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cantstopthesignal2005 · 5 years ago

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Spinning

“The guy was supposed to be here already,” Tess complained to her roommate, Annie, whose jaw had been grinding for the past half hour. “Hey, Tess?” she replied, eyes low, affecting a vindictive scowl. “That’s about the third time you sang that song this hour. Let’s give it a rest, huh?” Annie felt a pride in keeping her agitation to herself in waiting for their guy, who, she icily reminded Tess, was named Jason. She was self-satisfied in being able to internalize her frustrations, something Tess was unsuccessful in doing. Tess clicked her teeth a few times, the resulting noise crawling beneath Annie’s skin, her blood simmering with a rage for Tess’s inane tics and neuroses. “What do we want to do?” Tess finally asked. “We call Jason,” Annie replied, rolling her eyes. Annie surmised that nine times out of ten, she would be the one in their relationship called upon to solve an issue they faced. Their dynamic had never been even, something Annie knew and accepted from it’s genesis. She had been advised by her mother to practice patience and lower expectations of others, that people would only repeatedly disappoint her otherwise. She knew from an early age that not everyone would be as poised, mature, and intelligent as she was. This was the burden she had to bear in life: to remain gracious in the face of ignorance and deficiency. Today, she was consumed with a dread that she and Tess would monstrously shred the other to pieces without the balm of cocaine or an approximate upper. Annie scrolled through her contacts, selecting “Tutor,” the name he was assigned to practice discretion. Half-expecting a dial tone, she was surprised to hear him mumble, “Hello?” after the first two rings. “Hey, Jason?” “This is he.” “It’s Annie. Annie Sutton.” “Yeah, no, I know who it is, I have your number saved,” he said through a yawn. “What’s up?” “I just need help with my math homework, I think we scheduled it for noon thirty, right?” “Oh, did we have a tutoring session scheduled?” “We did. Half past twelve. It’s one.” “Okay. Uh, I’m still in bed. I can be there at two the earliest. Same place?” “Uh, yeah . . .” “Great, I’ll see you at 2?” “I’ll be here.” Annie slid the phone into her pocket, and looked over to an Tess, expectant as ever, her eyes hungry and desperate “So?” Tess asked, twirling her hands, obnoxiously expectant as per usual. “Says he’ll maybe here at two.” “Maybe?!? Two?!?” she balked. “What the fuck, dude? No, no, call him back, we’re not waiting all day for him.” “What else are you doing today, Tess?” she barked. “It’s an hour. You aren’t doing anything anyway.” Annie was quick to point out Tess’s lack of productivity, which would usually make Tess heel during one of their arguments, which were increasing in regularity. Annie would bite her tongue about Tess’s vulgar privilege—she received garish amounts of money from her boyfriend—as it was relatively easy to pressure Tess into paying both halves of their rent. “Well,” Tess venomously snarled, “I could do lots of things.” “Like what?” “Study films. That’s a passion of mine. I’m thinking of getting into French New Wave . . .” Annie snapped her fingers and gasped. “We could get ecstasy from Flacko!” “Flacko’s a creep,” Tess shuddered. “He tried to get me to fuck for a bag. I told him no, and he got so fucking mad. He almost didn’t let me leave.” “That’s a no,” Annie muttered. “Denver? We used to score his ADHD meds, remember?” “My cousin? No. Don’t even ask.” Annie ran through the avenues they could go down to cop their salve, before sighing, “We need more options. We need to get out more. Jason’s fucking mad unreliable” They nodded and passively flipped through channels, Tess eventually landing on a film where, in an excruciatingly tight close-up, a young man held the face of a bloodied young woman, as she gagged, sputtering scarlet from her lips. Annie was unnerved and shifted her attention to the coffee table, which had been collecting several magazines and vinyl records, the latter wearing scars from Tess’s razor blade, cocaine residue accumulating in the cardboard. “Hey,” Tess said. “Uh, well, I was wondering . . . do you think we should think about . . . not doing this anymore? Maybe . . . maybe it’s time to stop this shit.” “It’s not bad,” Annie replied, shrugging her shoulders. “You know, it’s just . . . well, for me, it’s just a study aide.” “Annie, we’re spinning right now. We’d do a line every now and then. Then, we’d do it every other week. Now, we’re lucky if a gram can get us through a day. