@NatureSchoolSU @WifeMamaHome @RizomaSchool 6/ Our unmooring also elevates the Cloud above its proper weight—map eating the world. The digital matters—but it isn’t the axis of being. It’s a turbulence-prone stratum; other orders (soil, bodies, seasons, neighbor) keep time and texture. Reality’s breadth isn't one bandwidth.
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Copy of tweet here: 1/ Yes, even as our tendency to conflate the network's narrative edgeline with 'The State of the World', amounts to a category fallacy of cosmic proportions - as if the totality of planetary history and reality amounts to a downstream, behind-the-times, lesser subset, somewhere.
@lukeburgis @jamespoulos end/ What, then, of the Paradise Gardener’s insight, of the co-evolving bond between planet and person, natural and man-made realms, soil and soul? What, indeed, of the bond between Garden and Cyberspace, of the dirt under the fingernails of these, my transmitting fingers?
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In one of his apocalyptic theoretical tracts, Jean Baudrillard called this mediated rapture "the ecstasy of communication." He argues that the "harsh and inexorable light of information and communication" has now mastered all spheres of existence, producing an omnipresent system of media flows that has colo-nized the interior of the self. Passion, intimacy, and psychologi-cal depth evaporate, and we wind up "only a pure screen, a switching center of all the networks of influence." No longer subjects of our own experience, we abandon ourselves to a cold and schizophrenic fascination with an infoglut he likens to a °microscopic pornography of the universe." Though one sus-pects that Monsieur Baudrillard might do well to cancel his pre-mium cable se e, his dour prophecy certainly resonates. Many of us have indeed enclosed our nervous systems within a vibrating artificial matrix of cell phones, pagers, voice mail sys-tems, networked laptops, and ever-present terminal screens...
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Many of us have indeed enclosed our nervous systems within a vibrating artificial matrix of cell phones, pagers, voice mail systems, networked laptops, and ever-present terminal screens, which monitor us as much as we monitor them. As we attempt 330 TECHGNOSIS to micromanage this onslaught of sound bites, emails, temporal disjunction, and data dumps, we lose the slower rhythms and gnawing silences of the inner world. We lose the capacity to speak and act from within, and communication is reduced to a reactive, almost technical operation. And so we drown, believing that to drown is to surf.