March 2, 2010

If Memory Serves

“If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.” ~ Anais Nin

I think my meat has finally figured out a way to make getting sick work for me. Fevers always seem to lend me little hints to help navigate around the barricades. I’m not sure if they provide clarity of a sort, or just enough fog to cloud the enemies in my own mind, but the lock finally broke. Maybe being sick just triggers some sort of inner survival mechanism to find the path of least resistance. Whatever the cause, I can’t say I’m entirely proud of the final effort, but it touches the edges of what I want to say in a way I roughly want to say it. Having made it through the desert, I’m just glad to be drinking again and maybe it will lead to more worthy avenues now that the gridlock is gone.

January To Lament

Today was better than yesterday, which was better than the day before
I even made it out of bed, almost made it to the door
It’s all getting easier, but I kind of wish it wasn’t
Seems my head keeps healing, even when my heart doesn’t

I’ve still got all the books you made me read
Lined up all around my bed
Obscure science fiction and cheesy detective stories
About impossible women and improbable places
Told by men who’ll never understand them
It’s not the stuff that makes me miss you
But these bric-a-brac reminders of
Incomplete conversations
Make January so much colder

If memory serves, then why do we touch
And reach
And need
And feel for more
If memory serves then why do we rush
And hide
And lie
And steal for more
If memory serves then these few years will have to do
Because whatever memory serves, it’s all I’ve left of you

Before the pieces can start to fit, before the puzzle can return to norm
I have to understand the Winter of it, I have to give the darkness form
Because you left behind these random thoughts scribbled on the bathroom walls
And I can’t just keep painting over all the graffiti covered stalls

I’ve still got all this junk you sent me
Scattered all around the house
Strange little gadgets and expensive shiny toys
All moving parts and intricate endgames
For those of us that never learned to put away our childish things
It’s not the stuff that makes me miss you
But these bric-a-brac reminders of
Incomplete conversations
Make January so much colder

If memory servers, then why do we touch
And reach
And need
And feel for more
If memory serves then why do we rush
And hide
And lie
And steal for more
If memory serves then these few years will have to do
Because whatever memory serves, it’s all I’ve left of you

It’s the conversations we don’t get to finish
That make January so much colder

Filed under: Inner Space, Writing by Salome at 11:42 AM

February 23, 2010

Hunger

“When God hands you a gift, he also hands you a whip; and the whip is intended for self-flagellation solely.” ~ Truman Capote

I have always written my way out of darkness before. It’s not as though I find my writing to be of any noble caliber. Any writer of any worth should be their own worst critic. I’ve written things I’m not ashamed of, and things I’ve been happy to share with others, even proud to share on occasion. But I also know I haven’t written the things I’d like to have written the way I’d like to have written them. I don’t know if that’s a lack of talent or discipline or focus, or if my time simply hasn’t come yet. Unlike athletics and other gifts, words are something you can come to late in life and still get right. My best work may yet be before me. At least that’s what I hope.

It’s unclear to me how writing translates to other arts and how a writer translates to other artists. I don’t know if the process of the purge is the same for a painter or a coder or a tuba player as it is for me. I’ve known lots of people who call themselves artists, but few were and I don’t often poke around in the heads of other creative people to try and glean from them. To me, asking another artist how they incorporate pain or loss into their work is like asking a celebrity for an autograph — it would say a lot more about what an ass I am and probably end up of little value. The problem with being an artist is that someone is always trying to take something away from you. Not out of malice or even jealousy (although there are certainly those types). Mostly, people are just hungry and those of us who create something out of nothing have the ability to feed ourselves in a way the consumer-only variety of humans doesn’t get. Art feeds, but the problem is that you don’t get to choose the meal, and it can be poison on a stick when it wants to be. And, each time someone takes something from you, it’s a little harder to find the way back. You become a little more hungry yourself. Or maybe that’s just me and my inability to deal with the rest of the human condition, but I suspect not. I don’t know a single creative person that wouldn’t welcome a little more isolation in their life. A few days to shut the door, turn off the world and be alone with their own process. Life gets in the way, even as it inspires and offers up the pains and sacrifices we all seem to need.

Still, I can’t write my way out of this loss. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe I’m just whiny. Everything seems contrived, unworthy — trite. Whatever the old trick was to twist the pain into product — I can’t get a handle on it. I want to do right by what I feel. If there was anything in me capable, it seems like it should have written its way out. Instead there is only the hunger. Maybe I’m being impatient. Or maybe I just miss my friend.