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t feeding my nose. I mean, you know . . . it’s just . . . we could do less of it.” “I don’t thnk . . . Tess . . . no, no, you’re right.” The theory that their habit had swelled inordinately would cross both of their minds in times of fleeting lucidity, though it had never been given a mouth. Rather than confront their steady motion towards self-destruction, they would bottle their spiraling aggression, spending hours awake in bed trying to will their hearts to beat slower, stumbling upon juvenile, half-profound epiphanies. The rambling discussions where many words were employed but nothing was said. What once was so helpful in propelling them toward great heights of productivity and alertness had expended all usefulness, fracturing their spirit and motivation. The music Annie produced on her laptop had, of late, declined in quality, only collages of discordant music that collided into an unpleasant mess. “Okay, well,” Tess began, licking her lips, “I have to say . . . I must say, I think we’re doing the right thing in admitting this to ourselves and to each other. Like, we’re on the precipice of developing a problem. It’s not getting to that point, but it is something we should address before it has a chance to worsen.” “Right,” Annie agreed, rather frantically. “Okay, so what do we want to do? What should we do? To prevent it becoming an issue?” “What we should do is, we should call Jason. We should call Jason and tell him not to come.” Annie shook her head. “We shouldn’t? Why not?” “If we quit cold turkey like that . . . I heard that it would be worse. You know? We should have . . . we should have a gradual decline.” Annie picked up a memo pad she kept on the wooden end table nestled next to the couch, jotting down their planned intake. Tess paced the apartment, finding that it lubricated her mind, snapping to fire up her synapses. They concluded that nine-tenths of a gram should suffice as the initial weening period; once a week had passed with the new dose, they would convene and discuss moving forward. “And we’d have more money to do shit,” Tess realized aloud. “It’s a fucking money suck, Annie. It’s so fucking bad. We could have gotten like, new shoes or at least . . . at least try to improve our quality of life. They say it makes you paranoid and that it, you know, destroys you. And they’re right. That’s what it is, it’s just . . . it’s just a destructive powder.” “You could go do that film program, right? You could, if you wanted to. You could make great content. I really think you could. You’re so fucking creative. Like Wes Anderson? You could totally be the next Wes Anderson.” “Yeah. Thanks so much for saying that. I’ll totally do it. Can you push me if you see I’m making excuses? Cause I—I do that. I get complacent. I fall out of routines, I’m so bad at it. But if someone keeps me focused, I can really get it done. I just need someone to help me take it to the finish line, I’m terrible with follow through.” “Yeah, sure. I’ll push you.” There was a pregnant pause between the two before Tess turned the television back on. Tess and Annie passively watched a documentary on feral cats, Annie peering over to her phone to check her messages. Tess became uncertain of Annie’s commitment to quitting, though she kept this to herself. Annie tapped her fingers against her legs, anxious in wait of Jason’s arrival. Aware her antsy behavior was likely annoying Tess, she excused herself to take a shower, where she felt the crash of it all. Her body became sluggish, dark thoughts began to arise as the water hit her skin. This was her life. These were her habits, this was her social circle, this was her spartan existence. She wondered aloud how she arrived here and what choices she could have made to avoid having to careen down this path. As she left the room her boyfriend’s gray university shirt and plaid boxers, a towel wrapped around her head, she saw Jason unloading his backpack of wares onto the table, Tess hungrily scanning the items. “You’re late,” Annie said, rolling her eyes. “This can’t happen again, or we aren’t copping from you in the future.” “Yeah, okay?” he said, scoffing dismissively. “Sorry to offend, Ms. Lady.” “Tess, why are we letting him sell in our living room?” “You’re not making the deal in the hallway, Annie,” he told her, scowling with resentment. “Let’s get it moving, time is money.” “Oh, you must fucking hate money,” Tess snapped, crossing her arms. “Given how fucking late you are. How you’re just acting an ass with your customers?” “What’s the deal? What am I here to give ya’ll?” “Four grams,” Annie said, with an assured finality. “Four grams. Tess has the scale, we’re gonna pay you for it, and honestly, don’t ever fucking come back here again.” “Wowwwwww!” Jason feigned offense, though