Tag Archives: fantasy

Final Fantasy 2.0

This post previously published here.

On February 23, 2008, about 200 volunteers flushed, level by level, every toilet and urinal at newly built Nationals Park in Washington, D.C., to see if the pipes could handle the load.

Imagine a moment when everyone in the world with a smartphone sent each other a smiley face emoji at the same time—not to test the limits of all the networks, just for shits and giggles. Put yourself in the micro-second between everyone hitting send in unison and the possibility that no one would remain on the planet afterwards to respond. Are we not right now suspended between the final fantasy of synchronized global suicide and its fulfillment via technology?

A far more sinister way to end the world would be to realize everyone’s fantasies, a process virtual reality machines have already begun. Realizing every fantasy would destroy the symbolic power of fantasy itself. We’d be left with a literal translation of every metaphor, a logical explanation for every random thought. No more latent content to our dreams—every secret would be dragged out of our minds and streamed “as is” in real time. Before too long, we’d pray to God for nothing less than Nothingness.

For now, we text and carry on—everyone equal before the Law of Communication—forced to send and receive information, most of it useless. Just do it. Just speak.

The most radical message left for us today is to say nothing at all.

Imagine a moment when everyone on the planet with a smartphone refused at the same time to send a text. Or a moment when everyone on the planet flushed a smartphone down a toilet. Dream up a fantasy so spectacular it threatens to end the world and then, for the sake of fantasy, don’t tell a soul.

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Final Fantasy

On February 23, 2008, close to 200 volunteers flushed, at coordinated intervals, every toilet and urinal at newly built Nationals Park in Washington, D.C., to ensure the pipes could handle the load.

Imagine a moment when everyone in the world with a cellphone sent each other a smiley face emoji at the same time—not to test the limits of all the networks, just for shits and giggles. Put yourself in that micro-second between everyone hitting send in unison and the possibility that no one would remain on the planet afterwards to respond. Are we not right now suspended between the fantasy of synchronized global suicide and its fulfillment via technology?

Humans are all equal before the Law of Communication. We’re compelled to send and receive information—useless information. In fact the more useless, the better. Just do it. Just speak.

Technology actualizes every possibility. If our ultimate wish is to destroy reality, technology will make it happen.

The most efficient way to eliminate reality is to realize every fantasy. Realizing every fantasy, however, destroys the symbolic power of fantasy itself. We’re left with a literal translation of every metaphor, a logical explanation for every random thought. No more latent content to our dreams–every secret must be dragged out of our minds like a false confession and streamed “as is” in real time. Data infestations, digital plagues: such is our new manifest destiny.

The most radical message left for us is to say nothing at all.

Until then imagine a moment when everyone on the planet with a cellphone refused, at the same time, to send a text. Or a moment when everyone on the planet flushed a cellphone down a toilet. Dream up a fantasy so spectacular it threatens to end the world and then, for the sake of fantasy, make sure it never happens.

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Refractory Period

one day i fantasize
all women will liberate me
one day i fantasize
all mothers will infantilize me

i can’t get off
without my fetish
i can’t get off
without a tease

i can’t get off
without permission
i can’t get off
without you looking away

we’re all confused in our teens
spreading our jeans
we’re all wet in our dreams
a puddle or stream

one day i fantasize
all women will fat shame me
one day i fantasize
all women will objectify me

we’re all coming apart
at the seams
recovering youth
lost in our teens

i can’t get off
without America Online
i can’t get off
without the NSA

i can’t get off
without thinking of you
i can’t get off
without falling in love

i can’t get off
without falling in love
i can’t get off
without falling in love

c b snoad
9-17-16

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Desire: A Poem

LADY FRIEND

she finds me guilty
beyond belief
attachment issues
far from lacking

says she loves herself
more than I care for me
a pointed remark
at the heart of the matter

offers quite a spread
primed for action
suggestive poses
figuratively speaking

feeds me finger foods
and bottomless spirits
delusions of grandeur
loaded with ecstasy

I make her fire
a primal gesture
celestial bodies
rapt in moonlight

c b snoad
7-17-12

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Better Than The Real Thing?

Movies show aspects of real life to us in artificial forms. We see a couple falling in love on the big screen, for example, and it reminds us of meeting someone with whom we once had—or maybe still have—a deep connection. In a very powerful way, movies reflect slices of personal experiences we’ve accumulated for years.

Once we get used to the interpretative process of movie-watching, though, we begin noticing patterns and start making connections between multiple films. Suddenly how we viewed love as it was presented to us in “Good Will Hunting” gets compared to its depiction in “The Artist.”

Every film with a love angle sets us up for our next viewing wherein our concepts of love will be challenged or upheld. The act of seeing “The Artist,” originally a trigger of associations, becomes an association in itself, a story we recall in pieces while watching “The Descendants” a week later.

Some unfortunate folks take their entertainment seriously, pursuing romantic relationships based on movie characters and plots, further blurring the line between fantasy and reality.

The complexity of this mostly unconscious phenomenon leads to larger philosophical questions. Were our earliest ideas regarding love purely ours? Was there ever a point during which our thoughts about love appeared to us in non-mediated forms?

As the credits roll, we’re left dumbfounded, sitting in silence. What is love, after all, in a world where it can be simulated, staged and sold for ten bucks a ticket?

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