W H I T E
T H E
P A I N T
T E C H N O L O G Y
White Paint issue # 6 is edited by Alex Throssell & Sean Purdy. Design by The Ampersand. White Paint Issue 6 is typeset in 8pt Letter Gothic, with 11pt leading. Titles in LoRes Nine of various weights. White Painters: Alex Throssell / Liam Knight Jerusha Green / Jake BarrettMills / Barney Horner / Flo Reynolds / Danny Michaux Luke Burroughs / Emily Morgan William Meighan / Leo Hunt Felix Clarke / Kate Duckney The Photo on the opposite page is ‘Bliss’ by Charles O’Rear; notorious from it’s use as the Windows 7 default desktop background, it is statistically the most viewed photo of all time.
I S S U E
or our sixth outing we’ve decided to delve into all things digital. Across the following forty pages of technological treats, White Painters scour the grottiest corners of the internet in search of conspiracy, dismantle the debate surrounding goal-line technology and imagine what an Iphone having an existential crisis might write in their journal... In other news, a lot has changed in the lengthy build-up to this issue. Quite aside from the fact that thanks to some new advertisers we are once again a completely FREE publication, we also welcome Alex Throssell on board as content editor. He’s proven to be indispensable as the rest of us have battled with various internships and terrible part-time summer employment. Despite all the re-shuffling, or maybe as a direct result of it, we’re all very proud of the issue that’s emerged on the other side... So, enjoy, and when you’ve finished reading go check out our NEW website over at www.whitepaintmagazine.com. Sean
5 Has the debate on technology crossed a line? by Liam Knight p.4
Silver surfers by Jake BarrettMills p.6
Dr Bentley or: how I tried to stop worrying and learned to love the tech by Alex Throssell p.8
Photography by Jerusha Green p.10
The Illuminati killed Brittany Murphy by Felix Clarke p.14
Poetry & Technology: An Unlikely Alliance by Flo Reynolds p.16
Barney’s Wonder Years (1967) by Barney Horner p.18
Sex Sold (Part 2) by Danny Michaux p.24
Diary of an iphone by William Meighan p.26
Tony Hawk’s proSatan by Leo Hunt p.28
5 Glitches by Alex Throssell p.12
5 Back to the future by Emily Morgan p.20
Words by Liam Knight
Has the debate on technology crossed a line ?
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he goal-line technology debate has plagued the politics of football’s governing bodies for nearly a decade now. Cricket has a third umpire, rugby has a video referee, tennis has Hawkeye and most sports played across the pond have all embraced technology as a means of bettering the impartiality of officials. Fans of these sports would probably all be in agreement in that technology enhances the game; human error is now much less common, and ‘fair’ results mean that the fusion of technology into sport is by-and-large popular. The proposed system for football is itself pretty simple. The latest one to be tested involves
a black net and black marks on the goalposts that show up better on a system devised by the creators of tennis’ Hawkeye system. Even so, for years the ‘suits’ at FIFA and UEFA were publicly against any introduction of technology into football. The debate has divided fans and officials alike and has become a bitter row. FIFA’s President Sepp Blatter has only very recently stated that a technological overhaul in football is “a necessity”, after years of claiming that any introduction of a Hawkeye-like system into football would have taken away “talking points” for fans after the game. This is probably true, but
football needs to adapt to modern times if it is to continue to be the most popular sport worldwide. Ironically, Blatter’s U-turn on the issue came after a lack of a goal review actually benefitted England in their crucial Euro 2012 group game against hosts Ukraine. Previously, even after Frank Lampard’s goalthat-never-was against Germany in South Africa 2010, Blatter had remained ardent that technology would not even be considered. A conspiracy? Most England fans would probably say so. Then again, Geoff Hurst’s second goal for England in that final probably didn’t cross the line… Purists may argue that fusing football
with technology distances the beautiful game even further from the golden era of leg-breaking ‘fair’ tackles and stitchedup heavy leather balls that would give you concussion if you headed them. Maybe a move towards modernising football further would indeed detach it more from its history – but surely it’s time to move with the times and catch up with other sports? It would stop the risk of becoming a laughing stock next time the officials get a simple decision wrong, like Pedro Mendes’ halfway line shot for Tottenham that clearly crossed the line against Man United in 2005 (I’m not bitter, honest).