outside opinion had never bothered him. Tess carefully carried out the deal, only handing Jason the bill after rubbing a bit of coke against her teeth, feeling the familiar, tingling sensation that she knew so well. Jason packed up his goods and departed, muttering “Fiends” ostensibly under his breath, though he made certain that his slight was heard. They divvied up the bags and cut them into lines, their moods lifted from a hellish despondency into an affable cheerfulness. Their energy morphed from a muted contention to an ebullience that felt oddly foreign. They began to join one another in jotting down goals, setting forth plans to achieve them, wholly engaging for the first time in over a week. “. . . and I can get involved with the coffee shop, you know? You know the one I’m talking about? Allison’s place? And I can do some work there, meet some people there. Network. That’s a dirty word, it feels like, but I think it’s important.” She paused, her eyes departing. “Fuck! Is it me, or is this shit really potent?” “It’s pretty good,” Annie assured her. “Do you think it’s because we’re quitting that it feels so fucking good? Like, because we soon enough won’t be able to do it?” “I’m sure that has something to do with it,” Annie muttered, shrugging. “So, you’re feeling this? What I’m feeling? You’re riding on this wave?” “I think so.” “I’m so happy to have you in my life.” “Me too. You know, when I’m talking rough to you, it’s only because I want to make sure you reach your potential. Do everything you want to do, everything you’re capable of.” “No, totally! What? You don’t ever have to apologize! Not to me. You’re like my sister, you’re family to me, you’re in my coven. I want you . . . I NEED you to push me. Cause I won’t push myself. I’m not . . . not self-motivated, I’m not disciplined. And you really are! You are, and I love that about you. That you’re indefatigable. You’ve got this tick-tick-tick-ticking engine inside you. It’s so fucking impressive.” The doorbell rang and Annie whipped her head to the door, slowly approaching as Tess felt a shiver travel down her spine, her hearts tempo ramping up. Annie saw an image of her little brother warped from the glass of the peephole. “Tess, it’s just Neil!” she yelled. Tess sighed and reclined as Annie opened the door. Neil’s tall, lanky frame slowly ambled towards Tess, offering her a handshake, his smile twisted and off-putting. “What’s going on, baby brother?” Annie asked. “Not much. Just grabbing my shit from when I crashed.” Annie forgot entirely that they had a fractious spat which led to her little brother getting booted from the apartment. “How are you, Neil?” Tess asked, sotto voce. “Uh, good? You?” “Well, I won’t lie to you. You know, I’m under the influence of something right now. But I’m very authentic as a result, I’m open. It tears off walls of communication and empathy that I usually have.” “What the fuck?” Neil asked, looking away. “Annie, where’s my shit?” “Don’t tell dad,” Annie warned. “I know you like to fucking tattle.” “I don’t talk to dad,” he coolly informed her. “I’m staying with Alejandro, since you guys decided you didn’t want me here anymore.” “You should have seen him when he was young, Tess.” “I did know him when he was younger,” Tess reminded her. “Like YOUNG young. He would keep telling on me and my friends cause we didn’t let him hang out . . .” Neil spotted the bag he purchased from the library, stuffed with his copious stack of movies and books. He silently walked away and slammed the door to emphasize his exit. Annie looked over to Tess, whose gaze was captured by the pattern of arrows and angles woven into their carpet. “We should put on some music. What’s a good song?” “What are we in the mood for?” “Soft. Soothing. Nothing aggressive.” Annie anxiously thrummed her fingers against the coffee table, before gasping, “Don’t Worry Baby. It’s by The Beach Boys.” “By whom?” “The Beach Boys. The song is called . . . Don’t Worry Baby.” “Okay, we’ll play that now.” “Maybe . . .” Annie began, hesitation punctuating her words. “Maybe we shouldn’t play it.” “No, no, no! No, no! No. You know, we chose your song, that’s the song that should be played.” As the song played, they felt their eggshell fragile minds being jarred, oscillating between extreme happiness and melancholy. Emotions erratically came and left, leaving them overwhelmed. With a need to numb themselves entirely, they mindlessly reached into their pockets and emptied the bags onto the coffee table, silently breaking their pact. The coke drip burned the back of their throats, giving way to a familiar, loving high. Tomorrow would grant them the moment of clarity necessary to kick, the drive to stick with it. Tomorrow, they pledged.

