The Secret Singularity – The Price of Admission

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The measure of the fan is sincerity. Sincerity has many means of measure. Time spent or insight into a chosen area or artist are certainly ways to show devotion. These however are surpassed in the early 21st century by objects. How many box sets and collectors editions, how many restored texts or retrospectives do you own? Do you have a special shrine set up in a den or rec room to the item of adoration? Do you drink from a decorative glass in a commemorative t-shirt? If not, your devotion is suspect: the sign of the dilettante is a severe shortage of merchandise and a distinct lack of uniform. To live to the full extent of the definition, to earn the rest of the word fanatic, it is necessary to have the complete works. No gaps, every instance or appearance, all the best of compilations, every figurine, and shot glass. Websites and mailing lists are maintained to make sure that when you are away from this ever growing stack of memorabilia items, it is never far from your thoughts. Besides lines of information must be maintained to keep aware of new releases.

Now it is not that bad all the time, of course. We can connect with other lovers of the things we love at conventions and through correspondence. We can use mutual adoration to locate people like ourselves, holders of shared interests and values. There is certainly a joy of meeting those who are in the know. To adore a book or movie with family and/or friends is an incredible bond. It sets our lives in sync, it gives context.

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It is in these deep roots that works of art, popular or obscure, where the insecurity sets in. No matter what or who you love, there is a sense of exposure in the identification. Easing up on the defenses, admitting to the emotional connection, often makes us aware of how out there on a limb these affinities make us. And with that new merchandise we are required to accept, that certificate of authenticity has been re-issued. It becomes less a matter of are we still in on that unique reality principle than it is about price. The more investment the more justification is required. Don’t believe me? Just ask anyone who has ever snuck another graphic novel or box set into their own house to avoid questions from a loved one who doesn’t have the “bug”.

In the collection itself is the confusion. The Marketplace consistently tries to pander the discernment of the fan, that at the heart of it, the fan is the archivist. That it is in the progression of works, in the creative choices made and discarded, that the superfan truly knows the totality of love. And what a miserable love that is. To accept this point of view is to be forever isolated, forever casting yourself onto even more distant islands of exclusion. Yet many of us have done it in the past. As children, we knew a select group of people as clueless based on entertainment choices. Not that this game of brinksmanship ceases with age. In this media saturated world it is known as buzz, a tension based in anticipation of the current new. The way that anticipation plays out is the basis for many a personal story. I’ve seen cassettes half listened thrown from moving cars as a final review. It’s not always a negative thing for the fan either. Often the success of genre franchises is based on delivery of the expected to the audience. I have seen serial fiction scooped off the shelf by the armload without even looking to see who wrote it. In our entertainments, it is often about approximation of the tingling nerve or emotional rush of that first flight of fancy. To pay again and again for that is a price of admission. We are willing to make that purchase as long as we feel treasured and not taken advantage of by market forces. To consider this ‘plight” a burden is to live in a rarified state, a private amusement park where all the rides are always closed for repairs.

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As I stated earlier there are other ways to show devotion to these articles of imagination. When these means are embraced fully, a less stressful means of appreciation is possible. I have to constantly remind myself that the engineered culture clashes of the entertainment complex are more about them than they are about me. Enjoying the abundance is about engaging the extremes of head and heart not just adding to the pile. Without having others to enjoy the works of wild dreamers and talented craftsmen, what is the value of our collections? To share these special things that we have uncovered is to give of ourselves, to issue guest passes to our most prized dreams. To do otherwise is to mistake wealth for riches, to see pricelessness as cheapness. As a hobby shop owner from my childhood used to say, it’s collector’s market and things are only worth what a collector is willing to pay.

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The Secret Singularity – Confusion or Delusion

The other day I was deflated by the fact that someone had already gone to the trouble to break imagination down into several types. As someone who has always lead a life engaged with my own bit of surreal estate, I often become so enamored with a concept or conceit that I don’t realize it is a museum piece. This often becomes the end of the fascination. That the latest was an ideas about imagination has given it some resistance to the cruel way dreams are some times treated.

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I am not claiming to be the creator of anything new. I am not make large efforts to connect it to the rubric of ideas we all live under. This is not about claiming great ancestors but rather seeing how the imagination operates in the wilds of the mind. It could be said that it is this ability of the imaginative mind to pull ideas and connections from the ether which has lead to the death of the fact. In current conditions in my part of the world, fiction has only just begun to breed lethal strains again. A whole complex of ideas has shielded the majority of two generations from the extreme consequences of associative thinking. Dream thinking has teeth: just asking anyone suffering from addiction or mental illness about the connective power of the mind.

Now playing my own devil’s advocate, I need to note that the foundational ideas which create defense from harmful delusional strains of thought began as guesses. At some point, a dreamer took a step off a cliff and kept walking. How long it takes for a value to emerge is an intriguing side road, it is not the idea that has brought these words together before us today. I wanted to talk about the species of imaginary things not the environment so much. This act of recognition has to be addressed. 

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When considering Imagination, we often forget to consider whether we mean upper case or lower case. The Capital I version is all about boundless extravagance, the garish parade floats of the daydream. This is the imagination of eye candy, an amoral sprawl with ego at the center.  This is the place where desires are slacked without consequence. Many people love it for this reason, though they don’t recognize it. There is something more obscure than that rapport, the lower case imagination.

To know lower case imagination is to know it by another name: intuition. This is an associative leap made through memory connections. Building an understanding of the future by seeing the past in the present is alchemical: it happens in a mental space where structure is a mirror of social processes. We know how someone will act or a situation will play out based on a comparison to our ghosts. Whether or not this is positive or negative experience is outside of the fact that intuition and imagination are entwined. 

