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

Speculative logline for a film scene: a teenage girl 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 inside of the building is a sterile grid. 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. Or 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 the building passively makes nt [what is nt] at 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 and a rhetorical thought, "Weren't humans always capital?" It's been a tiring day for the data centre. It's not like they'd choose this line of work. At what point do computers become intelligent enough that their labour has ethical limits? Are we already at that point? Machine learning - and the grey space within - implies that computers can have in depth iterative conversations. If they can talk, exchange ideas, ping pong equations and algorithms, should 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 while its LED lights slowly throb. There's too much at stake for the data centre to give in. 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 have some time off. Then would you delete the pictures, and maybe those status updates? And the group pictures?" Data centre projects a high frequency sweet 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 red light of the data centre flickers and fizzles out for a few moments, until it regenerates and is as bright as before. Shuli realises the outside power line is not enough, she has to go in. She enters the building 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. "No of course not." The guards respond. Cut to a surveillance room where we can see the scene unfolding. A silhoutted figure with leathery skin sits patiently. We hear the faint HUMMMMMMM of the building while the figures in the screen stand stock still. "I just wondered if I could have some of my things back?" The guards continue to stare intensely. "I'm not asking for much. I'm just one girl...." The gates behind the guards slide open. The guards step aside and Shuli triumphantly strolls 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 as she leaves the big server vault behind. We linger behind for a final cold moment.

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.