What “Floppy” Tells Us About Ourselves

Finding a floppy disc on the ground is a lot like finding a wine bottle washed up on the shore. Anything could be inside: A call for help, a treasure map, ancient recipes, what have you. One could argue, though, that the contents of that disc were never meant to be read. Why, then, would someone write it if they didn’t want someone to read it, right? The author wanted someone to see what they were dealing with and the reader could have two possible reactions.

I vaguely remember using floppy discs back in the day. The first computer I ever used, an Apple II GS, used them exclusively. The second I heard that loading sound all of those memories came back. It’s still the same. The music in floppy echoes exactly what is happening in the text and on the pictures. It’s vague, yet scary. The music could easily be in the background while Jigsaw is explaining his latest torture device. It heigtens your sense, sends adrenaline into your blood. The muffled bass drum sounds just like someone being punched through a pillow in the next apartment. Where are the screams?

This is where you learn something about yourself. Are you caught up in the entertainment, wondering how our protaganist is going to deal with the situation? Or are you screaming “CALL 911 YOU MORON” in your head?

The  woman who gets beaten is kind of an interesting character. Why does she not make a huge ruckus? In this apartment complex, the walls are evidently paper thin so any noise will travel far. This is another branching off point. Do you suppose she likes her daily beatings, or maybe she’s the victim of a bigger struggle going on. Maybe she knows that world is filled with people  like the author who are Saw fans and therefor immovable objects, seen it all and it’s gonna take more than that to make them pick up their phones. A wall seperates him from her, just like that glass wall that seperates him from his movies. He can’t feel the blood on his face, he just isn’t close enough.  Maybe this is a side effect of the internet. When you are exposed to technology that can literally bring any sight or sound into your very own home, why bother with anything less?

What do we do now that we’ve seen the disk too? We’re all accessories to this crime, now. Do we call the police? It’s very much like that women who got attacked in the middle of an apartment complex common area with over 60 documented witnesses, none of whom dialed the police. I’m sure they were just being polite and respecting the poor girl’s privacy.

It says a lot about our culture that we can witness, take part in events like this and not even budge in our chairs. So this is where we learn something about each other and ourselves: Did you pick up the phone?
I didn’t. I personally wanted to see the guy do it himself, it would have made me feel better, safer, more distant. But instead I’m sitting here wondering if this actually happened and if that girl is getting beaten again tonight.

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~ by scootielou on April 11, 2010.

One Response to “What “Floppy” Tells Us About Ourselves”

  1. […] note to the police. Why else would he be writing these thoughts in between code? Problematically, “we’re all accessories to this crime, now” (Leetevan – thinkin’ along the same lines! Excellent interpretive leap). There […]

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