I share one single frame, one split second (1/24 to be exact) among many more to come, my debut effort to capture a reading in the underground studio bunker with the gloriously cinematic GH2. We resume production work on The Post Reality Show (the most impossible project ever), as I go more deeply, and darkly, and cinematically into the delicious blacks of the darkened space. Far from the light of day, far from the rumbling noise of the world – my ventilator and air conditioner in the off position – I once again follow the mysterious trajectory of wherever it is all leading me as I plunge into the blackened depths of the bunker.
Now situated in this shadowy space, I can contemplate what Rushkoff refers to as the “present shock,” the shock of the now, the idea we are living in a continuously ever-present post reality of media saturation, endless connections spiraling out from our computer screens, information unceasingly available.
This rich blackness of the studio creates a space for considering the effects of our relationship to information, why we are so hungry for information, particularly the information that is freshly cooked and delivered instantly at the hot moment of its creation.
Eventually the coursing of information begins to take on a life of its own, illuminating hidden elements, breaking up into patterns: we no longer care about the content of what we are reading but rather we are mesmerized by the hypnotic effects of this constant feeding.
It’s all a show for our entertainment, our diversion, stimulation. For every day in the post reality is just another show, another episode in the unfolding saga of the ever-present present.