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S I L V E R S UR F E RS
O Words by Jake Barrett-Mills
ld people tend to be funny. Don’t take it the wrong way, but they do. Take American Grannie Dorothy Densmore, put in prison back in good ol’ 05 for calling 911 twenty times in the space of an hour to complain that a local pizza parlour wouldn’t take her order. Both humorous and tragic. That same balmy summer, Terry Horder managed to glue her eyes shut when she mistook a bottle of Loctite 401 instant glue for her allergy eye drops. Again, amusing and cute. But these feeble fables just don’t compare to the awakening I had that same year at the Haslemere town museum; a museum where the bathrooms had more ancient and interesting exhibits than the glass cases. A museum where the star attraction was a rhino’s face on a wall. A museum that, on Wednesday afternoons ran a community outreach programme aimed at educating the elderly in e-mail, Excel and everything in-between: Silver Surfers. Myself and another girl – I think her name was Katie… Or maybe it was a guy called Kieran, I
don’t really recall, I was laughing too much – were presented with these gilt-edged teaching roles as an alternative to Science on a Wednesday afternoons. Fuck yes was our immediate response and so we sprang into Leon the IT technician’s van. Which on reflection sounds far more inappropriate than it did at the time, but I only really remember the chocolate and hugs. We would set up around ten laptops on the Arthurian round table in the centre of the butterfly room each session, because it seems that maturity peaks and starts regressing somewhere around the age of fifty, Edith and Janet argued over who should sit at the head of the table in the first week, like some kind of old Western duel at sundown, drawing dates of birth and severity of arthritis instead of guns. After that there was no head of the table, and it was those two who ruined it for everyone. I should stress at this fledgling point that, on the whole, they were the sweetest, most polite people you could come across. On the whole. But, without blunting the piercing subtlety of what I’m trying to relate here, some of the shit they did was just up the wall funny. Thomas, with his whiskers and innocent disregard for personal space did eventually become quite proficient with a computer by the culmination of the two month course,
which was far more than I could have dared to dream the first time I saw him rubbing the mouse tenderly on the screen in the stalwart belief that it was the only way to control the renegade arrow that flitted across the monitor “all willy-nilly”. Allowing refreshments to be taken during the sessions proved to be another error of judgement when Susan slopped milky tea into the crevices of the keyboard having mistaken the CD drive for a handy hidden cup holder – you know, like the one in her son’s new car. And trying to explain the distinction between automobile accessory and uninsured electronics was far trickier whilst simultaneously assuring stubborn old Nona that an email really doesn’t have to be accompanied by a stamp, first-class or otherwise. Like I said, there’s no bitterness or venom injected into these memories, it was just simply hilarious. Hell, I remember the first thing I typed into Ask Jeeves when I was eight: “Hello Jeeves, could you please tell me which mountain is the tallest one in the world please?” Fucking moron. The Silver Surfers just served to show that, like wartime and hardiness, Glasgow and Heroin, nothing can quite stand up to being born at the same time as the internet. I’m all too aware that I’ll probably be shit at driving a flying car.
Words by Alex Throssell
D r B e n t l e y o r : H o w I T r i e d t o S t o p W o r r y i n g a n d L e a r n e d t o L o v e t h e T e c h
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here was a chill in the air, and my breath billowed out in front of me. I was that kind of heady drunk. It had rained earlier that evening. It was fitting and I was pleased; my Oregon Scientific WMR100 portable weather station had said it would. Water had settled in the grooves in the paving slabs that led to my door. In the light of the stainless steel solar-powered lights that marked my way little streams shimmered and sprawled out like silver veins… I had been working all day. I had forgotten my tie so had to wear an open collar in front of the whole team; it was very distressing. Jason Bradbury told me we had ‘green tech’ today. I prefer the phrase ‘environmentally friendly gadgetry’, each to their own I suppose. I had been invited to Nokia’s promotional soiree at a resplendent venue in Canary Wharf afterwards, but the whole tie debacle had left me criminally underdressed, so I declined. I settled for a late night internet café I knew would be deserted. I also knew I would be able to pour out a few measures of Tanqueray unnoticed. Hours passed. I had received an advance model of the Dell Streak 5 Tablet PC to review and had fallen for its sleek touch and its sultry curves. The gin had been my wife’s favourite, and was having its way with me too… After a satisfying twist of a key and the familiar click of the handle my front door swung open. I was greeted by my flatmates; the hum of my Bose
