The Metaverse Future Is Second Life VR-Hell

Instant sentimental saccharine-Kitsch induced diabetes.

// In which you found yourself scrolling through the ancient dead site called Flickr (anyone remember that?) The U.I experience has severely degraded, and the whole site's now stuffed full of low rent porn and ugly sidebar ads. You suddenly wondered if Second Life videogame screenshots were still being uploaded - and they were! You barely made it through an hour of scrolling however, before being overcome with an attack of Severe Acidic Kitsch so tacky and garish, even that talentless prick Jeff Koons would give side-eye. ('Jeff Koons is a natural successor to Marcel Duchamp'? Bollocks, more like..)

328 *fairly* Safe For Work .jxl images, 3840 x 2160. 356.2MB.

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 online
- Paraphrasing Cole Sear, The Sixth Sense

On Inherently Failed Digital Hyper-Futures

It is the Near Future Now. Having recently been found guilty of the double Thought Crime of not publicly being seen enjoying yourself online, and not consuming enough Content™ you now find yourself trapped in Metaverse V.R Hell lockdown. Custom neurolinked hololenses have been stuck to your eyes, and Superborg's version of Second Life piped in by the guards for a whole hour per day - which subjectively speaking feels like 482,000 years (the actual amount of time users have wasted there. Good grief.) And all you can see are amazingly ugly images of various poreless, plastic looking assholes. Rotting with ego. And it is hellish.

To ask oneself: Out of all digital design possibilities - making oneself look like a claw clacking lobster called Jordan, for instance - what possible cultural background would directly result in most Second Life characters looking exactly like escaped, post-Cyberpunk hypercorporate vat clones grown in a secret underground research base? Why such standard stereotypes of Rich White Freaks? In fact, why are all the people there white - even the token black ones? (That is, Whiteness as a state of mind; white-owned Capitalism positively encourages such body-warping mutilation.)

The Plastic Fantastic: Real Life Second Lifers

Why are they all either borderline anorexic or impossibly steroid pumped? Why do they appear continually surrounded with symbols of materialist prosperity - luxury homes, items, fashion accessories - always showing off their virtual wealth to an invisible audience in their skulls?

Second Life Furniture | Dutchie 3D Design
Dutchie offers everything for your Second Life home, from furniture like a sofa or sex bed to a mansion and cottage. All original 3D designs.

'Weird' doesn't truly encompass what is bizarre about it. Perhaps the name itself provides a clue; not merely a Second Life to rival the first, but a second chance at one's first and only life. A virtual rebirth into an airless universe where everyone's young, fit, tanned, perpetually horny and is fully equipped in every way possible to do precisely nothing but enjoy oneself. Instantly sellable, disposable virtual sex objects. Everything about one's look - fashion, design, setting, the whole big *pose* - is directly meant to say one thing; I'm rich and famous and I'm getting it steady - and fuck everyone else, because I look fabulous, dahlink.

But that's just it. You don't really look great, you just look "Like a right munt", as they say in England. (The term Munt means 'Aggressively, obnoxiously synthetic'. You're a 'Headfeeder'. 'Civilized Meat'. 'The Fittest'. A 'High Riser'. An 'Elysiumite'. A 'Plastic Fork'. An 'Air Breather'. An 'Astral / Maximum American'. A 'Mock Turtle' ie. a fictitious assemblage. A 'Jinzo' - Japanese for 'artificial person'. Basically your out and out 'Vajazzling' in your inanity and superficiality, friendo. You often sport a cow lick haircut. You wear your sunglasses on your head, turn your collars up or wear a jumper wrapped around your shoulders on the way to the tennis courts. You act like you can piss Long Island Teas on demand. Your violent artificiality is aspirationally stupid and obnoxiously unpleasant.)

Basically any high form of insufferably fabricated asshole. You look like one of those dickheads called 'Clay' or some other fucked-up, unlikely sounding shit like that. Nobody likes you, they understand that you're a cabbage and they all secretly hope you randomly snag your genitals on the rough edge of an artisan wooden table while being a super-affected tryhard attempting to look effortlessly cool and sophisticated.

Witness raw (always fully ideologically cooked) hyper-consumerist transhuman body fascism at play, featuring the biggest phony, Bleach-Ass Cracker Devil Lookin' Motherfuckers in the known multiverse. A bunch of fake tits and big dicks on permanent vacation inside their own Recreational Psychopathology bubble; a quietly super creepy. outright perverse Dark Electroparadise of the insufferably spoilt; impossibly endowed taking backsides. Where virtually dressing up (urrrrgh) Daddy's Little Angel like babydoll princesses in borderline 'lick my ice cream' p3d0-droid scenarios proudly display some horrible, corrupt pastel innocence where the importance of 'life as surface style' is everything; all other priorities rescinded.