I want to write something like this and I’m pissed off that I can’t:

…but still the place you live in is that much more drab and empty that they are gone…

Filed under: Inner Space, Writing by Salome at 10:32 AM

February 2, 2010

My Name Is…

“Ahem.. excuse me! Can I have the attention of the class for one second?” ~ Eminem

Grace has volleyed up some interesting questions that I’ve been personally wrestling with since the dawn of Salome. Well, before, actually, but never quite as intimately as with Salome.

In the world of new media, where reincarnation, re-branding, and re-invention are sometimes just a few clicks away, what is the value of a virtual identity? The more I examine this issue and read the input of others, the more I can’t help wondering if it’s the right conversation to be having at this point about where we are as Second Life citizens. Are we allowing ourselves to be pushed to a level of theoretical discussion that just breezes over the issue of who is demanding our identity and what rights they have to assign value to us or anything else in the dysfunctional playground where nothing seems ready for the big show? Are we being co-opted by our own intellectualism, milked for a sense of outrage to distract us from asking the simplest questions about who the people are behind the curtains and what are they doing about the existing problems before creating new ones and what rights do they have to our information?

Background: Grace’s post branches organically from the tree of Wallace Linden’s somewhat clumsy post addressing the management of virtual identity. Shock and awe, a week to the day of Wallace’s “things that make you go hmmm” style post, Linden Lab announced their acquisition of Avatars United. An acquisition that Grace points out comes with its own share of clumsiness.

It’s getting to the point where sighing and highlighting Linden Labs failure is feeling a bit like picking on the slow kid at recess. But, ironically, many of us seem to be in this abusive relationship with the slow kid. He kicks the ball over by us, we take it back to him all big smiles and friendliness and he knocks us down for our trouble. It’s all Lucy and Charlie Brown practicing place kicks. “What? You trusted us? AGAIN? You really are a blockhead.” Good grief.

So it really doesn’t shock me, nor do I think it shocks anyone, that Linden Labs fumbles their user base again. I keep thinking of the World of Warcraft episode of South Park where the Blizzard executives are trying to hand off an in-world item to a player only to discover none of them actually have accounts or play the game. “I don’t have a World of Warcraft character! I have a life!” More and more, this feels like how Linden Labs also views its users. They are making SL, but they’re not of SL. Virtual identities are just their business tools — their DBAs — their stage names. I don’t know that any of them tie themselves into a virtual identity the way many of us do. They certainly do not seem plugged into the issues that matter to their users. To some extent, of course, there is always a betrayal of the first generation of early adapters. The shucking off takes place when most start-ups edge into the mainstream. In theory, this happens to homogenize things for a bigger audience. The one SL keeps chasing and never quite catching.

But it’s a disservice to dwell just on the usual SL fail side of this particular issue, because the concept of value based on a virtual identity is, actually something even virtual lifers disagree on. I touched on this in a previous post where I addressed an ex-acquaintance calling me untrustworthy because I do not publicly attach my RL identity to Salome.

My own feelings on the issue are a bit schizophrenic.

On one hand, I get exhausted by the endless stream of lackluster twattle that tries to pass itself off as professional grade in SL. The reality is that the majority of SL businesses, media, artists, etc. are all just hobbyists playing at being qualified for the tasks they take on. Much of it is self-absorbed and self-promoting on a level that is just shy of repulsive and it’s as vulgar in these ways as it is unexamined and unchallenged. When you cast too bright a light in most corners, the paint is peeling, or is simply a primer base that never got its final coat.

But for 95% of SL, that’s okay. It doesn’t matter if the talk show host is a self-centered nit who doesn’t research their guests or have so much as a basic grasp of new media issues. It doesn’t matter if the musician’s manager is just a “look at me” credit hog who does nothing beyond a little digital paperwork. It doesn’t matter if the news is brought to you by sensationalistic creeps or shills that regurgitate the shiny happy corporatespeak.

It doesn’t matter because no one is asking you to take them at more than their presented worth. No one is forcing you to watch or read or use their services. So their credentials are based on a brand in a virtual world. And their brand is what you get to take or leave. There’s nothing wrong with that.

To that end, the services most people are seeking in SL aren’t that major. Just like most services in RL aren’t all that major. Amid getting all riled up about identity, ask yourself, what have you ever engaged in in SL where a RL name, resume, etc. would matter? Then ask yourself how much does it even matter in RL?