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biometricbits · 6 years ago

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Digital aspirations and paper pages : Why analog media continues to thrive in a digital world.

Painting is one of the most archaic ways to create an image. In a world dominated by digital imagery, which can be easily and endlessly reproduced, there remains a demand for the irreproducible. When thinking about what humans want, the easiest place to begin would be to look at our senses, and their importance in shaping our perception of the world. The term “analog” and “digital” can be interpreted in a number of ways, and the digital/analog split goes back much farther than most initially think.

Portrait of Akhenaten's daughters Max Headroom

We like our senses. Why do some people still want to play a record when they can play an mp3? The reason is one based on a human desire to touch and feel things. Most of us still see things with our eyes, touch things with our hands, and hear things with our ears.

What are the differences between analog and digital? :

The roots of the word analog comes from greek “ana” which means parallel/copy of , and “logos” which means reality. In this regard one could argue that analog means media which is more equivalent to reality. It runs in parallel to reality itself. Whereas the “digital” is a quantized version of this reality. It’s more binary in nature.

Ralph Gerard, who explored this dichotomy in 1951, said that “an analogical system is one in which one of two variables is continuous on the other, while in a digital system the variable is discontinuous and quantized” (qtd. in Wilder 243). It is from Gerard that we get the prototypical analog device, the slide rule—it’s continuous numbering, as well as meaningful spatiality, wherein the further down the number is, the larger it is—and the abacus as the prototypical digital device, due to the ‘on-or-off-ness’ of the beads, where they are either counted or not. This latter conception of digitality has principally to do with the language of binary, used by today’s digital devices, in its utilization of 1s and 0s.

Electronic Music Composer Suzanne Ciani Screenshot of Logic Pro synth emulator

We are the robots:

Our bodies are increasingly subject to more regulation from technological advancements. From stints put into our hearts to keep the blood pumping, to glasses which help many to see the world in focus. There is little doubt that our bodies are being integrated with technology at a rapid pace, and it would be hard to argue that advancements in science are a detriment in any way. However, one aspect of becoming a cyborg doesn’t involve upgrades to the physical “hardware” so to speak (our flesh, guts and bones) but rather to the creation of what is termed the “digital self”. This is the idea that digital technologies have an enormous impact on our notion of what the self is. The digital has a tendency to be more inward focused. Meaning that it is becoming more difficult to understand what’s going on inside of them without some sort of specialized knowledge. We can understand that a diamond tip on a record player stylus fits into a groove on a piece of vinyl that correspond to vibrations made during a recording, and that this same sound can be reproduced through the use of speakers. Now, if we compare this to playing a song on spotify, on our phone, through bluetooth speakers we get a very different interaction with the song itself because there is no record we can hold in our hands, there is no needle which scrapes along the surface of a circular piece of vinyl, it’s all in the air, like magic. Even when the song is over, the data is being gathered by spotify about how long we listened to the song, whether we liked it or not, and then that algorithm tries to find other music that we like so we continue to listen. Can you imagine telling someone in the 1970s that in the future a small device you carried around in your pocket would not only play music through speakers without wires, but could actually recommend over artists you’d like? It would be the stuff of science fiction, but here we are today.

