Speculative Machines

Floating in Zero Gravitas - Speculative Machines

Our footprints are steamrollers powered by oil and illuminated with gaslighting.

On the subject of building beings...

A sudden stroke of night, another item for the catalog of objects we filter through the onslaught of our senses.

Pan to the left, pan to right or spin in surround sound, but the panning is the primary creature.

Our protein base is not the weakness. Digital dissection, breakdown and compression taint the stench of the knowledge economy, surveillance technologies, and privileged access. The time to mammalize is now.

Some energies stay actual, living and constant.

In the victories of artificial intelligence, the win is forever artificial. One player built through decades of research, millions of investment dollars, and teams of engineers and programmers. The fleshy other made with one night of too much wine and not enough birth control. The optical-steroid dice are loaded in these staged competitions, the games fixed down to binary level. Is it really a win in games like Jeopardy or Chess on behalf of the industrial business machine?

Typically, we refer to them as server farms, but the ritual is the same. Like the Golem, we harvest the earthen material, then shape it as needed. Words are then written into the material body. Once written, they mindlessly execute the intention of their creators. The Golems are born, but we call them server farms now.

The citizen goes extinct. We are all consumers now. Consumer micro droplets, lubricant for a global economic autonomous machine. It grinds away indifferent to our wants, desires and needs. Every drop plants the seed of NO! its own particular way. The tweet, the repost, the photo, the sign, the march, the punch. The NOs grow, multiply, swell and swarm into the massive horde. A swarming horde echoing infinite variations of #resist