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Second_Skin
I think that no one can deny that we are submerged in stuff. It suffuses our lives, to the point where it is almost ambient. Phillip K. Dick, in his usual incoherent manner, addresses a future in which it truly is ambient, and the junk which seems to accumulate natural is given a name -- kipple -- and has assorted disposal techniques that any other non-living pest might have. I played off of this in an RPG once, in which I had people discuss the usefulness of their personal kipple, and trying to rationalize was regarded as a major skill in the society at large.
At times, though, there are items that, through use or ritual, acquire the status of artifacts, and become much more than kipple. They are not necessarily valuable, but they are certainly meaningful (a huge German organ calendar, say, has no abstract value.) Most cars are artifacts. Some computers are. Items which are not artifacts are, well, worthless -- they detoriate much faster than artifacts and generally pass unnoticed and unloved into landfills without so much as a second thought. People in charge of computer maintainence are well aware of this -- public use computers, even those that are completely reinstalled with every use, simply deteriorate faster than family computers.
Interestingly, I think that the process of artificing is not entirely a matter of human will. There have been times when I have desperately *wanted* something of mine to become an artifact, but it has staunchly refused any such meaning, and gradually passed from the world. There are other things which I had no idea were important at all, but here they are...
There are times, when we are extremely lucky, that we come into possession of artifacts without any sort of imbuing on our own. It is in this way, I think, that we try to touch the lives of others through gifts and it is in this way that we understand those that have come before us. I have had the good fortune to come into an artifact through dumb luck, and I am very glad to have it.
It is a leather jacket, worn to dusty brown, which you have most likely seen on me before. It has pockets which are precisely deep enough, the zipper has never worked, and it came into my possession through a mysterious means which, even today, I cannot entirely recall. At a similar time, my other artifact jacket (a big green bomber style number) passed out of my possession and into void. I think that the leather ate it, or perhaps the green one transformed.
The leather jacket is unspeakably lucky, has mood swings, and has tried to escape me on five occasions. I have taken to placating it with gifts of dice, bits of paper, notes with phone numbers and, in one instance, chocolate. Recently we have been getting along very well, I think because it ate a notebook of mine and is feeling guilty.
Why I am writing about this? Well, to be honest, this is quite a dangerous endeavor. Talking about such pacts has a way of breaking them, and that is certainly not my intention. It's just that, before I go to China (The Jacket is from China. Does it want to go home? Or does it fear its creator?), I really need to get the zipper fixed. And, well, I'm worried that it will be angry with me.
Any ideas on convincing a Jacket that fixing its zipper is a good thing?
At times, though, there are items that, through use or ritual, acquire the status of artifacts, and become much more than kipple. They are not necessarily valuable, but they are certainly meaningful (a huge German organ calendar, say, has no abstract value.) Most cars are artifacts. Some computers are. Items which are not artifacts are, well, worthless -- they detoriate much faster than artifacts and generally pass unnoticed and unloved into landfills without so much as a second thought. People in charge of computer maintainence are well aware of this -- public use computers, even those that are completely reinstalled with every use, simply deteriorate faster than family computers.
Interestingly, I think that the process of artificing is not entirely a matter of human will. There have been times when I have desperately *wanted* something of mine to become an artifact, but it has staunchly refused any such meaning, and gradually passed from the world. There are other things which I had no idea were important at all, but here they are...
There are times, when we are extremely lucky, that we come into possession of artifacts without any sort of imbuing on our own. It is in this way, I think, that we try to touch the lives of others through gifts and it is in this way that we understand those that have come before us. I have had the good fortune to come into an artifact through dumb luck, and I am very glad to have it.
It is a leather jacket, worn to dusty brown, which you have most likely seen on me before. It has pockets which are precisely deep enough, the zipper has never worked, and it came into my possession through a mysterious means which, even today, I cannot entirely recall. At a similar time, my other artifact jacket (a big green bomber style number) passed out of my possession and into void. I think that the leather ate it, or perhaps the green one transformed.
The leather jacket is unspeakably lucky, has mood swings, and has tried to escape me on five occasions. I have taken to placating it with gifts of dice, bits of paper, notes with phone numbers and, in one instance, chocolate. Recently we have been getting along very well, I think because it ate a notebook of mine and is feeling guilty.
Why I am writing about this? Well, to be honest, this is quite a dangerous endeavor. Talking about such pacts has a way of breaking them, and that is certainly not my intention. It's just that, before I go to China (The Jacket is from China. Does it want to go home? Or does it fear its creator?), I really need to get the zipper fixed. And, well, I'm worried that it will be angry with me.
Any ideas on convincing a Jacket that fixing its zipper is a good thing?