Augmentology"...is a concise manual of reality for our digital age."

Mark Hancock,_Augmentology: Interfaccia Tra Due Mondi_

[Sponsored by The Ars Virtua Foundation/CADRE Laboratory for New Media]

Becoming Dragon

I am becoming something else. In this moment, this being-in-transition, I am willfully stepping into the unknown. I am between realities. I can only imagine what I want to become, and then choose to become that new thing, but it is radically ungraspable, inconceivable. I can never know the reality of what I am choosing to become, desiring to become. My decision to transform can never be the right one, because it is always based on an illusion, a fantasy, a false conception with only a few points of data, not the rich details of an embodied life. As the transformation unfolds, those unknown events begin to occur, like seeing my breasts in the mirror for the first time after shaving my chest closely, feeling the movement in my orgasm change into something new or just walking down the street for a moment as a girl, unnoticed and not needing any special attention. My decision to become something else is always a decision to become mythopoetic, because the reality of the new state is always unknown, imaginary, a construct, a fantasy. Yet I don’t seek to decry this radical state of uncertainty but to embrace it. The very moments of everyday perception are also simply intersections of a real materiality with my symbolic and imaginary processing engines making sense of them, down to the way that I understand what pleasure is and what pain is and when the two become too close so as to be confused. And a choice to not transform is of course still a choice to transform into a different state, as our bodies are all in permanent transition, aging, training, consuming, producing, perceiving, creating new folds in our craniums.

Becoming Dragon Day 6

Through this process, I am also becoming an artist. Yet this is simply another fantasy which I use to structure my desires and find direction. Artist, porn star, student, professor, father, mother, husband, wife, lover, child, priest, these are all simply performances of being, yet their being a performance makes them no less real, nor more real, just another fold in the swirling interplay, the kaleidoscope of realities that is our being.

A mixed reality performance using an online 3D virtual world simply highlights the fantasy nature of our everyday interactions, of the physical world, by referring back to the physical, stirring up our memories and conceptions of embodiment. A mixed reality performance is a misnomer, as every step of our waking lives is a mix of realities, our self-perceptions, muscle memory, proprioceptions, others’ perceptions of us, our perceptions of their perceptions of us as they look at us, or don’t, our understanding that we are walking, taking on a step, on a sidewalk, by a building. A mixed reality performance simply highlights this fact, or this fiction, and allows one to see and begin to question the mythopoetic structure of reality. While performance sought to get closer to the real, to escape mediation, I embrace the pleasure of bits projected on my skin and the flickering of digital lights in my eyes, of the simulacrum of my own fantasy which creates that same fantasy. The mixture of real and imaginary is more real for being so.

While one can draw one’s fantasy, or write it out in words, 3D virtual worlds bring us one step closer to seeing in front of our eyes the fantasy films which play behind our eyes, yet there are many more steps to bring us closer to dreams. In my dreams I smell, I feel my body in action, I have visceral emotions, yet software such as Second Life is far from emulating such unreal realities. Still, we can make steps closer to dreams, with motion capture, head mounted displays, tactile interfaces, wish pressure interfaces. I wish for another reality, the electricity on my skin changes, transferring the new desired location to the system, and the pressure interface responds, as my chair morphs from a car seat to a comfy recliner in my skybox…loading world…arriving.

I am transreal. Look at me. When you do, a million iridescent scales across my dragon hide flick, move and align to create a multiplicity of perceptions, transversal illusions and realities cutting through each other, intersecting, dancing. Look at me. You see a shimmering of my fantasies and yours, a convergence of your minute sensory events, your imaginary constructs and my desires. Look at me. The mythopoetic elements of your reality and mine come into contact, unwind and become a recombinant event of male and female and something else, something more, for just an instant. Perhaps after that initial instant, one of your myths takes over your perception and you decide that you understand, but before that, I instill confusion and doubt. I can see it on your face.

I am becoming mythopoetic, a shapeshifting creature of legend, a dragon. Standing here, on the border, the sunlight through the clouds defeating the fence, I am transreal, between realities, moving through layers of the symbolic, the imaginary and the real, simultaneously quivering, swapping out and swapping back in, too fast to find the border between them. I am existing between my fantasies and desires, which are driving the changing form of my body, and the moment of perception in which you see me and call me maam, sir, dude, miss, or avoid choosing a category. Speaking, being with different people throughout the day, my body and name changes, my realness or unrealness oscillates. You see me standing here, but really, you see my avatar, my body, which is under construction. We bring our illusions together. You see soft skin. I see the pills and the bloody razor that made it soft, making me feel happier, more feminine. You see scales, I see textured prims and their glow values.

A dark moment in the street at night, your illusions of masculinity swirl up against the confusion I install in you, and you attack. My reality becomes a blur, a flurry of motion, and a sharp chemical emotional reaction, as I strike back with pressurized chemical weapons. Yet even in that moment, I am transreal, between my reality and yours, only finding a hard fissure between the two.
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In bed with my lover, we are transreal, deep in our illusions of each other, feeling our very real emotions for each other, between bodies, looking into her eyes, slipping out of myself and my concerns and out into the bright nebula of pleasure…