We all like to think that we do full research on anyone and everyone we hire or do business with, but in reality, most people in RL don’t jump through huge hoops for the great majority of our daily transactions. It’s all first impression and luck. You pick a name out of a phone book (okay, Google search these days, but you get my point), you call, if the person talks a good game, you let them fix your sink. You get the number of a teenager from a friend and let her babysit your kids. Maybe you run a Google for the important stuff. But you hand over your credit card every day to god knows who behind the counter of Store X and Restaurant Y. The vast majority of service agreements and exchanges in RL boil down to the word of a friend, a good phone impression, the tidiness of a uniform, the brand name of a franchise. Even in some of the “important” institutions and practices of RL, this is the case. Most people get away with overpumped resumes because employers don’t bother to check all references. The package, the brand, the haircut, the suit, the ease of conversation — in most cases these will take the place of established credibility. Anyone who plays office politics will tell you it’s not usually the work horse that gets the rewards, it’s the person who sells themselves to the right people in the right way.

Few people in SL will render services that require access to your credit card, your home, or your real identity. So why this push for unnecessary transparency? Why are we so uncomfortable taking people at avatar value? Is it to do with the trust we have in others, or the trust we have in ourselves to do our due diligence when the time comes?

Unlike most people, I have no issue taking someone at what they present to me. I have every right to ask, research, and examine every relationship (personal or professional) to the limits of good taste. That is my responsibility. If a person has kept themselves private, then I will temper my interaction with them accordingly. If I want to get to know the person, I will. If I feel I need more information before engaging in any sort of business project with them, I’ll tell them. How they respond will dictate how things progress.

A great deal of Second Life residents and businesses are fringe or unpolished. But there are also actual professionals that work and play within the format. Generally they’re not loud, showboating posers. They’re too busy doing stuff to care about make-believe celebrity or fisking a handful of L$ out of consumers that are too lazy to become educated consumers. It’s a frontier society, so you have the shadows and the light.

But RL names and identities aren’t going to add anything to that pool that isn’t already there. That’s not how society works with new media. Not in SL. Not anywhere. A guy named Justin on twitter posts things his 70-something Dad supposedly says. It’s entertaining, so no one cares who Justin really is other than a few media types looking for a human interest story. But Justin’s brand reaches over a million people every time he tweets, not counting what goes viral when those people forward to others. Most of those million probably couldn’t even tell you that Justin was the guy’s name without checking first. They don’t care what his last name is — he entertains them. They don’t hand over anything to him he doesn’t earn with the name “Justin.”

There are a handful of cases where RL identities matter and they all have one thing in common: the point where something virtual finds its way into someone’s meat space life. At that point its the responsibility of the parties involved to engage in proper disclosure, or, if legal procedures are involved, for everyone to cooperate in good faith to resolve issues. Beyond that point, debates about credibility and the value of identity feel like distractions. Important theoretical avenues to pause and consider while we wander down Alpha Ralpha Boulevard, but not the crux of the matter.

The fundamental issue for me is the fact that most of Second Life is not ready for prime time because the format and company brand are not on par with what professionals demand of anything they invest their valuable time into. Before Linden Labs can seriously begin to float concepts into its user base on issues like identity and professional integrity, they need to get their own house in order, present themselves with credibility and professionalism, and show that they can offer a product that invites real professionals to the table. Until then, the theoretical discussions are that of a lot of small time vaudevillians dreaming of becoming Ziegfeld headliners. They’re distracted from the quality of their own offerings because the dreams of the big time shine too bright in their eyes.

I know a few people like Grace in-world who have the teeth and RL background — they can lay down resumes that would make your head spin. The vast majority of these people aren’t about putting their ego and their credentials on their forehead and making you call them Doctor. They don’t chase approval or applause. They certainly have little interest in the celebrity of a make-believe world. They want to explore, create, connect, develop on their own terms. And none of that requires their credit cards, their corporate resumes, or their driver’s licenses.

Their world. Their imagination. Their brand. Their value.

What do I think? I think virtual identity value is an important issue and it merits exploring, but I don’t want to stop holding Linden Labs’ heels to the fire and giving them a pass just because they’re trying to wedge us into the right corner.

Making us register identities, demanding our transparency, these issues aren’t about credibility. These are things that make us sexy to the business world on a consumer level. They want our information, our demographics, our names and our spending habits. And they’re right to want those things. They’re a business, they need collateral assets — and our consumer information is a big part of that.

But once we give it up, that’s the show. Our bargaining chips are gone. It’s all iPad downhill from then on. They give, we consume, and those are the options. There is a small window here for us to be smart consumers and leverage our value by protecting our identities and making them improve their products before locking us into billing cycles.

That’s the value this conversation isn’t addressing. Maybe I’m too cynical, but the more I see where the theoretical conversations take us, the less strength I see us consolidating as a community to demand a better product. That troubles me more than what the RL identity of the avatar next to me is, or what the credentials of the avatar that textured my shoes happen to be.