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It's like the entire earth dies and becomes yet another RRWURCCFV 'radical reassertion of white upper ruling class Christofascist family values'. In Second Life VR-Hell, everyone looks like they'd become a Trump Humper without batting a eyelash. Nobody who regularly plays in Metaverse VR-Hell there reads or thinks, they just shop for new Botoxed-to-deathmask faces even the Surgeon General of Post-Apocalyptic Beverly Hills would find too disturbing. Permanently posing with the invisible selfie stick they've permanently stuck up themselves.

This is the #aesthetic internet at its most excellent and Capitalistically unrestrained; rich with obviousness. A entire dead virtual planet of the most dead-eyed looking storefront dummies it's possible to conceive of without immediately thinking of the Kardashians; narcissistic, hollow egos, swamp-bloated as though parasitic with endlessly ballooning self worth, sipping frothy organic decaff coconut adaptogenic mushroom rosewater and turmeric 'selfieccinos' (hint: GKY) while the world falls off the melting anthropogenic climate change ice cliff. Mightie whiteys sporting shit-eating grins and furry BDSM one-peices with goddamn angel wings, surrounded by cupcakes (always cupcakes) and those tiny yapping dogs. All perfectly batshit.

To consider Second Life VR-Hell:

  • A perfectly (shitty) Economic space, where all relations are based on one's Cultural (Lindendollar-microtransactional) Capital. It set the tone for all Metaverses to come, and its only possible future - where only The Beautiful, anointed - and lightly mentally retarded - may be allowed to strut; fool's gold guilded peacocks on permanent public display. For a price, naturally.

Not a parody: economic bubble (heads)

  • Politely symbolic for all that's violently, insufferably synthetic and fake-ass.
  • Eye-cancer inducing anti-art you love to hate; instant sentimental saccharine-Kitsch induced diabetes.
  • In which if Second Life was the afterlife, you'd prey for true Oblivion.
  • In which the cognitive disjunction between the screen (surface virtual flesh of one's avatar) and the deluded Meat of one's daily as-lived existence is so great, it instantly creates an implosive black hole of negative psychic energy into which all such hopeless digital glamor falls. The energy spent in actively denying this disjunction and schism is enough to power the very stars, glittering n their dead plastic eyes.
  • Cultists with all the rich interior lives befitting abandoned highway sofas and wee-stained middle class tote bags full of rusty spanners.
  • The pursuit of Fashion Über Alles as an expression of violently bland 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 horror TV shows like Love Island and The Only Way Is Essex.
  • As populated by stunningly useless, grotesque Alt Right body parody klones direct from some off-world Elysium ripoffs of Human Ken Dolls, displaying what might be termed 'the fascism of youth'.
  • Like something casually played on mobile and the toilet by that monstrously obese guy in that awful "Gamer" movie while rapidly flicking his filthy swollen peanut.
  • 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 neighbor?
  • A digital crack induced postmodern daymare where it seems forever smooth faced, undead brained escapees from the deepest part of The Uncanny Valley come back to haunt us for our electronic sins.
  • Some kind of quietly sinister, cosmically obsolete, ultra private gated techno-colonial New Endland pastoral, shiny fish-lipped implant Instagram filter fantasy.
  • Unending mundane vistas of unrelenting interior decoration and carefully curated accessories, featuring endless shots of rustic wooden piers, conservatories, lighthouses n' shit.
  • Nothing's happening somewhere in nowhere; say hello to forever lost and wandering hungry ghosts of the electronic dead.
  • For dead stuffed mother's basement dwelling beard-weird creepozoids and ugly conservative small town librarians only.
  • Revolting post-Kitsch dustbin which even makes the undying, anti-artistic corpse of Thomas Kinkade regret his career decision to exist - even as a concept.
  • Trapped in VR-Hell at barely 30FPS, walking lizard algorithm Mark Sugarborg joker-smiles.
  • Where everyone arrives pre-caricatured like modern flawless pink tanned muti-millionaire freaks.
Rich White Freaks

There is no life such an electronic void. Only what appear at their oh-so vital surface™ to be a turgid bunch of hateful, smug rich Designer Munts (DM's) that need a swift, casual burning kayak paddle to the collective face. A place not worth caring about; of only minor passing historical interest. To take off into low orbit and immediately and 50-Picawatt lazor fry the whole desperate, patently insane, unsustainably bogus virtual non-thing, just to make sure.. Ka-Vlappp!

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