It is a sad state of affairs, a “sign of the times,” that even our most intrepid augurs, divination rods, omens, oracles and forecasts were hushed. And so we offer, albeit with much reddening of our facial regions, a retrograde prophecy:  Amidst a dionysian videodrome populated by those attuned and within the Portland Metro Area of the local group, an unfettered unfurling of free-floating pixels.  Of beams brought on one’s own to inhabit in spectral pallor the parlor known as New American Art Union.

To humanoids fumbling for a suitable reference, the event-scene was whispered as something of a “photo booth.”  Emphasis, mine, then, on “john wilkes,” and the assassinations of character  inflicted in textbook vampler tradition—-sweet talking the vampling in waiting, then subjecting said vampling to the process of any old vampire’s scheme: vidsonic nutrients ripped out of context and left adrift—like derelict data bodies who then wander the walls of this and that establishment.

In ficto-quizzical quarters, vampladelia, or, vampling used to engender a psychedelic affect, is metaphorically speaking, a black box device, system or object which can be viewed solely in terms of its input, output and transfer characteristics without any knowledge of its internal workings.  Being liminal has also been– of late– the favored geo-political posture of interactors found lurking in the outer regions of mankind’s information ecosystems.

Call it interactive decay —-a process by which an unstable liminoid loses energy by emitting compromising articles. The emission is spontaneous, in that the decay is emergent even without collision with another article.  Post collision and collusion: The mental maw of many netizens is lockjawed: nibbling news where once there was gluttony, haphazardly patching up leaks with Pentagon Papers. Factoids protruding from these neutered networks much like parts of a corpse will protrude from an ill-made grave.

Or so it would seem from the flood of  info-projectiles and theory objects beaming into our atmosphere presently, encapsulated in the guise of off-world oracles. First impressions, first thousand impressions, click frauds, counter narratives and all!

A ruse, a ruse—all business as usual for the galaxies of networked beings for whom such mental transmission could be described as benevolent only to the extent that it is unconsconscious— a by-product of daydreaming.  With dreams come responsibility my friends, no one has time enough to stare blankly into ephemeral, if iridescent, data fields!  Trains of thought must contain information to be of value these days!

Data and sludge are always swirling around us, but those who have hacked their own sensory awareness, information addicts or other entities who, as self-inflicted auto-ectropians (optimistic if doomed), are coping with torrents of input unaided by even the most primordial of spam-filters!

Increasingly, retrograde remediation in the form of avian escorts, cybernetically enhanced flocks fitted with flashdrive strap-ons, dodge hertzian currents to assure swift arrival of information the old fashioned way.

Bring it down to Earth.

Although much data sludge will burn up in the noosphere, larger theory objects can reach the fleshy minds of mammals intact and present a risk.  Greater peril still:  material memories of failed utopias that come crashing as derelict space craft. Uncanny and alien, these calcified instantiations of visionary thought-forms are mistaken as alien implants.  A mis-perception coddled by  interdimensional entities –so called mental vampires—and possibly the obliterati. Stealth operatives who are crafting dialectical deposits–for example, placing advertisements for dental work, surgery and x-ray technology on a webpage with pictures of fallen space debris.  Vagaries of scale and proximity are commonplace in external memory palaces permeated with space-time transience and the pervasiveness of network realism, making these realms ripe for exploitation.