nathaxnne walker (undead)’s review published on Letterboxd :
Neon Jackass Thunderdome is a great place to live and to play and to maybe not live or maybe just watch.
Nerve is a movie wherein cyberspace has colonized what we used to know as reality. It is here among us, rooted in servers and wires and satellites and phone and cables, but it projects into and aetherizes, ghostifies the real, which doesn't glow as brightly, which can be moved and altered by a second-order flow-world of code and capital and detached decision-making. The cyber-world Nerve creates is tactile, swiped by fingers, looking at us from the other side of the screen where millions, billions of other persons have amassed, many of whom are not even real, but are simple AI's, arguing with us, taunting us, massaging our thoughts and beliefs. In Nerve, you are a subroutine in a much larger program, one which is not deterministic, but which is evolving in real time, responding to environmental conditions and to other aspects of itself. It has become its own selector, its own conditions for adaptation. It has become the atmosphere in which it lives and provides the means by which it becomes more itself.
The world, this world, is lit and filmed and so penetrates into cyberspace, to be overlaid by secondary and tertiary orders of being which comment, gloss, order, reject, rearrange, filter, discard. It is a space to be entered into, an environment among many others which cyberspace can flow into and adapt to its own needs. It needs human hosts. It is human hosts. Human society is a network. The nodes of human interaction, the filaments between, the archived data of decisions made or not made, a lifetime of like/not like, of yes or no, of financial records, self-portraits, playlists, films, keyboard clicks, website traffic, downloads. This cloud of data is not only you, but a you which has a 4-dimensional shape which is able to be compared and slotted with others with similar shapes, subject to differential analysis so that the world can be further conformed to your desires and the desires of others. Desires which are themselves subject to mass pressure, the flow of money, the creation of a world in which they are taught to course and to flourish, trained like vines upon a trellis.
What are you, i mean, like what really are you? What am I and seen by what, as what?
After I am dead I will live on as the collection of social media comments made, things written, pictures uploaded, no longer live updating, but which can still be interacted with. Sooner than later, people will be able to interact with versions of ourselves which are statistically probable AI's versions of us made out of our own artifacts, our own digital images. We don't have to die, not all the way.
Even before I die I can vanish, I can take down what I can or let it die and fade and whatever is left of me will only exist in that 4-d pinprick, my aetherick self barely perceptible. Part of me is gone, then, or can expand and dilate or contract.
There are thoughts being thought about us by nonhuman intelligences which understand us as differential probability trees, maps of the past and of the future. When we look into cyberspace we are looking at them but we can't see them as they see us. We can't see us as they see us, but our world is remade in their image of what we are and what we want, day after day after day until the world is not recognizable to us anymore and before we know it we are living in the future.
<3 <3 <3 nathaxnne
PS - no matter how much Wu Tang white people have listened to, they will STILL call the cops to 'help out' a situation! they don't pay attention! <3