Niemand weiß, wer er selber ist, geschweige denn, wer die andern sind.
Und geht's uns schlecht?!
Franz Schuh - Schwere Vorwürfe, schmutzige Wäsche
In the beginning, a lot of people were excited about the possibilites of the internet. A virtual, potentially democratic medium that allowed the blurring of all sorts of boundaries, i.e. between public and private or mind and body. Particuarly Web 2.0 seemd to open up the potentiality of flexible, fluid identities beyond our "real", fixed gender, ethnic background and class; it seemed open to new ways of writing that move beyond self and other, creating new synergies and an infinite number of connections and encounters.
The day after the big party, people realized of course the difference between virtual and real selves wasn't all that discrepant. Most avatars in Second Life do, in fact, resemble their real counterparts, except maybe that more often than not people would create an improved or idealized version of themselves (which, I believe, would be interesting to analyze in relation to Lacan's mirror stage). Most prolifes on Facebook or other social networks are boringly accurate about age, background, sex, job, etc. Which is to say: usually we lie about ourselves on the internet as much or as little as we do in real life. Moreover (or consequently?), people expect you to tell the truth about yourself on the internet (and I'm not talking about my credit card number and adress when I purchase something on amazon or ebay; I'm talking about changing my FB status to married and people asking me when I got married; reactions ranging from disappointment to relief and shock).
The point I'm getting at, as you might have guessed, is this very hobby of mine, called blogging. It's about writing. It's writing yourself, which, at least for me, doesn't mean the same as writing about yourself. I am much more courageous, funny, smart, cordial, pathetic, lonesome, drunk, cheerful, depressed, stupid, chaotic, disciplined in real life. And yet I write much more courageous, funny, smart, cordial, pathetic, lonesome, drunk, cheerful, depressed, stupid, chaotic, disciplined here than in real life. So beware, dear reader, don't believe you know anything about me because you read this. Don't believe you could run across me in the street and be my friend, because you've had some experience with me in the virtual world.
Above everything else: don't believe I am telling the truth; because, to use a good old logical paradox, I am always lying, except for now.
And to finish, a little hilarious piece of Derrida on signatures; the condensed epitome of written authenticity.
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