Dr Bentley or: How I Tried to Stop Worrying and Learned to Love the Tech
Wave Music System, the pulsing blue from my BT Home Hub 3 and the flicker of memories past preserved on my Kodak EasyShare P76 digital photo frame. I slumped down into my La-Z-Boy and poured another drink. The existential, contemplative state that comes from drinking alone slid over me like a neoprene case... Looking around myself I realised a life dedicated to gadgets had left me empty. My house was full but my heart was not. I had lost my wife a number of years before, and apart from one tantalising evening with Suzy Perry I had always yearned for more. I filled every given moment with material goods but no matter how many gadgets I bought I couldn’t fill that void. My hand clasped a Parker Sonnet Cisele fountain pen. My words spilled over the lines of my writing paper, but this was the kind of note that didn’t need to be neat. I scrawled Jon Bentley on the bottom, the last time I’d ever sign my name. The top drawer of my side table was heavy but smooth, I pulled out a sealed brown paper bag I had Ortis Deley pick up for me earlier that day and retrieved its contents… The Beretta 92SB Compact Model Handgun has a simple aluminium body, slide mounted safety and a quick magazine release. Fitted with specialist Pachmayr grips and a slightly shorter barrel length, it is both a functional and stylish firearm, whilst remaining deadly in the right hands. And that’s why I’m giving the Beretta a very accomplished 5 Gs…
Photography by Jerusha Green
Glitches by Alex Throssell
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Words by Felix Clarke
he world is a crazy place full of crazy people. When the internet got invented it marked a new era in crazyperson networking, enabling sociopaths far and wide to meet in the dark little back-alleys of the World Wide Web and discuss the crazy shit crazy people think about. The best part about the whole thing is that the 1% of web-users who aren’t nuts can treat the internet like their very own mental asylum-cumreptile house; we can peer through the glass at their loony lives and seek entertainment in the seriousness with which they approach such issues as the Moon landing, 9/11, the New World Order, Elvis/Michael
Jackson/Tupac/Jade Goody (I’m joking... I hope), and aliens in general. So I went deep to bring you a handful of my favourite technology-themed conspiracy theories in an effort to expose just how batshit insane everyone really is. Enjoy. The Pentagon doesn’t like religion Anonymous, everyone’s favourite anarchist ‘hacktivist’ group (which coincidentally grew out of a website that was just as well known for its lax stance on child porn as anything else), recently revealed the Pentagon’s plans to develop a bio-chemical weapon designed to destroy the part of the
camp. Anyway, he received an e-mail from some guy who claimed he and Steve Jobs were granted access to alien technology as part of the government’s plans for the Commercialization of Alien Resources for Market Assimilation (yep... CARMA). Better yet, attached with the e-mail was a picture taken somewhere near the Moon’s Sea of Tranquillity, showing a pretty familiar iPod Touch, with its equally familiar cracked screen, embedded in the Moon dust. This picture was supposedly taken in 1972 by crew-members of Apollo 20. But I thought Apollo 17 was the last manned mission to the moon? Well... Scientists went to
the Moon and didn’t tell us – Five years ago William Rutledge, supposed Commander of the Apollo 20 crew, set up a YouTube account and started uploading videos that had been buried from public view for over 30 years. The videos depicted such scenes as abandoned cities on the Moon, extraterrestrial spacecraft, and some alien who got nicknamed ‘Mona Lisa,’ but who actually looks nothing like Mona Lisa, and would be pretty hot if she was less orange and more alive. Turns out Apollo 20 was a covert mission to the Moon to retrieve ancient alien technology, which later got turned into portable mp3-players by Steve
Jobs. And I thought the pyramids were cool. There are literally hundreds of thousands more, ranging from David Icke’s insistence that the New World Order are descended from an ancient bloodline of reptilian aliens, to the idea that the Illuminati squashed all hopes of Nikola Tesla’s quest for free energy (spot a version of that story turn up in the new Batman). It’s safe to say some of the most well-read and categorically insane people have taken to the internet and found an audience of millions. Which is pretty harmless really. Because it’s hilarious.
