On WeCheHei
I recently read a book about quantum physics and superstring theory. Great book—easy to understand, neat pictures, and two whole chapters on black holes. I love black holes. The idea of this super powerful force at the center of our universe that serves as both the beginning and end of existence, and we can't even see it. You couldn't ask for a better metaphor.
So the book was great, but now I keep having this recurring dream. I'm out in space, just floating along in a t-shirt and jeans, when I get the feeling that I'm slipping. I look around and discover that I'm moving rather quickly toward a huge dark circle. I realize, of course, that it's a black hole, so I start swimming away from it (crawl stroke, I think). At this point I'm obviously a bit panicked, but then all of a sudden I see a woman in a boat not ten feet from the tips of my fingers (this metaphor has layers). I yell to her and flail my arms, but it's no use, she doesn't even acknowledge I'm there. The problem, I realize, is that she's just outside the event horizon, which means, to my horror, that I've already crossed over.
This is about where I wake up. And by the time I calm myself and assure the dog that everything is alright, I've forgotten if the woman in the boat was Andrea Rosen or Amy Sacco. And, of course, which one was the black hole?
Ok, so it's not really a recurring dream; more of a narrative strategy. Which is probably better since Freud is only good for literary analysis anyway. But I think you get the picture.
I like this idea of the cultural event horizon. Because it's not as if things don't "happen" after crossing the event horizon—they do. They just can't interact with things on the outside (or, probably, with each other). I should note, I guess, that we've discovered radiation leaking from black holes. So I suppose on some level everything's escapable. Though I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. But the point is that no matter what goes on inside the event Horizon—unicorn wars, time travel, black American Express cards—it has absolutely no bearing on you or me. We can speculate and calculate the probability of physical laws remaining in tact as we approach singularity. But at the end of the day the world inside the event horizon might as well be a fairy tale. And for this reason the
distinction between "real" and "theoretical" collapses, because from outside looking in the two are one and the same.
Maybe later we'll talk about art. About the similarities between opening a gallery and opening a club. About exchange value and the commodity of cool; the club-as-event; the red rope. The horrors of usefulness. But for now let's start with the event horizon. I'm pretty sure Wechehi did.
So the book was great, but now I keep having this recurring dream. I'm out in space, just floating along in a t-shirt and jeans, when I get the feeling that I'm slipping. I look around and discover that I'm moving rather quickly toward a huge dark circle. I realize, of course, that it's a black hole, so I start swimming away from it (crawl stroke, I think). At this point I'm obviously a bit panicked, but then all of a sudden I see a woman in a boat not ten feet from the tips of my fingers (this metaphor has layers). I yell to her and flail my arms, but it's no use, she doesn't even acknowledge I'm there. The problem, I realize, is that she's just outside the event horizon, which means, to my horror, that I've already crossed over.
This is about where I wake up. And by the time I calm myself and assure the dog that everything is alright, I've forgotten if the woman in the boat was Andrea Rosen or Amy Sacco. And, of course, which one was the black hole?
Ok, so it's not really a recurring dream; more of a narrative strategy. Which is probably better since Freud is only good for literary analysis anyway. But I think you get the picture.
I like this idea of the cultural event horizon. Because it's not as if things don't "happen" after crossing the event horizon—they do. They just can't interact with things on the outside (or, probably, with each other). I should note, I guess, that we've discovered radiation leaking from black holes. So I suppose on some level everything's escapable. Though I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. But the point is that no matter what goes on inside the event Horizon—unicorn wars, time travel, black American Express cards—it has absolutely no bearing on you or me. We can speculate and calculate the probability of physical laws remaining in tact as we approach singularity. But at the end of the day the world inside the event horizon might as well be a fairy tale. And for this reason the
distinction between "real" and "theoretical" collapses, because from outside looking in the two are one and the same.
Maybe later we'll talk about art. About the similarities between opening a gallery and opening a club. About exchange value and the commodity of cool; the club-as-event; the red rope. The horrors of usefulness. But for now let's start with the event horizon. I'm pretty sure Wechehi did.