The result of these specialized looks by artificial intelligence and computers has caused people to become more inward looking, and more focused on their own thoughts and feelings. Shanyang Zhao studies the online communications of teenagers, and he saw this manifested in the creation in what he termed the digital self “The digital self is . . . more oriented toward one’s inner world, focusing on thoughts, feelings and personalities rather than one’s outer world, focusing on height, weight, and looks” (396)

Marshall McLuhan and Mass Media as a narcotic agent:

“Electric media is an extension of ourselves, a communal act...an electronic world re-tribalizes men.”

“A point of view means a static fixed position, and you can’t have a point of view in the electric age. It’s impossible to have a point of view in the electric age, and have any meaning at all. You’ve got to be everywhere at once, whether you like it or not, you’ve got to be participating in everything at the same time, and that is not a point of view”

It is often stated that McLuhan predicted the internet, and it’s hard not to see the parallels popping up everywhere on facebook, instagram and snapchat. Jaron Lanier was at the forefront of a lot of the tech boom in the 80s and 90s, and is said to have come up with the term virtual reality. He’s a fierce opponent to social media, and has said that “This is just like those other examples in the past where you have a mass addiction with a commercial interest behind it. The difference, in this case, is that the side effect is to disconnect humanity from reality.”

Portraiture in the age of Deep Fakes, Digital Photos and Polaroids:

The advent of digital photography allowed everyone to document their life endlessly. One only need an internet connection and there isn’t even any need for an increase of the physical memory needed to even store the photos. They can be uploaded directly to the cloud. In this regard the medium itself is never touched. There is no film that needs to be developed. This has changed both the way that photographs are taken, and the importance of the event at which the photo is taken, but also in the way they shape ones experience with the world. Bernard Stiegler addresses how these changes take place in his essay “The Discrete Image.” Stiegler argues that with analog there was a certain faith that people had when looking at it, that the events there actually happened. In the digital age this faith is completely eroded and people look at every photo skeptically as to whether or not what is present is actually real (“Discrete Image” 150)

Paint as a Slow Media:

One reason why artists are still attracted to these older mediums may have something to do with the speed that it takes to make with them and how that effects the creative process. For instance, with digital painting a mark can immediately be “undone” by hitting Ctrl-Z. The options are endless, whereas with oil paint you not only get a few chances to make a mark on part of a canvas and then you’ve also got to wait at least a day for it to dry before you can paint on top of it. Similarly with film, a photographer may spend more time focusing on compositional elements because he only knows he’s got a limited amount of film. This changes the interaction with the subjects being photographed and results in different photos.

Hand vs No hand: Computer graphics are currently helped along with a great deal of digital “helpers” that can create textures and special effects that can dress up a digital drawing and make it into a lion.

Ownership of analog and digital media:

One of the qualities often associated with digital media is the ease with which it can be reproduced, and companies like spotify, itunes, netflix, etc. all do everything in their power to link your usage of a digital file expressly through their sites. You don’t ever really own a film that you watch on netflix, rather you have the right to stream it through a subscription service. This has changed the way that music is shared. One of the more beloved aspects of a “mix tape” was the fact that you could give it to someone, and they in turn could give it to someone. It was a physical object that held the contents of the music within it. With paintings, prints can be made of a particular piece, but someone must buy the original in order to own it at its highest quality. This connects painting to these other analog mediums. The focus is on the original, not a reproduction of it. This is one thing which still leads to paintings having some sort of value. Collectors want to buy the object that sat in an artist’s studio, not some poster of it.

How artists have reacted to digital media:

Artists have often employed the use of plans and mathematical formulations in the creation of their work. The show at the Whitney entitled "Programmed: Rules, Codes, and Choreographies in Art, 1965-2018" explored these ideas.

Sine Man

Gnarly Dakimakura AI generated body pillow

Sol Lewitt

Rafaël Rozendaal, Abstract Browsing

Manfred Mohr: Band Structures

Margo Wolowiec: Still Water Circling Palms

Zdeněk Sýkora

#research

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