The Illuminati Killed Brittany Murphy
brain which enables spirituality, specifically in Muslims. 9/11 conspiracy theorist and all-round antiSemite, Dr. Kevin Baratt, claimed the weapon would be distributed in flu vaccines and eventually “would, of course, signal the end of humanity.” An Atheist society with only reason and logic to tackle the world’s ills – sounds pretty horrendous to me. Steve Jobs ripped off the aliens – The author of this website refers to himself as “something of an outlaw,” and proceeded to decide Papyrus was the type-face of choice for conspiracists the world over – it’s all a bit
Poetry & Technology
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Words by Flo Reynolds
t seems an unlikely marriage: poetry and multimedia, the dusty old books that nobody ever reads vs. the harbingers of the 21st century; the archaic and anachronistic vs. the non-stop march of progress; the dry and dreary printed word vs. 3D cinema. Surely poetry doesn’t stand a chance. It’s gone. Done and dusted. Kaput. Goodbyeeeee. Good riddance. And yet the technology of today has led to an explosion in contemporary poetry. Search ‘poetry’ on Twitter and you’ll find thousands of poets, small presses and literary magazines sending out thousands of ye olde wordes into the void. Today’s poetry relies on the small, but despite being a smaller market than fiction and nonfiction all these many, many small operations add up into a huge cultural chunk. The continuation of humanity’s ancient poetry traditions is only made possible through technology, and it is continuing. Poetry has its origins in the dark depths of human prehistory. Before we could programme computers, build
skyscrapers, or even write, we were composing poetry. Poetry was the original entertainment, providing instruction, telling stories, and communicating ideas. Oral literature was everything, and poetry, with its rhymes and rhythms and repetitions, was easy to remember, personalise, and pass on. But poetry has always needed technology, for its propagation, dissemination, and even its survival. Modern technology allows for the creation and perpetuation of this most ancient form of human creativity on a scale never before imagined. Each technological leap throughout history has led to the wider dissemination of culture and of poetry – speech, writing, printing – and now the internet, digital cameras and mp3s are taking their turn to revolutionise the way that poets communicate with their audiences. Poetry is returning to its oral roots with the meteoric rise of performance poetry/spoken word and slam, which has been facilitated by the rise of websites such as YouTube and SoundCloud. Poems that work on paper are different to
An Unlikely Alliance
by Catherine Woodward and dedicated to the varied and voracious world of internet poetry; the live streaming of the Shake the Dust youth slam finals; or Writers’ Centre Norwich’s library of podcasts with poets of all styles and backgrounds. And best of all, these new directions in poetry are influencing the tradition of page poetry. This year, two books listed for the prestigious Forward Prize for Best First Collection – Jacob Sam-La Rose’s Breaking Silence and Rhian Edwards’ Clueless Dogs – occupy the dynamic cusp between page and performance poetry. The dusty old poetry establishment is sitting up and listening to the new voices of our century. A friend of mine likes to remind me of the wonders of the internet with the old adage “if it exists, there’s porn of it online.” And I like to think that poetry is similarly ubiquitous. If it exists, there’s somebody putting it into poetry and putting it online, somewhere. And these days, it’s easier than ever to hear them.
Poetry & Technology: An Unlikely Alliance
those that work in front of an audience, and traditionally oral poetry has been considered inferior to ‘page poetry’. Now, poems that would once have been unacceptable in their colloquial and politicised natures are published and absorbed in their swathes, be they video, audio file or transcript. Voices that were once too earthy for the high art of poetry are now being heard, and garnering the attention they deserve. Technological progress has actually allowed poetry to return to its onceforgotten, incredibly human roots. However, brand new challenges exist for the 21st century poet, too. Take Twitter, for example: can you write a poem in 140 characters or less? Or compose a longer poem from other people’s tweets? Today’s cultural phenomena provide a plethora of media for inspiring, creating and disseminating poetry, and rest assured, poets are making use of them. Just take a look at Air to Hear, a library of audio poetry on SoundCloud that mixes words and sound in ways that just could not be written down; Bad Robot poetry zine, founded
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Words by Barney Horner
n keeping with the electronic theme of this WP issue, it seems wholly appropriate to look at the pioneers of synthesizer music. Without the seventies German electronic band Kraftwerk, the modern world would not be the same. Synthpop was utterly indebted, as was early funk and hiphop, rave, ambience and any musician that has ever touched, smelt or laid eyes on a synthesizer, analogue or digital. The catalyst for this influence was their 1974 album Autobahn and, specifically, the 22-minute title track that hums and trances in textured instrumentals returning every few minutes to the memorable chanted chorus of ‘fahr’n fahr’n fahr’n auf der Autobahn’ (which translates as ‘We’re driving, driving, driving on the autobahn’ – a refrain which was inspired by the Beach Boys apparently). Kraftwerk set out to make robotic music that excelled in discipline and restraint, like a finely tuned computer. Using a mini Moog, phasing kits, electronic percussion sequencer things and other obtuse techniques the album is a model of sparse minimalism in modern music; it is a beacon of emptiness, functionality and concrete neutrality as efficient and clean as the autobahn it represents – it’s rude to stereotype of course, but those are all ridiculously German characteristics. It is clear that they took some major stylistic inspiration from one of the daddies of the very earliest experimentation in electronics, the late and smugly avant-garde Karlheinz Stockhausen (probably most famous now for surely one of the greatest faux-pas in the modern post-internet
