(source: Octopus Pie)
I wrote the Meatpunk Manifesto in one hour on a day when I felt rage in my skull and sunfire in my very veins, and somehow that eight-point document has been one of my longest-lasting points of legacy. There are some parts of it that I'm pretty happy with still ("subtlety is for fuckers," while being a remixed quote from Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, is still one of the favorite things I've written) but other parts that I feel somewhat distant from, six (!!!) years down the line.
I've become somewhat disillusioned in the idea of art as a political tool over time; I think it can express political thought (and, indeed, all art is a reification of political thought), and it can warm the souls of those already fighting, but I don't think it can manifest change in the way I once thought. There was a time when I was running on chaos magic and lightning; when it felt like every game I put out would force a better world into existence through sigil magic encoded into binary. That's the place where the Meatpunk Manifesto came from, and it's not a place I inhabit much anymore.
I'm glad that it exists, and I'm glad that people have taken inspiration from it, but it's no longer my manifesto. Continuing to host it felt strange, dishonest. I have new theories about art I'm working on. Maybe someday I'll write another manifesto about them, when my heart burns with sunfire once more.
Regardless, the Meatpunk Manifesto still exists. It's hosted on a stranger's neocities page (the perfect place for it), almost completely unformatted (the perfect format for it). It's not mine anymore; it belongs to them and you and every other meatpunk who still takes inspiration from it.
Stay dangerous.
