Nestled between fairway-condos and swimming pools as kidneys is a data centre that stores the massive and shapeless stuff of digital production. For the leisure-suit-laden retired bankers of Palm Springs CA., it is a country club of two worlds: above, are spaces that exploit their tired bodies through games where play is celebrated social act and the production of illusions temporarily dislocate their realities.
Below is made of excreted material from the data centre: it is the domain of physical superabundance--errors and excess---across time, and through strata of materiality. A glutinous mass, leftover 0’s and 1’s. Information’s Ivory Towers as silicon’s shit. Above, the games employ their commodified minds, language and emotions within membranes upon membranes of inflatables.
The building is a codified territory; a reified .csv file blurring the details of a body and something completely artificial, alien. It’s likeness to a body--with wrinkles of inflatables, pits as thermal pools and as hair ethernet cables--is no coincidence as the exchange of data and total creation of information is the sum of human effort. The building becomes where information came from. The bankers are again libidinous college kids; splendor is restored and is floating as a desert oasis of information.