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| Unable to trace back to the artist (let me know if you know) |
The tubular scarf covers Ki’s face from his nose down. On the scarf his face is completed by a hi-res print of David Bowie’s face - from the nose down - complete with crooked-tooth grin but lacking those beautiful eyes.
The face-rec will process a complete face and not flag ‘evasion’ – it will track that face as it tracks all faces; and as with all faces, as it tracks, it will attempt to gather data from his phone. The phone he carries carries no personal data, no linked accounts; email and browser accounts untraceable back to Ki himself. The lack of data will be flagged but no deeper surveillance will be necessary unless this face partakes in actions deemed worthy of the expense of bringing attention to bear on the equation.
Digital cause-effect finds it difficult to accurately code ‘suspicion’ into the program.
This dense suburban mass serves to feed their individual droplets into the river that constitutes this world’s ‘harvest’ routine; the one that operates at the intersection of tourism and corruption.
As far as the program knows, there is no intersection between ‘tourism’ and ‘corruption’.
Ki navigates these rivers while winding himself through the south bank’s throng until he reaches his mark; a white X graffiti-ed on the wall at the river’s edge.
Unsuspicious; not suspicious; < ? >
From his backpack he draws - after finding the right pocket to unzip – a glass bottle of water, its contents brown and just-this-morning dredged from the verdigris tap in the corner of the room that he calls home.
Ki hurls the bottle at the remote I/O panel protruding from the old stone wall opposite the graffiti-ed X.
Ki runs for the blind spot whose extents are marked on the building walls by inward facing arrows and between these arrows he destroys the phone and replaces the Bowie scarf with one that carries the lower face of Frieda Kahlo complete with faint and feminine moustache but sadly lacking those beautiful eyebrows.
And the cameras pan for the standing stuntman who is bent on nothing but riding the sub-routine tsunami.
For lines stolen (kinda) from Leonard Cohen:
"And then the cameras pan,
The stand in stunt man,
Dress rehearsal rag"
My apologies
The face-rec will process a complete face and not flag ‘evasion’ – it will track that face as it tracks all faces; and as with all faces, as it tracks, it will attempt to gather data from his phone. The phone he carries carries no personal data, no linked accounts; email and browser accounts untraceable back to Ki himself. The lack of data will be flagged but no deeper surveillance will be necessary unless this face partakes in actions deemed worthy of the expense of bringing attention to bear on the equation.
Digital cause-effect finds it difficult to accurately code ‘suspicion’ into the program.
This dense suburban mass serves to feed their individual droplets into the river that constitutes this world’s ‘harvest’ routine; the one that operates at the intersection of tourism and corruption.
As far as the program knows, there is no intersection between ‘tourism’ and ‘corruption’.
Ki navigates these rivers while winding himself through the south bank’s throng until he reaches his mark; a white X graffiti-ed on the wall at the river’s edge.
Unsuspicious; not suspicious; < ? >
From his backpack he draws - after finding the right pocket to unzip – a glass bottle of water, its contents brown and just-this-morning dredged from the verdigris tap in the corner of the room that he calls home.
Ki hurls the bottle at the remote I/O panel protruding from the old stone wall opposite the graffiti-ed X.
Ki runs for the blind spot whose extents are marked on the building walls by inward facing arrows and between these arrows he destroys the phone and replaces the Bowie scarf with one that carries the lower face of Frieda Kahlo complete with faint and feminine moustache but sadly lacking those beautiful eyebrows.
And the cameras pan for the standing stuntman who is bent on nothing but riding the sub-routine tsunami.
For lines stolen (kinda) from Leonard Cohen:
"And then the cameras pan,
The stand in stunt man,
Dress rehearsal rag"
My apologies
Tales for an attention deficit world
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