EVEN 1.1 (Endwriter)
What is an early-stage cloud novel? It is a work that is being revised, sometimes extensively and sometimes not at all. Click around the links below for permutations of several cloud novels — and witness the process of becoming.
For the musical side check fabric — Summon These Days
Est looked beyond his driftwood desk and out the window, where a grove of redwoods stood tall and unswaying, holding conference just out of listening distance of a sprawling live oak. The tree trunks were ghostly, half shrouded in spectral fog as the coastal Pacific air seeped in. The dampness was everywhere––he walked over to the kitchen and cut two pita rounds in half, heating a large pan and frying onions and tomatoes around in between the toasting pita. He thin sliced avocado to place inside and dragged up a suitable hot sauce, also readying a loime wedge. Procrastination was his middle name.
No time was really wasted he thought, as long as mindfulness was at the fore. Being an endwriter was more than simply to reflect. It meant looking inward and coming up with a formulation that differed each time from the last, staying one step ahead of the algorithm.
Variation in seeming monotony. Finding meaning within the actual process of creation, rather than the device-tied dissemination of discreet packages of information designed to elicit views, likes, and interactions. Hiding intent by for the moment by not using transcription and recognition-coded doand Siri, designed to pick out his signature combination of highly cultivated English and
Letting the system corpus do what it did best… through various microbial interactions create unpredictability in thought, movement, and brain chemisty. Staying several steps ahead of the code, always.
His definition of knowledge infill had expanded to the point where his deepest emotions, his every pulse, was measured and mapped. Bots, in all their guises, were not invited to this party––though they would be necessary to train and deploy at the moment of surgical incison. In a sense they were prerequisite to any entry into the party of devices and hackable code.
It had taken years to come to terms with the uncaring, uncompensated nature of creative work in the early Internet era. He had written many times over, with more style and panache, what bestselling authors seemed to churn out mindlessly. One day it had hit him that the game was rigged, everyone was vying for the same hundred or so slots. Or not. If you did not place priority on money, they could not get to you as you amassed an important body of work. You could decide where the transactional juju went, rather than publisher or Amazon.
The sleek, hipster-esque skins allowed anything to be published at any time, did not pay, and therefore did not own the content. Provided you did not sample, loop, cut and paste––were the full owner of what came out––you had timestamped, verified, access to and ownership over the words. Within a ledgered crypto world this meant that levers could be embedded at seemingly random times to enact cascading events that went between the sinews of algorithms and to the heart of machine logic. In other words, dissemination of ideas and substructures could be staggered for maximum effect.
At some time this could be placed on whatever skin compensated, in a way that would have a tipping effect. His aim had at first been monetary — he wanted enough for a house on a semi-secluded beach with hammock between two old-enough trees.
From there the concept had evolved that no man is an endwriter. There should be self-selected endwriters everywhere, watching, seeing and fan-ficting. From the perspective of what he was constructed, one view by an active thinker, an active participant was worth more than a million passive views. Exciting the type of commitment necessary to make reality-shifting change that went beyond parking lots on Mars.
Who were those who said original content was dead?* Those who had never struggled with words for months and years, creating coherent meaning that accurately reflected a take on reality at once specific and universal.
Happier, fitter, more productive.
Those who had never dreamt new visions, who filled ears with autotuned drones and beat packages that harmonized sound within what was already accepted, known, watered down. Who filled senses, orifices, with invasion from all directions. If only people could unsee, forget, how inane was that which attracts.
Without the click track in place, the bait, the system did not pick up the pulse. ‘Recommend’ did not engage. And yet, despite lack of curation, everything was ledgered, lined up like dominoes. Hyperlinks and messages, missives and auto-genuflects that could be activated, feeds set in motion to reached select eyeballs and the scripts.
This was machine learning at its finest. A gamed system that could be gamed, for the betterment of humanity. Those who devalued the creative process also enabled breakthrough by leaving the throne empty. Assigning value only to sheer mass of dissemination––the opposite of what was needed in the long term for survival.
That was the theory Steve had developed with A — — . That was the theory he had developed with A — — . Her very name a harbinger of feast and famine. Repeated like a mantra, every day and night. He was in love.