It is bothersome to do all the discerning required in life. Is it imagination or intuition? Is it beneficial or malignant? Often they are entwined. Though It is not a polar condition, we often ask ourselves the question is it love or confusion: it is a dangerous proposition in a world that can turn harmful with little provocation. It is not one person trying to determine meaning but a mesh of interpersonal groups looking to express a collective dream in the well lit waking world.

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2013 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 940 times in 2013. If it were a cable car, it would take about 16 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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Plans That I Make

So yeah here I am again. A quick note – I’m going to try to do something different things here next month. I am going to try to add a new page here to air out some of my thoughts on gaming and games. Thinking up a unique way to do this which won’t take up a lot of time and hopefully lead to something more than reviews – Like the internet does not have enough of those!

This does mean the front page will continue to be a slow trickle of other stuff. I have a few more Secret Singularity posts in the pipeline, thanks to the tablet, but there is some desire to due some other stuff as well. I want to keep it both loose AND fun. And part of the fun is to keep it going and not fall off completely. In other words, watch this space!

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The Secret Singularity – On The Verge

Often when I want to write about some pop culture/art object that I enjoy, I find it difficult to separate the experience from the thing. While I think it is a fool’s errand to try, I find myself trying to do it again. The deepness of the connection to certain items is hard to ignore. We all want for our favorite things to also be culturally vital

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The truth of the matter is a vast majority of things are actually only significant to a subset of people. The first impulse when confronted with the “totem” of another “tribe” seems to be one of dismissal if not recognition. Personally harboring so many interests, I have to set some aside to pick them up later. The advantage in being obsessive on one particular thing, like Star Wars for example , is that a majority of your ever-shrinking leisure time is consumed by that one thing, the only thing that really speaks to you. I want to say that I envy that person’s dedication but I’ll be honest. Without variety, I don’t think I could be excited in anything. Contrast invigorates me.

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The personal affirmation element found in pop culture/art objects is severely underestimated. Most people are drawn to items which overtly express their personal values. The confusion between an actor and a role or author and a character are good examples of this association. It seems to be that no matter how much we are told that media does not drive behavior, we look to the book and record collections of famous and infamous people to be indicators of identity. Personality is ephemeral yet objects are not is a hard thing to parse. To be truthful this common confusion is discomforting to me. I think while our choices in entertainment or art do say things about us, we are the final arbiters. We are more that what we own and less than what we dream.

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Though it is only in our actions that we exist in this world, the way that our imagination threads through our daily lives is striking. Often it is the one thing which keeps alive if not always safe or successful. There is a resonance in our choices, the ways we wile our time and the characters we chose to fixate upon does indicate something. I am just not sure that a majority of people are very good at valuation.

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January Blog Note

Second Post of 2014. No excuses – I am simply awash in periodic distraction and depression. We should all be used to it by now.

A few words on The Secret Singularity. I am not sure how many of them there will be but it is the start of something new. I’ve been thinking about an essay about imagination, facts and reality and Buried Image is what came out. I want it to be loose and associative but not too obscure. I see it as part biography of influences and conversation starter. I am not an authority on anything. I have thoughts. I am not talking completely out of my hat, either. Don’t be shy, let’s talk some ideas.

I having a bit of a creative crisis these days. With the consumer market of creative arts bloated like a tick, I am considering the why bother of it all. I feel like a lot of baseline stuff has shifted. If I was simply writing for me, what would that look like? I am not sure what that would look like let alone if it would be a good thing. The audience confusion of the blog seems to have infected the rest of my writing. So much so that retreated back from attempts at fiction. It is as much about a cynicism about narrative as it is the search for markets. I got no luck with markets. As usual, posthumous discovery seems like the best thing to go for in these over-saturated days.

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The Secret Singularity – Buried Image

Facts 360 B.C. -A.D.2012 is a personal time marker for me. It is a reminder of when things really started to change in the world. Perhaps only when I noticed it but thankfully I do not have to believe in that difference. It felt that way so hence it is truth.

Truth , be it upper case or lower, is considered a transitive property these days. I would be remiss to say that I have been known to make this mistake, to believe the light of my ego is the only illumination. Through the dim powers of recollection, I connect this idea of transitive reality to R.D. Laing‘s The Politics of Experience. Forgive me if my recollection is blurred. I read this in high school so I make no claim of authority. Besides in a bit about the rubber-ization of reality, too much research is besides the point. Laing’s postulation of how the interior world of the schizophrenic as having an internal consistency is probably my first contact with surrealism.

The idea of dreams being the computer code of the brain makes this claim very hard to substantiate. I have memories of watching a bewildering documentary of Dali that was created by the man himself throws this idea of initial contact into question. And further more does it matter?

In the 21st century, Psychology is deemed psychic pest control, a means to root out buried evils, only inches away from fortune telling, which oddly has a better rep. To my thinking, the greatest value of this science is proof of the interior thought, the buried image. Instead of careful regard, this psycho-geography is feared and ridiculed. Somehow if we do not look in its direction, we will be protected.

Ignoring something has a limited usefulness. When thinking of surrealism, or its ancestor dadaism, focus is not the first thing that comes to mind. It is about the panic of the traffic jam or detention in a foreign country, where none of the words sound like your language yet decide your fate. Movement through this interior space is about understanding the shape of the imagination. Without understanding, facts and imagination become one and the same, an expression of control, a road to ruin.

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