#this started with the sol. I was inspired by one very specific panel in the recap manga lol

[idonutlose]

some overture stuff I doodled while watching a tournament last weekend :v

[agustdef]

Here & Now - Chapter 7

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Fluff; Chill romance

Word Count: 1,758

Warning: None.

Banner Marker: @dee-ehn​

A lunchtime excursion is what I needed after a jam-packed morning. I’d been in New York for a week because of my other job and I was half excited and half drained. I’d come for a book convention of sorts, but I’d been attending other book-related things the entire time too. Meeting my agent, meeting with other authors, meeting with editors and just going to mixers. It was a lot.

I loved every solitary second of it though.

On day two of the con, my book friends and I had snuck away to have lunch at a rooftop bar we liked. Food and drinks were spread across the table as we ate and relaxed.

Some drank and some didn’t, me being part of the later even though I craved one glass of wine. It helped my mind decompress faster without getting me even slightly tipsy. But I’d put myself on a ban until later.

“Kendall, you’ve been eyeing the rosé for like ten minutes. Just get a glass already,” Sol, an editor friend, said.

I blinked rapidly and shook my head. Looking down at my orange juice I frowned but drank it anyway.

She huffed, probably over my nonsense. “Why not?”

I’d known her longer than anyone and she’d seen me drunk many times, so she knew why. “I can’t risk me turning sleepy instead of energetic. You know I have that panel.”

In the afternoon I’d agreed to do a panel on diversity in fantasy, that was by some miracle filled with POC whose identities were intersectional. We’d be having an actual conversation about how we built our worlds. And hopefully, it wouldn’t get derailed by an audience member.

After that I planned to drink, because I enjoyed it in a not getting wasted capacity and I hadn’t had a sip in over a month.

“So, about that Medusa retelling…” Sara, another author, trailed off, leaving the remark open-ended.

“No.”

“Okay, so how about that adult fantasy?”

“No,” I said again, shoving a fry into my mouth.

Sara rolled her eyes for a second but quickly went into puppy dog mode. “Why not? Why won’t you let me read what you have?”

Narrowing my eyes I shook my head at her. She’d been on me about it all weekend, which was more intense than her texts or Discord messages about it.

“Because they both need major and I mean major rewrites. Plus they aren’t my main focus right now. I don’t have time for them to be.”

“But Kennie, we won’t judge past you, we just want to see what you have.” My agent said, joining in on the harassment.

Soon the entire table was pouting at me. It was unfair, but I had to remain strong. Both stories were not things I would want to see. They were due for some major changes and made me cringe beyond belief. It was like some of my earlier music in that regards. Couldn’t really listen to it without shivering in disgust.

“No. You will wait.” I made sure to look them all in the eyes before turning to Ara. “And aren’t you supposed to be the one discouraging my wandering eye. I have a whole sequel to work on in like two weeks.”

Ara just took a sip of her tea and shrugged. Her unabashedness didn’t surprise me, she could be the worst when it came to me thinking about writing other things.

“Not like you aren’t ahead of schedule with it anyway.”

I was ready to respond sarcastically, but she wasn’t wrong.

We all quickly dissolved from trying to get me to show them my shame to talking about how con was so far. We all enjoyed it, but some were more drained than others. It was great to see people who liked books or liked out books, but after some much interaction with others, it would be hard to keep going.

It’s why we spent a lot of our non-con related meet-ups in a relaxed environment where no one was forced to say a word.

“So, any new music?” Ara instigated.

“None of ya business, ma’am.” I turned and glared at her, which made her glance away.

Rolling my eyes I continued eating in silence, listening to the conversations but making no effort to join in unless I was spoken directly to. I was so not present that I almost didn’t hear my phone ring and when I noticed it I was prepared to let it go to voicemail until I realized the voicemail.

Before anyone could say anything I snatched it up from the table where all the phones were. Everyone’s attention moved to me, but thankfully none appeared to have seen the caller ID or picture.

“That better not be work,” Sara warned.

“It’s not.”

Leaning away from her I cleared my throat and answered the phone in Korean. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Yoongi said.

“Hi.”

There was an awkward pause as usual when he called me, which always made me laugh. “What’s up Yoon?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

My laughter increased and drew the attention of the table, which I brushed off as I collected myself.

“Nothing? You’re up at 1:00 a.m and nothing is up? If I recall you knocked out the last five nights before midnight.”

