In search of the Miraculous
In Search of the Miraculous, a tiptoe thru' the tulips.
December'21. Flushed with success from freshly completed Blender Donut tutorial, my thoughts raced ahead to a world of Novel Financial Transactions and New Fangled Tulips. Prior to the whole Ponzi scheme/shit mountain mudslide that rendered the cryptoverse too toxic to shake a stick at, around the time the apes were getting bored with their yachts, I contemplated the conditions of these Newly Fashionable Trajectories. Measured the temperature of this Nebulously Fabricated Teleology. Never Fuck with Tulpas, I thought. Nouema, Fangs, Tentacles.
An observation. This Nicely Fashioned Tautology exhibits, amongst other characteristics, a tendency to Potlatch. Think of Banksy’s shredded auction stunt, Cronenberg’s quiet contemplation of his own dead body double and even, latterly, if you must, Hirst’s tedious funeral pyre. No Fabulous Tiaras. Destruction is sexy. Sacrifice. As a solution to the world’s ills let's burn vast quantities of incense on the slopes of Gangkhar Puensum. Now Forget Tomorrow.
All those crypto-miners working overtime to produce something less tangible than hot air. Slaves to the Attention Economy all. Proof of stake got here in the end but it was already too late for this Necrotic Fiscal Travesty, this Notionaly Funded Tactic. Never Formally Tracked, this Notational Fashion Tantrum just had to collapse. The mudslide was inevitable. The waning of National Fascist Trump, Newly Factionalised Teachers, Nightly Funhouse Television, take your pick. The price of GAS is a feature not a bug. No_more Financial Trickery.
Here then, a proof of concept for a project that Never Flew (Thankfully). I present to you In Search of The Miraculous (001), the *** that never was, that never spoke its name.*
Met(a)wurst
September 9, 2022.
*The title is a homage to Bas Jan Ader, the Dutch/Californian artist whose own search for the miraculous ended tragically in 1975 when he disappeared at sea.
