The following is neither a joke nor a wisecrack dressed up in appropriationist clothing. It’s an example of something that I had already started to name genuine blogging culture in this section, although I’m aware that the expression is slightly clumsy. GBC is like porn: extremely difficult to define but recognizable at first sight. As you can see, GBC is fragmentary, metanarrative, disorientating and amazingly fruitful. So much so, that it’s already started to mutate in other fields, including that dandruff-ridden, old-school undertaking of essay-writing. To follow, we have a (sampled) extract from the last Eloy Fernández Carries book, "
Homo Sampler. Time and consumption in the post-pop era", which goes:
"Discovered in Atapuerca the oldest remaining fossil of a blogger.
REUTERS/RORSCHACH. A bone found in Atapuerca on June 27th, and unveiled to the public today by the co-directors of the site, confirms the oldest presence of bloggers in Europe, dating back over 1,200,000 years. This find exceeds by some 400,000 years the remains which, up to now, were the oldest in Europe, belonging to the Homo Amstrad species, also located in Atapuerca (...).
As opposed to other more active members of their community, who confronted wild bison in their bare chests or asked hominids of the opposite sex for a light or invested in Treasury Bonds, the blogger only left his cave to visit the Mac settlement or to pick up four cheese flavoured Cheetos. Although by that stage of the Lower Neolithic the quadruped style was already out of date, and the biped fashion was all the rage, the blogger had adopted a nerdy bent-over position. For that reason the bony remainders caused confusion among scholars. "It seemed impossible", clarifies Childish, "that a hominid with a constitution so similar to a monkey’s could be a contemporary of the Homo Surfer and of a rugby central defender. Up to now we imagined him to be an ancestor of theirs, according to some hypothesis, the symptom of a regrettable decline" (...).
The blogger’s favorite tools were a stone flint with a crayon tip and a tube of instant glue, extracted from the roots of the Sacred Tree. With this stone he worked upon the walls of his cave, which he decorated with laborious inscriptions, called postum. In most cases the times the postum took up just a few lines, but on inspired days the blogger would often devote an entire day to a single inscription, which would take up an entire wall, much to the consternation of their cave-mates, who would scream abuse at him and give him a vicious thrashing that left him rather the worse for wear. In those occasions the blogger consoled himself by carrying out his second favourite activity: collecting leaves, flora and other vegetables and hitting them against the wall, in an effort to decorate or illustrate other texts. Aesthetic historians have called this pseudo-artistic practice " Anal Preschool Era", and believe that it represents a mystical, rather cheesy mentality, the consequence of a diet that was low in sodium and rich in Cheetos (...).
A very striking aspect of the blogger mentality was its eschatology, both in the sense of the "spiritual and religious use of our remains" and also of "what you are thinking". The routine of the hominid, who to our eyes may appear quite absurd, was maintained by a superstitious belief in the magical properties of glue. In fact, the blogger was convinced that a mysterious force, at the very core of the glue itself, put him in touch with the caves of all the remaining bloggers. This was called "virtual cohesion". Interpreters tell us that this hazy concept makes up the underlying theme of the majority of the preserved postum (...).
Certain archaeologists maintain that the worship of glue made some believe that their inscriptions could be read, decoded and discussed by other bloggers, in neighbouring or even very distant caves, thus creating a kind of universal landscape where cavemen shared one single cause (...).
These bloggers (...) were well aware of their destiny: busying themselves with a unrewarding and deceptive business, thrown to the cold corners of the cave, in the darkest of times, all in the hope that some archaeologist, carrying out an academic study would take notice of them (...). This scene illustrates the phenomenon which cyber-critics of holoculture call "media implosion" and which can be defined as the tendency to read the lines of a newspaper with the same willingness as those who scrutinize the Palaeolithic sky looking for emblems, or clouds arranged in allegory, or forecasts at the start of the second sales, along with a clear and terrible certainty: the Rain Gods speak through the mouth of Paco Montesdeoca.”
Eloy Fernández Porta, “
Homo Sampler. Tiempo y consumo en la era after-pop”