There was silence and then a scoff. “How would you know? You didn’t answer one of those nights.”

My mouth dropped open for a second in surprise, but I had no clue why. He’d been holding that over me for three days, whining about him having something important to ask me then. Yet he couldn’t recall what said important thing was.

“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

On the other end, I could hear him chuckle. He didn’t even bother to muffle it like he’d done the first few times we’d talked and he’d even slightly sassed me.

The jerk was trying to get a rise out of me.

“I will hang up on you.”

“Wait. Wait. Okay. I was working on untitled three and it inspired something else, so I wanted your thoughts,” he said.

My interest was beyond piqued. He never let me listen to things, no matter how much I begged. “Something else? Something else like what?”

“None of your business something else.”

“Well, how am I supposed to give my honest, professional opinion if I don’t know what I’m giving…”

He cut me off, “Not going to work. I can hang up instead.”

“Fine. Fine,” I said in English by accident. Again the group's eyes were on me, but I waved them off.

“Okay.”

For seconds after nothing was said and I could barely hear the clicking of what I assumed was his mouse. The more time passed the more excited I became until there was a soft melody playing.

“Shit,” he said before it stopped. “Wrong one.”

Again I was left to wait until a much more intense sound slipped through the phone. It was a much harder beat, something that felt very on brand with your typical rap song but was straddling line into metal music. I’d never assumed he’d be one for the sound.

Pushing past my shock I listened closely as he played it a second time unprompted. When it was over I played it over in my head, trying my best to pick it apart of something.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s good, pleasing to the ears. But were you trying to venture into metal music? And were you going for something so drum heavy? If yes, then maybe take away some of that cello. I think that’s a cello. Why the hell is there a cello piece in there?” The more I thought the more confused I got.

Instead of answering me he laughed. It sounded like one of his head throwing laughs too.

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Maybe,” he answered, still laughing.

“I’m hanging up!”

“No, wait. Here. This is the real thing.”

The track started the same, bass drum doing its thing and I almost hung up, but instead of the bass continuing with the cello like before it faded a little into the background. Everything that made it weird and metal was gone, replaced by a hip hop style beat that was more his style.

Once it played twice I spoke up. “I actually like this one and it’s still pleasing to the ears. Is there was a specific thing you were going for? I could be of more use if I knew.”

“No. Just wanted to see if it sounded okay.”

“Yoon, tell me. I hate the mystery,” I whined.

“No.”

Arguing with him would get me nowhere and I knew it. “Okay, then what was that other one?”

“Nope. Bye Kendall,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“No. Yoongi, tell me.”

“Bye.”

“Fine, bye.”

With a groan, I hung up and placed my phone back at the center of the table. The urge to pout and try to get him to tell me was strong, but I also couldn’t help the smile that formed.

Sara cleared her throat as I felt my cheeks begin to burn, drawing me from whatever weirdly happy place I was going. When I glanced her way her eyes were narrowed. “You said it wasn’t for work.”

As I cursed I blamed myself for not remembering that she one of the two Korean American’s at the table spoke it fluently, but that wasn’t the case. I’d simply assumed nothing I’d be embarrassed about would be said. Not like she didn’t know I knew him after I’d had her check a text for me without thinking it would be him days before.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t.”

“Sounded like it.”

“It was a friend asking for an opinion.” Grabbing my glass I hoped she’d drop it as I took a swig.

“Yup, totally. Min Yoongi just called for an opinion and that totally wasn’t adorable flirting.”

“No,” I practically shouted. Clearing my throat I tried again, “No, that’s not what happened at all. And you could only hear my side, so you wouldn’t know anyway.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and nudged my shoulder a little. “ You’re smiling way too hard for it not to have been.”

In response, my hand went to cover my mouth as I tried to push down the smile.

It’s cute. You’re both cute.”

Before I could respond someone asked her a question. As her attention diverted elsewhere I chewed the inside of my cheek and fought down the flustered feeling inside of me.

[archiveofprolbems]

Island Mentality by Alice Bucknell

This report about Ed Fornieles’ recent workshop  What Will It Be Like When We Buy An Island (on the blockchain)? is published in partnership with DAOWO, a series that brings together artists, musicians, technologists, engineers, and theorists to consider how blockchains might be used to enable a critical, sustainable and empowered culture. The series is organized by Ruth Catlow and Ben Vickers in collaboration with the Goethe-Institut London and the State Machines programme. Its title is inspired by a paper by artist, hacker and writer Rob Myers called DAOWO – Decentralised Autonomous Organisation With Others.

