It’s what the whole hip world does, now the Kardashians won
– Paraphrasing Hunter S. Thompson
Aint nobody even look like dat
– Flavor Flav, She Watch Channel Zero
Plastic people / Oh baby now / You’re such a drag
– Frank Zappa
What would a planet of ‘the fit’ look like? Credit cards with legs?
– Henry Rollins
Our dreams are a second life. I have never been able to penetrate without a shudder those ivory or horned gates which separate us from the invisible world
– Gérard de Nerval
“I see dead people”
– Cole Sear, The Sixth Sense
RND/ To consider Second Life’s soulless, blank eyed autonomatons as quietly, politely evil – smooth and emotionally featureless. A proto-vaporwave lament for a Dead-MMO:
It is the Near Future Now. You are trapped in V.R Hell lockdown and Second Life is what’s being piped in by the guards for 23 hours a day – a thousand subjective centuries at a time. Witness raw (always fully cooked) hyper-consumerist transhuman body fascism at play, featuring the biggest fake-ass looking munts in the fucking multiverse; a super perverse Dark Paradise of the insufferably spoilt – impossibly endowed designer psychopathy style taking backsides. Where dressing up Daddy’s little angels like baby doll princesses (urgh) proudly displays a horrible synthetic pastel innocence where the importance of ‘life style’ is everything. Nobody reads or thinks here in VR-Hell, they just shop for new faces the Surgeon General of Beverly Hills would find too creepy, posing with the invisible selfie stick they’ve permanently stuck up themselves. This is the #aesthetic at its most excellent and Capitalistically unrestrained; rich with obviousness.
A entire planet of narcissistic, hollow egos, bloated and swollen as though parasitic with endlessly ballooning self worth, sipping frothy organic decaff coconut adaptogenic mushroom rosewater and tumeric ‘Selfieccinos’ [Kill Yourself Now] while the world falls off the melting anthropogenic climate change ice cliff. Take off immediately and picawatt lazor fry the whole thing from low orbit, just to make sure.. Ka-vlappp!
- Instant sentimental saccharine-kitch induced diabetes.
- In which if Second Life was the afterlife, you’d prey for true Oblivion.
- Cultists with rich interior lives befitting abandoned highway sofas and tote bags of rusty spanners.
- The pursuit of Fashion Über Alles as an expression of violently bland designer insanity.
- You know what they say about Utopias – that they’re all built by those who are not allowed into them.
- The actual dream ideal and ultimate existential goal of bizarro newage TV shows like Love Island.
- Populated by stunningly useless, grotesque alt right body parody klones direct from some off-world Elysium ripoffs of Human Ken Dolls.
- Like something played by that monstrously obese guy in that awful “Gamer” movie while jerking his filthy peanut on the shitter.
- Techno-Utopian ideology at its most base; welcome to hyper banal New Void Amerika. Droids will be deployed to make sure you enjoy your stay – or is that just your neighbour?
- A digital crack induced daymare where smooth faced, dead brained escapees from the deepest part of The Uncanny Valley come back to haunt us for our electronic sins.
- Some kind of cosmically obsolete, ultra private gated techno-colonial New Endland pastoral, fish-lipped plastic implant iPhone filter jockbro fantasy.
- Unending mundane vistas of unrelenting interior decoration and carefully curated accessories, featuring endless shots of rustic wooden piers, lighthouses n’ shit.
- Nothing’s happening somewhere in nowhere; so say hello to forever lost and wandering hungry ghosts of the electronic dead.
- For dead stuffed mother’s basement dwelling beard-weird creepozoids and serial murderers only.
- Makes the undying anti-artistic corpse of Thomas Kinkade give side eye puke.
- Trapped in VR-Hell, walking lizard algorithm Mark Sugarborg joker-smiles.
- Where everyone arrives pre-caricatured like modern millionaire white freaks.
Scenes From The Second Life Apocalypse-Lite