GEOFANCY: a monthly column about the future, and you.

by Sievert Buckblood

Dear Friend of Experimental Music,

I mean… what do I say. Early in November, I paid a lot of attention to people who claimed to know things about the future. The people that had my ear were not fellow travelers from the world of geomantic prediction, but from a different troupe of fortune-teller. Instead of reading rocks, garbage, or some combination thereof in order to glean glimmers of the future (my field of expertise), the people that I watched were using v. fancy scrying techniques. Friend of Experimental Music, I tell you what, I have NO IDEA what they were doing… stuff like statistical modeling and prediction markets. Numbers and Money. In the months leading up to November, I began to feel almost like I belonged to a by-gone era, like maybe geomancy was just some anachronistic dark-ages stuff. Well Friend of Experimental Music, that might be the case, but ALSO it seems that right now we risk entering a kind of new technologically-enhanced dark age, a very 3D dark age in which we use new very advanced techniques, underwritten by the kind of people who use physics to model the velocity of money, to maintain a deep ignorance about the world around us.

Friend of Experimental Music, someone pretty old and dead and philosopher-famous tells me that truth, and especially any claim on future-truth, is profoundly enmeshed in the desire for certain truths to be true. Specifically, truth is a kind of work, a kind of effort, born of deep personal investment and engagement.  Truth is contestation and trying things out and making stuff happen. When I sat there on election night, and I kept refreshing my mf-ing browser, watching in panic’d slowe-motionne as haughty confidence crumbled into rocks and garbage, and carefully constructed truths revealed themselves to be as unstable as IDK, some famously unstable building, I couldn’t help but feel my own truths reveal themselves for what they were, a horrifying hologram divorced from the effort necessary to make them true. What I really really really want to take away from all of this—like I hope I don’t forget this horror, Friend of Experimental Music—is that there is no truth in dispassionate, sitting-the-fuck-back and sipping something while expert scienticians make you feel ok cuz they tell you that a thing is going to go a certain way. It doesn’t work like that because truth is a thing we make, not something we observe.

That said Friend of Experimental Music, I have some predictions for you, predictions that you can feel free to make or un-make as you see fit. Because life right now approaches a horrifying hologram, I decided to scry your future based on a virtual landscape, a 3D pile of garbage. Turns out that Amissio and Aquisitio are our left and right witnesses, with Via our Judge. This particular arrangement of geomantic figures is auspicious. We’re promised good news, a bit of delayed mail, a peaceful death in the distant future, favorable results in a lawsuit, and in a strange turn, that we may even become lawyers ourselves. While some of us may become lawyers, I also take this to mean that we will take the law into our own hands, not like brooding renegade cops, but like concerned citizens and human beings actively engaged and working to remedy this ugly disaster.

OK Friend of Experimental Music, I’ll see you around.