Imagine an island not far off the coast of French Polynesia, floating quietly while it absorbs hundreds of millions if not billions of dollars in crypto capital. Idyllic animatronic palms made of stainless steel manufactured in Germany and coated in organic coconut husk waft gently in the breeze, while an underwater generator noiselessly converts salt water to a drinkable resource. A backdrop of impossibly green hills glimmer with solar panels coated in a thin layer of hyper-absorbent algae, courtesy of a Swedish start-up whose CEO lives in a villa nestled into the landscape. Welcome to the future of Seasteading.

A few years ago, when British artist Ed Fornieles began researching the social dynamics of the blockchain and cryptocurrency, this sort of scene was an ecstatic fantasy conjured up by what’s generally perceived as the delirious imagination of the rich and bored; of opportunistic Silicon Valley entrepreneurs and a pack of wily investors on the hunt for the next lucrative buzz.  “Now it’s become our present reality, and it’s not so funny,” says Fornieles of the burgeoning crypto society. We’re gathered in the Goethe-Institut London on a drizzling afternoon in March, and Fornieles, embodying the role of a digital coach and dramaturge, is introducing the concept of live action role play, LARPing for short, to a motley group of around two dozen participants including students, artists, techies, architects, and–unbeknownst to all–IRL Seasteaders in disguise.

Convened in collaboration with Ruth Catlow, co-founder of online research platform and gallery Furtherfield and Ben Vickers, CTO of the Serpentine Galleries, the workshop, titled What Will It Be Like When We Buy An Island (on the blockchain)?, is the fifth installment of DAOWO(Decentralized Autonomous Organization With Others): a series bringing together artists, writers, curators, technologists, and engineers to investigate the production of new blockchain technologies and their socio-political implications. It’s also an effort “explore the hazards of formalizing the idea of ‘doing good on the blockchain’,” according to Fornieles.

Participants are sorted into four groups, or islands, adopting the personas of crypto-millionaires and billionaires in order to configure a speculative society upon the Seasteading frontier. The LARP is organized into four sessions, including a period of self-actualization, where the committee members of each island settle upon an operating structure for their crypto-community; a four-year throwback, where the group reflects upon the success of their fledgling island’s socio-political structure and makes any necessary adjustments, and finally a fifty-year “truth and reconciliation” process followed immediately by a super convention, where each island proudly presents its success story – or laments its struggles – to the broader international Seasteading community.

In order to introduce different practical challenges and ethical quandaries, Fornieles throws two Seasteading communities on artificial islands and two pre-existent (and potentially already inhabited) islands into the mix. While Seasteading technically excludes such “organic” islands, the idea of “mining cryptocurrency in paradise” has mutated into colonizing real communities ravaged by natural disaster, as many critics including Naomi Klein and Nellie Bowles of the New York Times have noted about Puerto Rico. He’s also established a dozen roles for participants to assign themselves: from Ministers of Religion and Education, to Island Architect, Mayor, and Chief Technology Officers, in order to jump-start the camaraderie (or anarchy). “For first time role players, there’s a tendency to be the sociopath you always wanted to be,” cautions Vickers in the warm-up introduction. “Please try to suppress this desire.” Otherwise, it’s game on, and immediately after we separate into groups, all kinds of strategic and ideological questions emerge: Do we want a central government, or is it best to leave politics to algorithms? Should we convene a Church of Something, or are we all too woke for religion? Do we need a justice system, a formal corrective center, or a Sims-like human rating system to self-regulate behaviour? Maybe we can just vote people on and off the island?

I’m relieved to be sorted into an artificial island established by Paypal founder Peter Thiel, therefore bypassing what plenty of cultural theorists, including Klein,1 have pointed out as the immediate and unmistakable stench of neocolonialism. We’re given a name, “The Pilgrims,” and a socio-political disposition: as “Modern Libertarians,” we’re supposed to be a “free-thinking community that believes the only way to create an honest, new, distinct way of living is to set sail and create a new network.” Filled with neoliberal buzzwords like innovation, entrepreneurialism, and disruption, Pilgrim Island is the paragon of Seasteading ideology. Oh, and we’re really into wearing all-black hi-tech athleisure. Seriously–it’s the stuff of neoliberal dreams.

