storm. If the universal truth plays upon the potential power of the movement of a small creature such as a butterfly, one can imagine such the power play upon a universal truth that is rippled upon the minds of connected and the unconnected that can instantaneously shatter hearts like glass upon pavement with the intensity of realization.

photo by kris krüg

A benign example of this idea of a universal truth can be held in the space of a scream. The very thought of a scream contextually references the dark and unknown in everyone’s initial existence but the truth actually held is far greater. When a scream is issued into a space of the unknown with variables far greater than the mind’s eye, I canter to the idea of universal truth being the complete of awareness of the felt power. We experience the scream by its connection to the scream living silently inside of us. We truthfully unlock the presence of the residual image of our own scream and thus universally, feel the presence of the scream inside of us because of our external stimulation by a scream outside of ourselves.
Masterfully the trick of such an experience is not in the gratuitous notion that we all discover what is behind the door unlocked. The contents contained are not the reflexive universal element within us. I can experience fear from my unlocked door, while my neighbor could experience grief tinged with sadness behind theirs. The Truly universal experience is which truth can sustain is that such a primordial experience, such as the scream, allows us to unlock. We can only unlock the pieces from which we came from, which are different in their personal residence, by connecting with the key of a base element. An instantaneous freedom within ourselves to connect our internal experience to the external happening of others’ internal processes is a completion of exploring large scale osmosis.

photo by kris krüg

There are many and few universal truths. Yet the boiled down base of each truth is that it unlocks, intentionally or perhaps unintentionally. The process of opening up is by far the greatest element of each truth. Universally, the truth is a key. The answer or chaos by which the key discovers is our internal elemental connection to the primordial from which we came from. The primordial, with its experience of everything, can be anything. With such knowledge is important to potentially realize that this is the least important element of all. With each key given to us, we are unlocked whether we choose to turn the key. Our only choice lies after the fact. When one hears a scream, we are all react differently because in the unlocking, we are connected to the once was which has never left.

the new story: the memory remix

photo by kris krug

i’ve done the crazy and been the crazy. still, to no avail, the craziest ten hours of my life revolved around a bottle of whiskey and a couch. luckily for the couch, it wasn’t just me sitting upon and furthermore the bottle of whiskey was in good company because my lips never touched it. still nonetheless, i was settled in for the ride of the circus of a lifetime. the players were characters of themselves. characters wrapped in character suits, three sizes too big and lines that read straight off the back of cue cards. the miracle of the night was the timing of every situation, lapped upon each other and my fervent sober memory cells detailing the outlines of each account in the blurriest of all detail. this was the night that a couch saved my life.
the setting was of such that no light came in or out of the gallery. the darkness dripped over ripped shards of what was once considered furniture. balancing at the perfect acute angle, my ass did not approve of such precarious destinations. i just wanted to sit down. to my dismay, i did a lot of sitting that night and thank god my lack of caring extended to my ass, because the objects of such sitting were highly questionable. even for the uncaring.
i stumbled into this darkened cave by the off-handed reference of a distant friend. the conditions under which i was invited were about as clear as the firewater everyone was coating their insides with, but alas the uncaring care little about thoughts preceding the unknown. the darker the reason, the more unclear the emotion, the safer one feels. perhaps.
the red light coated everyone’s face in a sweet menace that was potentially highly offensive but ridiculous in its unabashed care of painting all of us. many photos were taken that evening in a hopes of capturing every perfect element in all of its perfect imperfections but everyone was too wasted to care to try to focus, not blink or position the camera without any movement. any physical capture of this evening actually perfectly captured the entrails of room. wavy unfocused people moving around haphazardly. a light defining a face gripped by industrial backdrops with no hope in sight. smiles that were washed out by general fade. blurry images clearly depicting all the blurry things that crawl through the night in hopes of finding solace. it captured the blur exactly as it was.

photo by kris krug

i can’t even remember if music blared through the empty walls that were dotted with canvases of all sizes, painted entirely in black paint. the walls had more escape black holes than the inside of my head but i was not going to be the first person to point out their glaring fact. my mind was represented in this cavern and i was terrified that people would recognize it for what it was. i played it out with everyone else but all the while feeling like i was playing too close to home with a comfortable audience. the only element that played a melody in front of me was the boy with the saxophone. he had no idea how to actually play it but the prop in his hands kept him with a purpose while the rest of the room droned out the lull.
the whiskey bottle never came into my careening eye with much vigor. it always just had a place on the sidelines, silent with its watch. occasionally it got the action it was looking for and the party promptly thanked it eagerly. the mood was saturated with the dark and the liquid was not excused. everyone proceeded to approach getting hammered but ultimately there was always a plateau that was hit. once the settling in was formulated, they couldn’t get past that last hump of inebriation. they weren’t any less coherent but perhaps more honestly open and apparent than ever before. the characters in the room were finally ready to read all of their lines with the systematic gusto that each approached it with. this was not a show nor was the spectacle for me, i was merely a character myself. my only stage direction was to simply: pay attention.
once the party of the evening was officially dead, the hours seemed to approach days. this is when the couch took center stage. my cyclic existence was a gratifying one because i existed solely on this couch for hours. some of the four remaining characters would gravitate towards me for entertaining or general playing, but my main attention was the simplistic nature of the couch. it had distinguishing characteristics about that were overtly memorable. if poked and prodded, i wouldn’t have been able to tell you the make, the mode, the color or even the fabric. i don’t remember if it was scratchy or old, or brand new or soft like velvet. all i remember is that that couch saved my life.
blasted by the fact that a couch could simply save someone’s life, i’m sure, but it’s true.

photo by kris krug

not so much memory was acquired while sitting on this couch, except the fact that i was literally transformed. the circus of earlier was no longer a theatre of the absurd, it had turned into my life. i was living my life on this couch with these characters, building upon story lines with references that had never happened. i was creating dissent out of thin air and life was breathing into me with the warm, dirty breath of a full night wide awake. people started to run out of sense to make and common areas like the simple touch lost any true value. words were spoken that night that could have been looked upon as seeds of the future. but i don’t care to think that deep without the proper tools by my side. so i kept the seeds in my pocket for further inspection at a later date with more light around me.
the night soon ended in that space like the ending of time in a vacuum. there was no loud brash bravado with closing doors and girls crying. there was no off handed remarks from characters that lay in the foreground trying to score the spotlight. there was no misunderstanding. there was no hangover of the dark paintings on the wall. there really wasn’t a couch at all because once i left it and closed the door, the show was over. the play was done. the characters kept rolling their lines in such proper format that i was brutally shocked at the length.
i kept up with my part. the whiskey bottle had proven that to me. and my time spent on that couch were simply my fifteen minutes of fame. i was a star that night about to burn out but for fifteen minutes, i held on to my light. no one saw it but really that was besides the point.
in all honesty.