For real in virtual reality.
I’ve constructed an image of myself on Facebook. I did MySpace too, just in case my cyber hologram lacked a dimension. What dimension, a fourth? Before that my virtual world representative was an avatar in Second Life. I make this distinction because I’m online already, in a blog. If that’s not a proxy of myself too.
What is left of me off line in the old three dimensions? So much of my resources are spent updating and uploading to fashion my idealized electronic profile. But I discover that my ability to keep my best side facing toward the camera, so to speak, escapes my control just like real life. Other have pictures. Deeds are linked, past words, past lives, with no degrees of separation. We have Google to thank for pinning our press clippings to our shoulders. It’s as if our business card now comes attached with our personal Rolodex.
I’m deluding myself obviously to cling to selective anonymity. We’ve all taken our first steps unto the internet with alter ego usernames in sundry chat rooms, user groups and forums, revealing our true selves behind web masks. Who we are in-world soon approximated who we are out, as N approaches an infinity of monkey archivists. For flakes who think they can tailor their best Face[book] forward, no respite.
Except that it feels like the real world me has become a facade too. I think I’ve become an empty vessel, discarded like an outgrown skin, untended, un-watered because everything’s going online. What do photographs of the actual me represent anymore? Pictures of me when I used to inhabit the real world. Pictures of me wanting to be online.
Ok. Then don’t be such a melodramatic technophobe.
Mark Twain used an alias. So did Little Bo Peep.
Identity Crisis Double Mirror Paranoia Sausage Pull.
Started in print format. Not the internet.
Perhaps you’d rather have a photograph of yourself learning how to use the telegraph. Or maybe you just wish others had a few more photos of you for memory.
That’s so sweet. Thanks, love. You’re teeth are cleaner than mine. Who does your hair?
I’ve heard that some religions have feared cameras for stealing the soul. I think there’s more to this than just technophobia and superstition. It’s the relative nature of time and growth. We fear others won’t allow our change.
(My favorite photo of my mother doesn’t exist. I tend to like the ones before I was born the best. Such are photos.)
We know – many attempt to control our lives. Not guide – control.
I definitely realized a while back that some people can’t distinguish between creative rights and personal rights whatsoever. I’ve even found a stylized personal letter (on video) once put to rent as “art” or novelty. I’m not sure I like those types of people whatsoever. The victimization breeds need for aliases. Too bad.
Now I look back at that incident and laugh – I was doing a boring v-log!!!! How innovative!!!! Nevermind the message. That was killed the moment of exploit.
I think people have a right to be discrete Eric – even humble. Lately you seem afraid of anonymity yet condemning of basic human distinctions.
I too shiver with old age from time to time.
Maybe it’s time you re-read Camille Pagia before you talk about art critique and lipstick colors and photo blurring any further.
Or simply follow a few requests for a Mission Statement, Theme – at NMT.
Some people I know are so dedicated to proving their consistency – they can’t see outside of themselves. I’m not sure if that makes them specialists – or dead.
It’s also one common pratfall of nepotistic environs…. and it’s not good for you – unless it is.
Respects to the Armchair Commando.
Dude, you ARE creative/beloved/purposeful. Don’t be so nutzoid.
Give a photograph. And take a number.