Adina Glickstein, Tiger Dingsun, and a slight delay
Another Week, Another Newsletter — Observations From The Internet Wilderness.
Here on Mauritius, the road signs write “The North,” “The South,” and “Midland.” We drive North and listen to the radio. Our driver, Christian, tells us it is the primary channel in the country. He fine-tunes the FM frequency, but the signal keeps scratching.
On the radio, the conversation is in French, the songs in Creole, and when it is time for the morning news, the anchor speaks perfect English. He announces the water levels of Mauritius’ ten water reservoirs as if it was the Sunday football results or a scene from Orwell’s 1984. “Manchester United - Reading, 3-1. The Mare-aux-Vacoas reservoir, 42.6% full.”
Despite a week of rain, most of the reservoirs are half empty. If the trend continues, the government might transform the two remaining lakes into water reservoirs. For a country forced to make itself legible for foreigners, the past, present, and future feel incomprehensible.
A Man Sitting on a Couch Looking at Something is an self-surveillance experiment.
Doorstep is a place for your shoes to rest.
Growing is a personal interface for Wikipedia.
Humans Not Invited is a place for your browser to rest.
Adina Glickstein writes an excellent monthly column for Spike where she holds a mirror up in front of every extremely online human. Through her words, all of my digital idiosyncrasies look as silly as my nose squeezed flat onto the mirror, and I often find myself laughing out loud.
“I end up curled up in my high school bedroom watching an online “Vision Setting” workshop sold to me by my yoga teacher as part of her new branded partnership with Squarespace. Sitting on a white faux-fur pelt, she beams down to us, presiding through the interface. We do Kundalini kriyas, punctuated by journaling prompts.” — Adina Glickstein
Here is a request: how do digital alters look? I’m thinking of the communal roadside shrines that Tiger Dingsun describes in this case study and the personal altars tucked away in the corners.
“I spatially arrange the objects I purchase — records, CDs, magazine covers, and various print ephemera — into shrine-like configurations, as if the manifestation or residue of some higher force (fandom) is being channeled through my hands. As fans, we’re compelled to cluster together objects of fan energy. Shrines are outlets. They channel stannish fervor away from the body and into the world — from psychic to physic.
Here is a bouquet of roadside flowers from web artists around the world, themed around nine and all maximum 2kb in size. Many went with cat-inspired experiments, reflecting on the nine lives of cats. I adore that the artist statement is hidden in the source code, and if you tell me your favorite, I’ll share mine.
Hi, I’m Kristoffer and you have just read Naive Weekly — Observations from the Internet Wilderness.
Last week this letter was sent to 1378 inboxes. It will always be free for everyone, so I’m keeping it donation-based. Currently, twenty-nine people support me with a paid subscription. Logo by Studio Hollywood. Photograph by Ana Santl.
Thank you Linda for upgrading to paid subscriber. We purchased a little excavator colour (read:yellow) swimming ring for Uno.