UnVirtual Reality

[originally published in Like Like Issue 3]

“There is a chase where a falcon dives into the forest and doesn’t come back up. And every moment, the sunlight is totally empty and totally full.” — Rumi (from Omar & The Old Poet)

It’s ‘hard’ living in 2022, suffering through #firstworldproblems as the meme elders used to say. The pioneers of internet culture roped us into a lazy meat sac with a Minimal Viable Brain — they have de-evolved, stripped away of unnecessary human functions.

Now with a highly mobilized society, I won’t have to worry about sticky floors from week-old popcorn and soda binges when this headset finally embraces my noggin. The new version of the Oculus Rift after it had been bought by Apple’s old competitor, a smarmy-sounding technology and entertainment company called Citrus. Why oh why a well-established, innovation powerhouse demeans its competitors by subverting their own intentions through forward-thinking branding? It’s ironically run by an extremely liberal Iranian-American, Leila Artabānu [1], a former electrical and software engineer rockstar, whose values sixty-three percent of the non-conservative American voting demographic can mostly agree with.

Although, the one issue her constituents might have a prissy fuss about is the belief that our world views are based on a fake reality. That ol’ basterd Matrix theory, a.k.a. Philip K. Dick’s mental cum fiesta after writing ‘Man In The High Castle’, or French philosopher Jean Baudrillard’s masturbatorical examination of society’s symbols and signs pointing to a simulated reality. Let me introduce to you, our occult-ish friend here. A strange bedfellow to good ol’ Jack Parsons. The ‘J’ and ‘P’ of NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab. Yep, good ol’ Jack loved the mysterious, spiritual-side of things. Witchcraft, even.

But not quite with Lei.

She is an overachieving student of the sciences and reason after all. Lei has her own logical take on these perceptions that are twisted — convoluted into a giant peanut-butter and jelly reality black hole sandwich. Lei’s new product hints at mysterious features deep in the virtual reality experience to tap into these curiosities.

Or so she claims.

It scares me that I don’t know what these experiences are. Staring at a black hole sandwich? Order me from Column A, but first I’ll let you take a bite before I get to wander and fear what lies beyond the so-called singularity. I am certain my soul would not get sucked through a fancy television made from swimming goggles. Lei is not a deviant. In fact, the philosophy of her whole company is to expand human functionality through community-building. There is no devil beyond the smoke. At least, we hope not.

But why the hype? We have been used to consuming content through VR headsets for the past decade. After a weak stint in 1990s Mattel-quality VR products, they’ve evolved better to house movies, video-games, and other three-dimensional art to have well-exceeded our expectations for “real” reality. Reality could not present itself any more further or as vividly as it seems. We are satisfied now, as the professional consumers we were trained to be since, well, childhood. They used to call us Millennials. They thought we would be distracted entitled adults that would never turn into full-fledge humans. That generation produced people like Leila, nurtured a genius mind, while being socially responsible, and compassionate. People like her also produced humanistically-centered movies. We were tired of the brain-dead blockbusters of yore. Documentaries became prevalent at the water cooler more than the 20 Kids & Counting would ever produce. VR systems in those early days sort of accelerated those empathetic values. I remember the first time putting on an Oculus Rift 1.0: I was watching the New York Millions March protest as if through the eyes of an activist. I have never felt more moved about the virtual energy that was placed in this experience. The characters looked at “me” with a connection so strong, locking eyes would never feel so strange. The surreal waterfall of the feels creates an electric charge upon first contact. The deception although, could not be revealed because the gut feeling was stronger than our conscious would shout,

“WAKE UP, ASSHOLE.”

But I — I did not want to wake. I lived in the moment. Virtual or not. My body was deceived in not knowing what was real. And that was fine, because like all virtual relationships — we can be connected, while being disconnected. To be in the moment, while also out.

Based on those early experiences is why the succeeding versions of the Oculus Rift have been banned in U.S. soil, thanks to a few Libertarian activists. Those jerks constructed a false narrative that, ‘V.R. devices were government propaganda tools to brainwash the public,’ at the time when we were just about to eliminate guns in our nearly war-less society. History still proves that the few bad apples definitely ruins it for the rest of us. Luckily, talented folks like Leila, found loopholes in those policies to re-insert these machines back into our lives. And during the two-year banning period, Lei claims her team had achieved a breakthrough. As she personally delivered the product into my hands, she unnecessarily whispered into my ear as non-ironic drama:

“Your mind — yes, your mind. You can make movies with it.”

I chuckle because I pretend to comprehend. Making movies with our minds? Please. So I hit back, “C’mon Lei, I won’t fall for this over-inflated marketing jargon. You can talk to me like a real person. I’m your friend.”

