if the death of the author is the birth of the reader, then what is the death of the press? the birth of "fake news"? the academics have been warning us about the death of the real for decades. what will grow from its corpse?

a lot, we'd wager::: heaps of histories squirming along ideological lines, a million and one apocalypses, fifteen minute revolutions, and on and on.

when nothing is certain, anything is plausible.

...but there are so many choices!

how do we choose to tailor the curtains of our realities? undoubtedly more of it that we would like to admit comes down our cerebral chutes via narrowly targeted marketing. advertisers no longer work to create mass desire for singular products and people, but rather shine a spotlight on a thousand tiny desires breeding in the dark corners of our solitary bubbles.

our data points come to define our reality more and more, and as we fragment further and further into a multiplicity of desire-bits, content providers are more than happy to throw up any old rumor worth its weight in keywords. advertisers couldn't care less where their ads appear as long as the clicks keep flowing.

how do we break out? probably using our bodies. posting, marching, singing, writing, drawing, dancing, swaying, fighting, being bodies in the world, but how do we know what is worth it and what is just another ad?

we are calling on artists to help our understanding.

we invite creative efforts in any medium that explore metafictional filter bubbles, clickbait culture, ideological hacking, crowdsource science and social media literacy.

plz send a brief statement along w/yr media files/text to submission@peripheralforms.com by March 15th 2017.