Who were they influencing exactly? Entire VC- and state-funded systems predicated on an algorithmic reward mechanism that was inclusive only of the necessity of draining wallets. Their strategy a short term holding of the breach against tectonic forces.
Writing was not dead, it was freed. The cloud allowed maximum impact across medium, with no compensation involved, except the knowledge that the origination point was never lost.
If the idea went not viral — became part of the fabric that drove actual human interaction, scientific endeavor, communication, and commerce — the origin point could ultimately be uncovered.
With uncovering came compensation in ways that were tied to the opposite of voracious, ever-greater personal consumption The challenge, as David saw it, involved taming this mutating tumor that took its most recognizable form in the feed. Purpose defined from the top down in ways that did not personally enrich, sat comfortably within a system designed for sustaining life on earth and increasing gross national happiness.
Data packets designed to be discovered through blockchain signatures long after the original impetus had been lost under the torrential weight of infomation flow. Compensation not in money, but in hash, the unique tags that in combination created stacks of meaning continuously verified through DLT.**
If you could never be found, you would never be afraid to describe reality as you saw it. Free from a sense of someone always breathing down his neck, David slipped into grooves of his own making and altered reality in his own time. The binary technicians who coded systems always one step behind the creative mind.
So many reasons, starting with mere happenstance of microbiome and chemical reaction. No matter how predictable one’s behavior might be, it was mere skin on a ceremony that was constantly underrehearsed. Masking a flow of volatile reactions that could generate mutation, breakdown, evolution.
How could any computational system, no matter how vast, keep up with the mind, when it fed off the bacterial, yeast, viral, and metabolite, triggered by hair thin pulses sent along connecting blood-lubed wires, spokes, and hubs. You could replicate this neuro-physical structure on a silicon substrate, you could even send limited pulses and chemical interactions along set channels to replicate virtually any aspect of what had been heard or seen. But you could never sense it all in real time. The algorithm that filled in three dimensions was always, by necessity, masking gaping holes.
Fabric — SERIES on MEDIUM
Clicking on the indexed links below gets you to 1) the first entry in the series, which includes a 2) series-specific contents list, like the one for WILOTI below. Think of these links as a blog contents page that allows the entire ecosystem of Damon Arvid writing to be searched in seconds. A workaround necessary on a platform designed for feed, rather than author-specific searches.
All my content is real writing, of a level that was repped to the big publishers, who passed, because, well… Robert Johnson, Jack Kerouac, Jimi Hendrix, Vincent Van Gogh, Edgar Allen Poe and so many unsung who never got the official nod and made often better art as a result.
- Arisugawa Park (late-stage cloud novel)
- fabric — concept + platform + system
- What I Learned on the Internet (WILOTI)
- Great Pacific Garbage Patch ( film)
- EVEN (cloud novel)
- Cowachunga (early-stage cloud novel)
- The Bearded Man and the Muse (ditto)
- Medium and the Missing….
- Music (aMuse)
*They say, real music is dead.
**Distributed ledger technologies.
Copyright © Damon Arvid 2018
With an equal focus on the visual, auditory, and written, Damon Arvid is an artist who has shared bits and pieces of the total vision on various skins and mediums. This is the current public skin, along with the Youtube playlist Fabric — Summon These Days.
STOP clicking. Relax. Listen very closely, something is being said. Organic, loosely tied to the future, based on a coherent ecosystem of sound + content.
A toast… for the fabric music that melds musicians learning and composing on the spot with painstaking arrangements of sounds that are… original, not copyied or altered beats, rhythms, and chords.
A toast… for doodles that uncover new tomorrows and only afterward self-evident truths.
A toast… for the cloud novel ecosystem that manifests in several works that lead to life on Mars.
Endurancewriter blog defunct and discontinued. My apologies. 20,000 views a month and no payoff, no human anything. Rap-a-tap… but Arisugawa Park, Cowachunga, et al. continue.
Medium is simply a ledgered host for the material, a month’s earnings were .02 cents — ultimately this material will be exported to a platform that values original content in a curated and rationally compensated way. IP is getting there, because…
All for one and one for… fabric.