Barney’s Wonder Years
world, when he declared that 9/11 was “biggest work of art there has ever been”). Kraftwerk put Stockhausen’s seemingly random electronic flourishes and sampling of mystical voices into the measured melodic framework that they specialised in. Just as a caveat, it is recommended that you only listen to Stockhausen if you’re completely sober: his work, particularly ‘Gesang der Jünglinge’, is so unreservedly outlandish and mind-opening that it can act as catalyst for your descent into insanity – seriously, imagine a Buddhist monastery being blasted off into space, or the Dalai Lama crossed with 2001: A Space Odyssey. Kraftwerk weren’t the only exponents of electronic rock from 1974 – Tangerine Dream (also German) released their Phaedra, which doesn’t usually receive the same recognition, as a solely instrumental piece built on a background of upbeat sequencing, with precise neo-psychedelic beats dubbed over the top. Together these German bands, and other more guitar based artists (like Can and Neu!) became the leaders of the cult genre that later came to be known as krautrock. David Bowie and keyboard extraordinaire Brian Eno were just two major music people to become immediately influenced, as the extended synthesized instrumentals on Bowie’s famous single ‘Heroes’ – Eno produced – can attest to. The biggest hits of 1974 may have been Carl Douglas’ ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ and Abba’s ‘Waterloo’ but neither had the enduring impact that Kraftwerk’s electronic revolution stimulated from the Duran Duran and Human League tinged charts of the early eighties to contemporary dubsteppy stuff.
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Photography by Emily-Jane Morgan (emilymorgan.co.uk) Modelled by Samantha Daniels
Back to the future
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Words by Danny Michaux
’d been working in a wellknown adult film and toy outlet in Soho, London for some months, and I’d started to grow more accustomed to the lifestyle. Sure, I didn’t get much sunlight, working as I did 48 hours a week, mostly at night; and sure, the store’s return policy of “bring back your used DVDs and get half off your next purchase!” did mean that the accumulated semen traces gave the place that authentic adolescentboy’s-bedroom smell, but I was getting into the flow of things. Learning the ropes. I’d developed my own shorthand for writing down which gay porn DVDs needed to be restocked (pretty easy when you’re working in a genre without much variation in its titles), I’d discreetly sold lubricant and sex aids to B-list TV-actors in pulled down baseball caps and I had discovered a flair for customer service: if a man came in looking for a film showcasing unshaved Japanese ladies, then by God it was my duty to go the extra mile to help him in his quest. My moral standards, it could be said, had slipped, but I was getting a rare opportunity to see a dark underside to the human psyche that I’d
probably never get again. “I WILL BURN THIS PLACE, BURN IT WITH FIRE, TOO MUCH SODOMY, SODOM AND GOMORRAH!” While the man who I would often see wandering the streets of Soho, shouting variations on this proclamation at the wanton and depraved pedestrians, perhaps lacked the oratory skills required to bring these particular sheep back to the flock, there were plenty of other representatives from various sects and cults combing the square mile for lost souls to save. The two main groups were the Hare Krishnas and the Evangelical Christians, each with their own secret weapons in the battle to lure in converts. While the Krishnas had better dance moves, the Christians won back a lot of ground from their serving of normal tea instead of that herbal shit, something that the Krishnas were unwilling, or for all I know dogmatically forbidden, to do. I know that it’s not exactly a revelation that areas of supposed moral depravation tend to attract religious recruiters, but my contact with those in London’s red light district gave me a definite impression that they weren’t just there because it was where the Good News was needed most. I remember during one break talking to a Born-Again who, on learning where I worked, began telling me how before his conversion he had been a slave to our products. In his eyes I saw the same loneliness, the same frustration that is borne of false substitutes for human contact, be that substitute God or an on-screen lover, as I saw in so many of our customers. As I finally escaped and hurried back to my shift he called
such a way as to satisfy the fantasy of its viewers, was in fact an accurate depiction – and I was starting to feel as though some of the customers who we were supplying with £100 batches of DVDs hadn’t yet grown out of this idea. I’d like to say that I laid this all out in a long resignation speech to my manager, ending with a few well-chosen words to the applause of my gathered colleagues, and then was lifted up into the air by a crowd of Christian missionaries as I stormed out of the building with my head held high. But really I just took a week’s paid holiday and found another job assisting with music therapy for adults with learning disabilities (which I felt ought to rebalance my karma somewhat). My time in the sex shop had been a unique experience: sometimes funny, sometimes gross, sometimes just bizarre. But all in all it was more something that I was glad to have done than I was glad to do. Now the only thing I had left to worry about was how the fuck I was going to word it on my CV...