I look down at my feet in hesitance to her response because I feel like I’ve stumbled upon something I wasn’t prepared to counter.

“So…what does it really do?”

Leila stood in silence for a few minutes. She begins to charade with her arms and draws on her whiteboard to visually explain this monumental reveal. And soon, the ‘fool’ was looking at the bigger fool. The bigger fool was looking at himself, whispering and slapping faces introspectively. As a tech-entertainment journalist for almost ten years, I thought I’ve heard and seen everything. I was responsible for launching the first wave of VR products into the mainstream, especially CITRUS’s. Leila thanks me for it, and this is her way of thanking me now: an exclusive review of the first prototype since the ban was lifted. Her company also knows my stance on the evolution of these things, as I quote myself from an article I wrote years ago, “that without proper development, it could turn us into machines.” I wrote that in jest, but it’s still a classic idea in the conspiracy-theory world. And because of that sentiment, she also unnecessarily whispered again into my right ear:

“Don’t be cynical alright? THIS—this will make us MORE human than we can ever try to be.”

Wait, what? What does that even mean? Haven’t we seen enough sci-fi flicks to teach us that simple concept? And so you know, we have sci-fi reality shows now. And you thought reality shows were going to be extinct. So yes — they still exist. As long as there’s a low common denominator of humans, reality shows will still prevail. Because capitalism. So that in effect evolved science-based hyper-drama into real, semi-scripted narratives that are sometimes about worm holes, and people having #FirstWorldProblems about worm holes. UGH. It feels good to be entitled!

Despite stupidity, we are not dealing with sentient beings over-taking our thoughts. These are just simple, electronic devices designed to give us simple, escapist pleasures. But maybe that perception is outdated. Maybe it’s a pixelated two-way street of information. Instead of our minds escaping into a box, the box escapes into us — then spills out all over the street.

Standing in Leila’s plush, modern living room, surrounded by well designed furniture nestled deep in the hills of Palos Verdes, I put the headset on. With one blink I soon found myself standing on the street. The ground immediately feeling familiar, and all my anxieties fade away standing in the middle of a shadowy Los Angeles alley. Wait. Distorted statement alert! L.A. has alleys? As I step out, the vision of this old megalopolis has become the old New York — aesthetically at least, minus the attitude. All the skyscrapers on every block stretching from Fullerton to Downtown L.A. and down to Redondo Beach even houses giant rats the Big Apple was known for.

This. This was my dream. No, not the giant rats. But this, is literally my dream. It’s being manifested the millisecond my thoughts become conscious, deep from the trunk of my subconscious.

And as I focus on my hearing by closing my virtual eyes, there was a self-generated soundtrack that enhanced this experience — almost sabotaging my mind when it lost awareness and became engulfed in the flow. It sounded like all the music I ever heard in my life jammed in one giant, horrific symphony. That signified I was in the thrall of this experience.

As each step became a new keyframe, with store fronts I used to frequently visit, changing before my own eyes, as the idea of hyper-realistic sci-fi scenes that seem to merge as an auto-biographical documentary. I see a view-point through my own supposed eyes, but quick cuts through the timeline interface enable me to see through other people’s perspectives. It is literally through their eyes as I examine the host body I am in. Despite my natural ability to be self-aware, it was destroyed in the confusion. My reality was the black-hole sandwich I feared earlier.

How is this machine calculating all of a person’s thoughts? Modern neurological feedback systems are still not state-of-the-art. The best technology available only reads brain waves that indicate, ’need to piss’ — or something as mundane that communicating by grunts can be just as effective. When did movie-watching become movie-making? All the physical feelings when I became aware immediately after putting the headset on, melted in with the experience. I was feeling everything what I saw, a consistent stimulation of the nerves for all my senses — the ultimate simulation for synesthesia. But is it really a fake/not-fake representation now that the body is responding back to perceived stimuli? Please refrain from pulling out my jack, evil Morpheus, because I won’t actually die. Although in a way, there IS a death involved. “I DIE,” as my parents used to say in their youth when they were wowed by internet cat photos that unfortunately, do not exist any longer. (Cats became extinct due to human-born diseases which were not terminal to humans, but exceedingly dangerous for their pets. Some sciences became blind in one aspect that certain diseases were omitted due to their laughable nature, but shown up as mysterious illnesses in cats all over the world decades later. Such a tragic misstep.)

In this case of reality-ness, now the old slang, “I DIE”, is me literally dying.

