Carl Diehl
ONE AND THREE LYCANTHROPOCENES:
​
The latest incarnation of “the lycanthropocene” emerged piecemeal over that restless summer of 2020. I finished the video below in a frenzy of editing that fall, between whiffs of wildfire smoke and while the daylight was jaundiced and dim. I think it pairs well with those wild and magnificent thunderstorms that sometimes break over Portland. This iteration of "the lycanthropocene" was an effort to process various forms for my feelings, amidst seemingly imminent and emerging horrors on the horizon, along with evidence of inspiring transformations being mobilized locally to meet the moment.
​
Content Warning: the density of layers, simultaneity of voices, pulsing abstraction, and a leitmotif of lexiconspiracy do little to ward off anxiety, and might be best consumed in bits or blinks, if at all.
Micro-dosing this lycanthropocene offers a novel variation on doomscrolling, if nothing else.
(Below) Cribbing notes from its carnival colleagues, "the lycanthropocene" makes its debut as a sideshow theory-object in an exhibit on post-truth. Primed to capture your pay of attention it persists and thrives on the unique findability of a neologism roaming the Google-tracked world
​
(Above, click for linked essay) In this iteration of "the lycanthropocene," the shape-shifting myth that doesn't compute is enmeshed in an interrogation of the tags, keywords, and search engine algorithms that mediate and predetermine the majority of our interactions with contemporary image culture.