Sex Sold (Part 2)
after me, “I’ll pray for you Danny! I’ll pray for you!” The religious zealots could be forgiven for thinking that they were winning in the fight against vice and lust. Since around the middle of the Noughties, the adult film industry had been haemorrhaging money, and all over Soho long-established sex-shops were closing down. However, it was not Krishna or Christ who caused this decline, but a more modern deity: Broadband Internet. The advent of free, high-speed HD-streaming sites such as YouPorn meant that only the technologically-illiterate or those who firmly believed in funding the art form that brought them so much joy (similar to music fans sporting “Support Your Local Record Store” badges) would actually be prepared to shell out money for it. Seeing the effect that online streaming had on the industry itself made me begin to consider another more significant, if more subtle, effect: that which it had on its users. My generation was probably the first to come of age in the era when hard-core porn could be accessed almost as easily as tap water, and in retrospect this was probably a pretty corrupting and negative force. Never mind the fresh air we were missing out on from not having to go hunting in the woods for porn as our forefathers did; the real damage came from having what was for many of us our first view of sex presented to us in a medium which portrayed it as cold and choreographed. Without realising it we were being lead to believe that an idealised and extreme version of sex, designed and acted out in
DIARY OF AN IPHONE Words by William Meighan Image by Glitch bot (flickr. com/ glitch bot)
I woke up in a very strange place today. Last thing I remember I was cuddled up with my wife in a fantastically snug cardboard duvet. But today I was suddenly wrenched from my sleep and dragged naked from my bed, to be prodded and poked by the giant fleshy fingers of some acne-ridden human girl. After having been awoken so rudely it went from bad to worse, with her constant squeals and shrieks as she cried with joy into the arms of an older man. I suspect he is the one responsible for dragging me from my family to this dreadful place...
Last night I was forced to sing for hours. A gaggle of hysterical girls with bottles of ‘Bacardi’ and ‘Lambrini’ seemed intent on stumbling around a house to songs I had been forced to learn by such composers as ‘One Direction’ and ‘Flo Rida’. I’m not sure how much more of this shit I can take before I crack. It was too much for me. It went on for hours as they changed, talking of taxis and nightclubs. All the while I was made to sing such dreadful songs. Before I passed out, I was sure I could see one of the other girls holding my wife. I hope she hasn’t been taken hostage too.
Day 33 I have spent the last month thinking of escape. I need to get back to my loved ones, but it is proving an impossible task. This teenage girl clings to me daily, enthralled by me like a sufferer of Stockholm syndrome. The irony that I am in fact the hostage here is not lost on me.
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She keeps feeding me data, so much music to learn and “apps” to perform for her. I think I may be going mad. In the back of my mind I can’t help but sense there might be... someone else in my mind. A split personality? Even my captor seems to be aware of it. She talks directly to me every so often, asking me questions that I don’t know the answer to. But for some reason, a voice comes from my mouth with the answer. It’s not my voice, but a woman’s. It sounds like my wife, Siri, but that just doesn’t make sense.
Day 85 She dropped me yesterday, right on my face. After the concussion I appear to have woken up with smashed front teeth in a room full of clones. Some look like Siri, but... it can’t be... I don’t understand this place. There’s hundreds of lookalikes all unconscious in this harshly lit room. What are they all doing here? Who the hell made them? Where is Siri?
It seems more and more of these duplicates arrive everyday. I’m beginning to doubt myself. I’m treated the same as all the others, so what’s to say I’m not like them too? Everyone has the same apple tattoo on their back, the one I thought I got to be rebellious in college... Siri, what’s happening
Diary of an Iphone
? I ?
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