But without a pre-existing ethical quandary to mediate, the need to immediately establish an ideological commons stays airborne. The island’s socio-political landscape ricochets between one participant’s idealized utopia and another. Still, whether by defaulting to their actual areas of expertise or diving head-first into a full-fledged crytpo-billionaire alter persona (I suspect the former), the founding committee of my island quickly jumps on their self-assigned roles. I note with interest as the player to my right, a small, sassy woman sporting a bowler hat, a markedly “business casual” blazer, and big, blinged-out hoop earrings, promptly elects herself mayor without much resistance from the rest of the group. Almost as if by reflex, she launches into a compelling speech that touts the glory of the hands-off and unregulated economy of Seasteading; the imminent intellectual and financial capital to be gleaned from the “limitless potential of high-tech islands based on real life values.”

Things quickly slip off the deep end. Less than twenty minutes in, the island’s architect has gone on a minimalist-inspired rampage, apparently inspired by a very jovial spiritual pilgrimage with his “good friend” Elon Musk to Vegas. Conjuring a Panopticon2-like self-corrective facility-cum-worship center in the middle of the island known as the PayPal Meditation Center, the architect introduces an elaborate system of self-enacted punishment for residents involving a penny-by-penny payment for one’s sins fulfilled by the obsolete performance of extracting Real Money from an ATM (the horror!). Meanwhile, the Minister of Religion is busy ordaining a Thiel-inspired sect that ties spirituality to physical health, brandishing a harsh, zero-tolerance approach to dissenters.

She colludes with the Minister of Agriculture to debut an all-seeing pineapple that simultaneously provides sustenance to Pilgrim Island’s speculative inhabitants while also monitoring their spiritual commitment. The Minister of Education crafts a secret p2p anarchist boot camp on the Northwestern coast of the island, for the self-conscious younger generation eager to find deeper meaning in this brave new digital world. For a reason that still escapes me, Peter Thiel is then involved in a tragic water-taxi accident that ends in the ultimate demise of he and his partner. A referendum is held for a new leader amidst the for-profit utopian soul-searching…

As for myself? In order to preserve proper journalistic objectivity (obviously), I’ve self-identified as a ghost (more specifically, the ghost of reason). This works great at first, but when we hit the four-year benchmark, I learn the Minister of Religion has been voted off the island, a movement initiated by the Energy Manager and Local Representative. As the spiritual attachment, I also get the boot; we’re shipped off to a neighbouring island called Blue Frontiers that’s likewise self-fabricated, and also exhibits the same weakness of a spiritual void. With an algorithmic overlord, the (not-so) speculative island is situated after the unfortunate ravaging of French Polynesia by an unavoidable natural disaster: A narrative that oddly parallels that of Puerto Rico. Fast forward 50 years into the future, I am welcomed to join them in a painful process of reflection.

We quickly learn that an existential ennui due to lack of faith and purpose amongst the island’s population has led to a mass suicide. “There have been lots of residents killing themselves, but our technology is so good, can it really be that bad?” asks the island’s hands-off Mayor, who apparently doesn’t believe in building. Having fired the Architect early on (“We’ve all enjoyed the beach, why pollute it with architecture?”), whose algorithmic approval rating sits at a measly 32%, the Mayor proceeds to gloat over his 90% approval rating, while the Chief Technology Officer also curiously boasts a sky-high rating of 96%. Suddenly, Pioneer Island’s schizophrenic governance starts to look pretty good.

Minutes later I find myself at the mid-century International Seasteading Convention, where I am exposed to the triumphs and tribulations of our near-present Seasteading future. Alt-right acceleration gives way to a hyper-libertarian group named Sol declaring allegiance to a new religion steered by Crypto-Christ that touts a new hedonistic world order, completed by furnishing its children with sex robots.  An Anarcho-communist community has catapulted its Mayor and Minister of Education to a new planet, and tout the great success of introducing an emotional currency to the island’s residents while skirting around the issue of a veganism-inspired massacre. “We’re leaving a very beautiful piece of archaeology for other nations to learn from,” the Mayor proudly asserts from her new life across the galaxy.

An animatronic tear rolls down my cheek as I hear the recent struggles of Pioneer Island. With their reputation system based on the blockchain overloaded by a sea of new residents, their dwindling natural resources (“We have plenty of crypto, but no food or water”) leads to an appeal from the rest of the bitcoin billionaires to lend a helping digital hand. Still, the Mayor remains unshaken, once again delivering a solid speech that praises the blockchain mantra of “pioneering small, self-organized projects that lead to independence,”; of “never aiming for total cohesion and never following democracy,” but instead “generating local, self-sufficient systems” in order to achieve success.