The playful act of obliviously consuming entertainment through this machine has taken a certain life force out of my system. It forces me into a panic. I hyperventilate in a way that causes me to jerk my head that turns into a whip-pan. (Whip-pans are those transitional cuts between scenes popularized by some filmmakers like Edgar Wright, and before him, Quentin Tarantino.) So in that next scene, I realize laying down on my death-bed with my family surrounding me, and Leila over-looking my shrunken body with a face of guilt so obvious and genuine, she does not see the satisfaction I’ve gained, which she mistakes for resentment that was eating her up. She acknowledges the negative capabilities of developing this kind of technology.

I look away in introspection which accidentally turns into a whip-pan of a scene behind a set of white bars. I attempt to grab them as I gain my composure, still bewildered at the thought of me dying, yet here I am feeling re-freshed, NOT dying. So my hands — they are not my hands. They are the hands of a toddler — smooth, fatty, and pale as shit but acts swiftly with the mind of an adult. I see my mom down the hall refilling glass bowls with potpourri leaves as I used to remember. That smell stayed persistent throughout the years, and I smell it now — vividly so. My olfactory senses put me in a slight trance, and it makes me question the visuals presented to me. The chemical imbalance in my brain suggests that I am in a mental prison. Though I know the reality visualized here is fake, it has an emotional weight that my deepest memory only has. It feels so, so familiar.

All my senses are locked up and twisted with confusion as if I’m starring in my own version of Quantum Leap. Instead of leaping into different characters, I am leaping through all my memories, and re-living them in a non-linear fashion. How does it know to borrow all the characters in my past life and re-creating them in ways I’ve been scared to enact? This is not a virtual reality device for movies. This is a remote viewer. But make no mistake. The experience is not casual. To adapt Francois Truffaut’s sentiment on film-making: it is a holy moment caught on digital celluloid. If you even call this celluloid. This is a genie for your stream-of-consciousness. That puts the fear in me. I’m scared to even think of my nastiest thoughts, as once it is manifested, it could haunt me, possibly for a long, long time. But on the positive tip, what if I manifested the what-if moments of every ex-girlfriend I ever had? All the decisions I could’ve acted on when it wasn’t too late? Oh no. Too late, it’s starting…

Clouds formed from fog, roll in and out and a bright flicker strikes like lightning obstructs my view:

*Puh-kshhhh*

My vision goes black and all sounds return to silence except for the 30-foot curtains made of heavy cloth, waving in strong wind as Lei opens the giant glass doors (wirelessly, with a flick of a wrist), to an ocean seascape.

“Wait. What happened? No. No! NOOOO! Lei?! LEI??! Put it back on! I beg of you, please!” as I whimper, and gasping like a baby that’s lost his plastic sucker. But as I sigh in deep truth, I am only that: a sucker.

I lift my head and visor up in sadness, while she casually laments, “maybe this is too powerful. Are people ready to contain their own thoughts?” She ponders outwards to the sea in rhetorical glory.

“I’m scared of spaces like WeTube [2], being flooded with constant porn. Every technological and entertainment phenomenon that has dealt with moving images always flourished — indirectly due to porn. The VCR. The Internet. DIRECTV’s On-Demand [3]. Make no mistake, I have nothing against porn. I actually like it. But that’s beside the point. We humans have no absolute control on our memories that are tied to our feelings. And feelings are fleeting. So what if Republicans constantly making fear-mongering propaganda? Yet I’m still perplexed that they still exist! But even if they are the minority, it only takes one powerful piece of art to rekindle bad energy. On the other hand, if the GOP demographic couldn’t control their pedophiliac intentions through this device, they could and might, just incriminate their own selves.”

I sigh with a slight chuckle in agreement.

“But make no mistake, there still needs a filtering process. Maybe we need to be educated in thought manifestations. That seems like a huge problem within itself.”

Lei wraps up the Rift 10.0 and walks away mumbling to herself down the glass-lined hall, “mmmgrrrr………stupid, stupid, stupid…” And quickly, I am left with nothing, as it was two hours ago. Although my chance to create an alternate reality is not truly gone, I am left with the choices I have created for myself — for the future — for memories I won’t regret. And to me, that is all the empowerment I really need. No batteries included.

—

Written by Charles DeBike for Like Like Zine issue #3
Illustrations by Carlo Llacar

footnotes

1 Artabānu is an ancient Persian name for Truth, of Light. It is indirectly referencing Leila’s product as a truth-teller made of light.

2 WeTube is a highly evolved version of YouTube.

3 As of 2015, and this is true by the way, DIRECTV had reported huge sales of On-Demand porn, surpassing the total profits of live sports, movie rentals, and service fees altogether.