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July 13, 2005
Pixel Fire II
"Every new technology disrupts previous rhythms of consciousness."
Joseph Nechvatal
Shortly before I moved to Cambridge, I found myself at some party, scowling at the others in the room with my judgmental, ugly eyes. They were engaged in the kinds of repulsive acts that made me cringe with horror—the way someone meticulously ate her fruit and cheese, the way another slurped his beer, the way still another laughed or touched me knowingly on the arm, without knowing. So I sped away and found myself driving onto PCH toward the Malibu cliffs, past the old Getty museum, past the band playing at Moonshadows with people spilling out the windows and past Neptune’s Net, the bar filled with hundreds of bikers who park their Harleys out front in careful disarray. I sped around the farmlands of Oxnard and Ventura and Huehuehe Naval Port where authentic military planes are displayed on poles like plastic model airplanes, beyond the truck stops and the thrift shops and the tractor repair stores, and when I suddenly reached a secluded lake within a deciduous forest of Ojai, I stopped, and decided to camp for the night.
Once the sun had gone down and I was snug with a sleeping bag near my respectable fire, I sat and stared at its dancing, crackling fingers.
The velveteen trees rose high into the black-tarped sky, and I tried to count the stars. Only the crickets and the popping fire could be heard. But the fire was forever shooting off tiny sparkle-bombs into the stars, so I made-believe that every one in a million sparkles survived through the atmosphere and eventually reached a star, joining its gigantic circus mass of light.
Fire. I stared at the fire all night. It reminded me of Nechtaval’s virus, virtual and biological, changing and adapting until it is defeated or divided into rebirth. I imagined the red, blue, and green numeric codes for each pixel as the actual fire changed colors with each movement, zealously, desperately searching for the algorithmic key that would lead to a new eight-string sequence and thus generate life. Odd, most would use virtual fire to imitate the actual, instead, I create the physical fire and imagine the virtual.
Late into the night, only soft red embers remained of the fire. I closed my eyes and fell asleep among the protective blanket of deciduous trees by the cool, crystalline lake, and dreamed of becoming a fire-star.
Posted by Jennifer at July 13, 2005 02:47 PM
Comments
this is such a beautifully written entry. your english lit background definitely shines through here! or maybe you're just a naturally eloquent writer. in any event, i could almost feel the fire and the night air - a fun read. :)
Posted by: Aayesha at July 21, 2005 07:59 PM