Have the distractions of intellectualism, drama, and indifference rendered the educated consumer a thing of the past? As such, is our only real value left that of how much we consume, how fast and how quietly we do so?

January 27, 2010

Such a Lonely Word

“Honesty is the cruelest game of all, because not only can you hurt someone - and hurt them to the bone - you can feel self-righteous about it at the same time” ~ Dave Van Ronk

Introspective post warning. Continue at your own risk.

I do not have the respect for honesty that most people do, in a common, every-day sense. I believe there are times (many of them social niceties) where lying is not only a kindness, but a necessity. Measures of self-deception are called for in ourselves to deal with hard times and to come to terms with some of life’s complications. The same is often the case when helping others. It’s tricky, of course, as all nuanced aspects of life are. Knowing when you’re lying for someone else or when you’re lying for yourself; knowing when you’re lying for good intentions as opposed to simple convenience; knowing when your lies are a bridge and when they are a crutch — these are all concepts that can give us mental vertigo and some of us wrestle with them all our lives.

However, there are also times when wielding the “truth” is done recklessly — when facts and hyperbole are used to cloud a narrative rather than clarify it. This has always been a tightrope walk for journalism and writers of non-fiction. It’s one of the main reasons that integrity and reputation are so important when dealing with someone in the position of journalist. A reporter’s responsibility is to relay facts in context with as little editorial as possible. A critic’s job, in contrast, is to deliver an honest, well-defended opinion. Anything different is pandering either to subject matter or reader-base or one’s own ego.

If living in America has made anything brutally clear in the last decade, it’s that facts presented out of context or opinions delivered with a pandering agenda aren’t just distasteful, but also damaging. Championing such acts (whether out of ignorance or lulz) breeds a destructive sort of emotional vandalism that doesn’t wash away easy. The result is that honesty begins to have no distinction against pap and fact begins to have less importance than frenzy.

In the real world we see more and more the pushing of ridiculous narrative in effort to avoid hard work. We know that a 17 year old girl sending a topless photo of herself to her boyfriend on her iPhone isn’t distributing child porn. We know that a hippie grandmother growing pot in her basement to offset chemo nausea isn’t drug dealing. We know, but too often we allow our legal and political systems to further untruths in the name of convenience. It’s easy to catch a teenager and a hippie grandmother. The result is that resources which might have otherwise gone to finding and convicting actual producers of child porn or actual harmful drug distributors are squandered, and the individuals who pushed the agenda are free to push to ever more precarious edges. And those edges reach toward a place where justice has no meaning and can have no authority. The actual gray areas, which are crucial for us to explore that we may better understand the world and ourselves, disappear in order to establish a nursery school palette of primary colors to classify everything as simply as possible; giving us a paint by number ruberick that any idiot can follow. So we don’t have to go to the trouble to explain or, god forbid, think. So we can fall back on outrage when anything makes us uncomfortable and forget about all that tiresome critical thinking. It’s the thread that, once pulled, unravels the whole sweater.

The virtual world is just as tainted by this human game as the concrete-and-sky world. Humans, being the constant, import their vices along with their virtues. Sitting behind the mask of an avatar often lends the distance necessary to unburden ourselves and be truthful, but that same distance also gives us the length of rope with which to be truly vile and hang one another. And that vileness breeds itself, convinces itself it has both nobility and purpose.

Combating this invasive species of sophism isn’t just the responsibility for writers of important subject matter. In the beginning I felt that blogging about make believe clothes meant that I could take a pass on caring about hypocrites and liars. I wanted to just maintain my own standards and not engage because with attention-seeking glowworms, to address them is their own sort of victory. But as I’ve blogged virtual consumerism in Second Life and watched the community develop around it, my feelings have shifted. The silence and indifference of people who would maintain standards is just as destructive as those who prance around advocating drama for its own sake.

So I’ve decided a few things are non-negotiable. Honesty matters. Integrity matters. Ethics are not flexible. Even in the world of make-believe clothes. This is not to say that I won’t color outside the lines from time to time — I simply have to push myself to acknowledge when I do, if for no other reason than to demarcate the point where I crossed over and will cross back. No one can maintain an ideal all the time, but we can endeavor to know what the ideal is, to adhere to it when we can, and acknowledge (winking, smiling, crying or on our knees as the individual case may dictate) when we fall short.

I can do that. When all is said and done, it’s just not that hard.

Manifestos about who does and doesn’t belong in a place are meaningless. Venting without purpose is vanity. Building a reputation on unresearched, out-of-context facts, and outright lies you go back and edit out later is cheap. And every time a person that knows the difference makes excuses for or turns a blind, exhausted eye upon these practices, the good things, the fun things, and those elements of the world that are worth a good fight, disappear under a groupthink veil of mendacity.

