~~~~~~
It's like the recently discovered ancient work area of a wildly creative team of millions. There's a desk with scattered paper, coffee and beer stains on bound books and optical illusions. The furious spilling of lost and found love poetry scrawled all over the walls, carved into the ancient stone pillars and a couple of VR plants that looks like they were made with the asthetic of a psychotropic primary school student's cartoon memories of what a plant is.
And there's cassette tapes, CDs, Polaroids, flip-books, albums and re-created album covers hidden in every shadow, under every classical painting in a safe that was 3D printed to look like a smiley face with a nose ring.
Somebody built a room at least 10 times the size of the primary work area that's nothing but sex toys and bad jokes about sex toys.
There's an enormous couch and a few inexplicably finely crafted chair-pods in front of a Octo-dimentional projection screen backlit hyper-space portal that's mostly used for shooting aliens and slaying dragons in a virtual environment. And occasionally another love-letter or mystery novel about realizing that 'holy shit, what the fuck even is all this?' on the hand-held devices that are corellary to the alter of interactive entertainment.
A whole bunch of students are trying to figure each other and the universe out by the official standards in a little library nook with a stained glass window looking out into a bright but indistinct 'outside', and if you take the hidden door to the 'actual' outside there's students of similar caliber but very different tastes in knowledge basically doing the same thing, but it's always night-time and their parents are worried.
There's a very well-stocked and maintain row of arcane gibberish about various professional interests, supply chains, tax law, some mythical beast called and 'euntrepenoir' or something like that, a bunch of dorks 'reinventing' the wheel over and over again in the same area, but charging different prices for their unique efforts.
And somehow it's all okay. Somehow it all made sense to someone one time. There's a few parts of this unsorted labyrinth where people still actively communicate and work together for common goals, and they wonder through the 'internet' picking up bits and pieces of these various cul-de-sacs to inspire more content generation, whatever that means.
But outside of this very obscure and opaque box, there's everything that inspired it's creation still actively happening somehow, somewhere. When we forget that, it's kind of scary but also a huge relief when we remember again.
~~~~~~~
Last known record of one idiot with too much time on their hands.
It's like the recently discovered ancient work area of a wildly creative team of millions. There's a desk with scattered paper, coffee and beer stains on bound books and optical illusions. The furious spilling of lost and found love poetry scrawled all over the walls, carved into the ancient stone pillars and a couple of VR plants that looks like they were made with the asthetic of a psychotropic primary school student's cartoon memories of what a plant is.
And there's cassette tapes, CDs, Polaroids, flip-books, albums and re-created album covers hidden in every shadow, under every classical painting in a safe that was 3D printed to look like a smiley face with a nose ring.
Somebody built a room at least 10 times the size of the primary work area that's nothing but sex toys and bad jokes about sex toys.
There's an enormous couch and a few inexplicably finely crafted chair-pods in front of a Octo-dimentional projection screen backlit hyper-space portal that's mostly used for shooting aliens and slaying dragons in a virtual environment. And occasionally another love-letter or mystery novel about realizing that 'holy shit, what the fuck even is all this?' on the hand-held devices that are corellary to the alter of interactive entertainment.
A whole bunch of students are trying to figure each other and the universe out by the official standards in a little library nook with a stained glass window looking out into a bright but indistinct 'outside', and if you take the hidden door to the 'actual' outside there's students of similar caliber but very different tastes in knowledge basically doing the same thing, but it's always night-time and their parents are worried.
There's a very well-stocked and maintain row of arcane gibberish about various professional interests, supply chains, tax law, some mythical beast called and 'euntrepenoir' or something like that, a bunch of dorks 'reinventing' the wheel over and over again in the same area, but charging different prices for their unique efforts.
And somehow it's all okay. Somehow it all made sense to someone one time. There's a few parts of this unsorted labyrinth where people still actively communicate and work together for common goals, and they wonder through the 'internet' picking up bits and pieces of these various cul-de-sacs to inspire more content generation, whatever that means.
But outside of this very obscure and opaque box, there's everything that inspired it's creation still actively happening somehow, somewhere. When we forget that, it's kind of scary but also a huge relief when we remember again.
~~~~~~~
Last known record of one idiot with too much time on their hands.
No comments:
Post a Comment