Curiosity takes over, and I approach the brilliant spokeswoman after the workshop winds up in order to uncover her background. Turns out she’s none other than Nathalie Mezza-Garcia, the self-termed “Seavangelesse” and research strong-arm of Blue Frontiers. Currently pursuing a PhD that investigates the politics and sociology of Seasteading at the University of Warwick, Mezza-Garcia was recruited by the Blue Frontiers team in 2017. Now, with the company just months from unveiling to the public its island off the coast of French Polynesia [after this report was filed, the island nation pulled out of the deal –Ed.], she’s keen to spread the message amongst the masses and change some minds. Naturally, we go for a drink.

“If someone like me who basically lives and breathes Seasteading 24/7 can get so much wrong, it’s no wonder the general conception of Seasteading is so far from the truth,” says Mezza-Garcia. “The biggest mistake people make is laminating the ‘evil billionaire’ narrative onto the whole enterprise.” Still in the midst of her research, Mezza-Garcia has nothing but admiration for the wealthy patrons of Seasteading. Rather than using the enterprise merely as a tool to acquire more capital, Seasteading companies like Blue Frontiers are more interested in the limitless social, political, and ideological benefits awaiting this post-human frontier, she argues. “It’s a step into a world where we all have more decisions.”

As for the regular members of society who can’t afford their own slice of animatronic paradise on the enlightened blockchain, hotel accommodation will soon be available on Blue Frontiers’ islands. For now, role-playing is a valuable exercise for warming up a heterogeneous batch of the general public to the idea, so they can form their own opinions. For Mezza-Garcia, What Will It Be Like When We Buy An Island (on the blockchain)? is the first time she’s seen artists – “instead of libertarians or blockchain people” – engage with the principle ideas of Seasteading in a direct, open, and low-stakes way; many attendants of the workshop voiced a similar sentiment (but thought another round or two of role-playing would help them with the trickier bits–like avoiding vegan anarchy, or summoning a Bitcoin Jesus).

As the once-distant dream of Seasteading is eclipsed by its imminent reality, the potential of role playing as an educational strategy emerges on both ends of the chain – but the takeaway is by no means consistent. Eager to make the operations of Blue Frontiers accessible to a broader audience, Mezza-Garcia celebrates activities like this as a potential source of new recruits. She even intends integrate LARPing into Blue Frontiers board meetings to encourage a top-down empathy with non-billionaires of the blockchain. Yet the results of the workshop–in which speculative future Seasteading communities are ravaged by a despairing lack of faith, suicides, and massacres–paints an entirely different story: One that becomes increasingly problematic when one considers the flawless criminal, mental, and physical health records Blue Frontiers’ selection process requires, alongside the obvious economic factors.

For a community keen to “enrich the poor, cure the sick, and liberate humanity,” according to Blue Frontiers’ co-founder Joe Quirk, their operating logic seems to reinforce many of the social stigmas and power structures already responsible for much of the suffering and inequality within contemporary society. Rather than offering any single narrative or conclusion, LARPing underscores these divergent visions of Seasteading’s (failed) utopia just before the ship sets sail.

All illustrations by Maz Hemming.

[1] In a piece published on The Intercept on March 20, Klein blasted Bitcoin as “the most wasteful possible use of energy”, characterizing leading cryptocurrency figures as opportunistic “Puertotopians” keen to capitalize on the hurricane-ravaged island of Puerto Rico. Klein also equates the “wealthy libertarian manifesto” of Seasteading to the colonizing powers of the new world that seized once-free nations and converted their indigenous inhabitants into slaves.

[2]  Though conceived by Jeremy Bentham in the 18th century, the idea of the panopticon was popularized by the French philosopher Michel Foucault in his 1975 book Discipline and Punish. Says Foucault of the Panopticon’s unlucky captive: “He is seen, but he does not see; he is an object of information, never a subject in communication.” Remote island or bustling city center, the Panopticon’s relevance has resurfaced in the realm of the digital; see Thomas McMullan’s 2016 piece in The Guardian about the relevance of Panopticonism amid the cross-fire of data capture and digital surveillance.

Source: http://rhizome.org/editorial/2018/jun/14/island-mentality/