Simple translation: sometimes you gotta clap to bring Tink back to life or the whole damn play just stalls.

I want to enjoy my SL. I want to still have fun writing about silly make-believe frippery. I want to offer honest, well-defended opinions about unnecessary things without wading through the circus that seems to have formed around the community. I don’t get to make the world and no amount of wishing will change that, but I can change how I interact with the world. In that sense the world really can be what I want to make of it.

The past few weeks have afforded me a painful, but valuable perspective and clarity:
1. But for a handful of people in the world, I don’t have to give a fig about what anyone else thinks;
2. Quality begets quality and good work will attract attention and readership for the right reasons;
3. The only real power we have to change what frustrates us is to refuse it entry into ourselves;
4. Approval and applause are meaningless.

I don’t know that this internal change will have any noticeable effect on my subject matter or writing style. I do know it already makes me feel a little more free and a little less heart-heavy.

That can only be a good thing.

January 14, 2010

JTL

“Have you ever thought about how weird it is that when we’re upset, our eyes leak? What kind of sense does that make?” ~ JTL

I’m not usually a person inclined to make a shipwreck of my soul on a blog post, but my world is suddenly a lonelier place and words have always been my best companions and only real outlet in these times.

Today I lost a friend. Actually days ago I lost a friend, but I just found out thirty minutes ago. A real and wonderful friend. A giving, kind, intelligent, loving person who was incredibly dear to me. Yes, he had flaws, being human and all. But he was incredibly smart, talented, full of humor, and even if he hadn’t been all those things, he was someone that has been in my life for more than seven years and I don’t have to sing his praises to defend how much it hurts that he is no longer here.

He’s not the first “online friend” I’ve lost, but right now his loss feels the hardest to bear. It’s so pitifully surreal to get a phone call from a stranger telling you someone you love is gone. There is that awkwardness, knowing they are a family member, knowing they are somewhat uncomfortable and confused when you burst into tears. That bizarre way you have to apologize when you remember the person giving you the horrible news is also dealing with their own loss. I knew all about her, his sister. I could ask after her husband and girls, ask her to please give my deepest condolences to her parents — I know about all of them. For the past several years I picked out their Christmas and birthday presents.

All she could say to me was “we found your name on his list of those we should contact.”

I feel sick.

The last real emails we exchanged were “Happy New Year” things with little links and jokes and “have you seen this” stuff between, but I could (and likely will) crawl back through thousands of messages — the modern catalog of a friendship. I can still read his websites. I can still see his twitters. I can browse his Amazon wishlist. I can still google any number of forum posts. I can still listen to his voicemail message. But I can no longer pick up the phone and tell him to turn it to channel X real quick and tell me who that guy in that show is, or ask him to walk me through installing program Z, or explain to me the historical importance of technology thingys or remind me who did that horrible dance song back in the ‘80 that went “uh-buh-ha-buh” or just talk. His echos are all over the web, but there will be no new content. No updates. No sly, eye-rolling sarcasm. There will be no more litanies about magical Mormon underpants or demonstrations of how he can rattle off exponential tables of 2 into what seems like infinity. There will be no more of those things because there is no more him. And that feels devastatingly unfair; a childishly selfish part of me just wants to keep screaming it’s unfair. It’s unfair. It’s unfair. It’s unfair to him, to me, to everyone that knew him. To everyone that won’t get to know him.

And I’m resisting the urge to call back his emotionally devastated sister and ask what’s going to happen to his cats that he loved insanely — as only the way we thirtysomethings without children can love our pets.

I’m reminded that he suffered from many things over the course of his life. The burden of his flesh was something that plagued him and the slings and arrows of others on that score probably measured for more than anything in regards to his battles with depression, social anxiety and painful shyness. It’s undoubtedly what led to the loneliness that none of his long-distance friends could comfort him through. I knew, as others knew, that he was struggling, but I also knew my options to help were limited beyond expressing my affection for his friendship and listening when he needed to talk. No one else can ever really crawl inside the pain that belongs to another and make it better. Would that we had those magic wands.

I don’t blame him. I don’t blame myself. He lost the war against his own demons and the world is and will always be less without him in it. But I hate it. I hate that all I can offer in the wake of his loss is a lousy blog post, but I don’t get to be in charge of things like national days of mourning.

His response to that would have been “why aren’t we working on that.”

I will miss you profoundly, my dear friend.

Filed under: Inner Space, RL by Salome at 9:06 PM
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