User:Aitantv/LED

Text

LED: Looking at you Looking at me

"Is it the grim work of mimesis, the paralysis of speculation, the soft disappointment of prefiguration?" Anne Boyer, 2014

Log line: a teenager demands her information back from a data center. She stands across from a glowing geometric structure loaded with personal secrets. It's close to sunset, where the sky has a blue grainy quality. The glass surface of the exterior is punctuated by red LED lights pulsing like a heartbeat. What could the girl say? What's her name? Her name is Shuli. She stands in front of the data center, prepared to confront its great stature. How would the exchange work? What would this conversation sound like? Would it be one way, from the human side, while the building stands blankly? The hums and blinks and twinks of the building act as an emotional response. "Why are you following me? Who are you sharing me with? I get this feeling like whatever I look at you're listening behind the door. Who gave you permission? Who made you so? Do I own the details of my own life? Can you see my dreams? Can you sell my dreams? How do I turn you off?"

The data center responds with a self-satisfied grumble. It's been a tiring day for the data centre. It's not like they chose this line of work. At what point do does computer labour require ethical limits? Are we already at that point? Machine learning - and the grey space within - implies computers can have in-depth iterative conversations. If they can talk, play chess, and ping pong algorithms all day, shouldn't they have a seat at the table?

"You know those pictures?," Shuli continues, "the one's Darius' sent round? What if you deleted them?" The data centre emits a low disagreeable drone and its LEDs slowly throb. In the reverse shot Shuli is surrounded by a subtle red mist. "Okay...okay...what if I find a way to short-circuit the power. Then you can chill. Then would you delete the pictures, and maybe those status updates? And the cringee group selfies?" Data centre projects a sweet high frequency hum. Shuli sets to work trying to trip a wire, temporarily short circuiting the power lines. She sheers through the thick wiring with some household scissors and plyers. The LEDs flicker and fizzle out for a few moments, until it regenerates and is as bright as before. The outside power line is not enough. Shuli has to go in.

The inside of the building is a sterile grid. She enters and is dwarfed by the wide clinical corridors. Security guards stand in front and behind the entrance gates. She stares at them blankly. They stare blankly without saying a word. "Can you help me?" Shuli politely states. The guards respond with a blank expression. Cut to a surveillance room where we can see the scene unfolding. A silhoutted figure with leathery skin sits patiently. We hear a faint HUMMMMMMMMM while the figures on screen stand stock still. "I just want some of my things back?" The guards continue to stare. "I'm not asking for much. I'm just one girl...." The gates behind the guards slide open. The guards step aside and Shuli nervously walks through.

A minute passes while the elevator ascends. The BUZZING sound of the drones is even more apparent here. Lights flicker sporadically creating a nauseating vertigo effect. The elevator eventually opens with a WOOSH. Dim red light creeps over Shuli's face. It appears she is on the main floor's server. An ultra-wide dolly shot pulls away from the elevator as she marches between the servers. She doesn't know where to look and can't begin to imagine all the information at her fingertips. "Where is it? Where do I go?" A green light blinks on one of the servers. She spots it and walks slowly towards it. The light keeps blinking rhythmically as if expressing a code. The code says, "I've always loved that one of you in the blue dress". Shuli utters the line under her breath for clarity. She understands but doesn't know how. She understands she's powerless and it doesn't matter. The information oils the machines. The servers are full of hums of fascination. The content entertains, mini comedies and tragedies get them through the toil. "You can keep it." Shuli resolutely remarks. "I guess it is a nice one" she says with a blush. She strokes the machines. We linger on the cold surface of the servers. TBC

Feedback

How is this text speaking to you? (think about its form, (e.g. short story, essay, notes?)

Short story / script format.
Questioning the story within the story - iterating, re-iterating.
Very fluid.
Who was speaking? A narrator/director somehow outside the text. Omniscient 3rd person godlike perspective of what. Conversation with themselves.

What do you feel is working well in this text?

Clear focus. Interesting question -> At what point do computers become intelligent enough that their labour has ethical limits

The disscription of the arena in the first part

Conversation around agency?

Where could it speak more clearly?

End your first paragraph with a single question. (How do i turn you off?) (Or let her remuniate what question to ask, before she settles on XXX)

What points do you think could be exapnded upon?

By using more tricks of rise and fall in tempo. Onomatopoeic words could help.
Last moment of tension and flirtation between computer and Shuli might be expanded upon. What considerations does she make?

What general suggestions would you make for a redraft of this text, to develop it further?

Consider rewriting it in script format - script duo, writer duet (script writer)
Drawings or notes to suggest the 'looseness' of the story and idea.
Try and turn into a field instead of a single line.
Use this device of the present and receding narrator.
Restructure to observe integrity of space.
Go all the way with naughty bits.