REALITY & NEW MEDIA: 1000 Angels Dancing on the Head of a Pin

Looking up at my panorama piece of sky, my personal view that no one else but me can see. It is not large, but still it’s cut in half by horizontal flight; a teeny tiny eighth-inch gleaming silver spark of jet-plane.

Amazing, no? There must be three hundred people up there; sitting, sleeping, or reading magazines or talking to each other. Maybe going over presentations—those who sit in business class. And babies,little people who do not know they’re in the sky.

Or that I’m watching.
– – – –
New Media Moment: Cultural coding tells me that my eyes are lying to me; it’s all a literal point of view, and the plane, with all its people, cannot be caught between my fingers, but would land and crush my house.

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REALITY & NEW MEDIA: Morning Revealed in Inches (Prelude to the Window Exercise #3)

Goodness me; am I to go around applying new media principles even to my simple morning cigarette routine in the dark garage?

Going out a bit later this morning (oh, all right; my second cigarette!) it was lighter as the morning warned of its arrival, visible through the darkness as a “screen” 12 inches high by 8 feet long of the garage door window. Though dim with dawn, I see the maple branches, leaves in front of a colorless old colonial that is my neighbor’s house. I can recall sitting in this same spot with the door wide open, and the house, the trees, the road, my own front yard and driveway become a part of this same scene. If I walk up to the door and peer out of the window, I know I’ll see much more. And if I open it, the world is mine.

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NEW MEDIA: Devil in a Red Dress (Readerly/Writerly)

Perhaps the reason that I’ve put this post off since last night is that in trying to organize my thoughts, I’ve gotten bogged down with coming at it from all angles:

—–> Reader reading readerly written text
—–> Reader reading writerly written text
—–> Writer writing readerly text
—–> Writer writing writerly text

If I may eliminate the first two choices, that of the reader, because it is obvious that a reader can read something as written (readerly), whether taken as fact such as textbooks, etc. (it is probably near impossible for a reader to NOT add his own input); or to interpret the text any way his experience or desire guides him (writerly).

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that nonsense out of the way, let me explore with less baggage and a better map.

Barthes’ notion of writerly narrative from a writer is perhaps a brilliant acknowledgement of the way people not only enjoy, but have a natural tendency towards reading. We learn the alphabet, how to switch letters around to form words, then how to switch words around to form a narrative structure. We want more; the entertainment value of story that didn’t need letters at all—the folklore style of story. But fiction, no matter how well written, is not complete to the reader if he cannot comprehend or relate to it by his own experiences, whether lived or read or told about, or watched on film. This is the element he adds to help him understand and enjoy reading.

Barthes saw this, and has held specifically noted various elements within narrative that could be met to produce the highest level of reader “involvement.”

To gear to this new level, Barthes suggested that to be a writer, one would be actively seeking to engage the reader, taking the focus off meaning as he intends (decentralization), to allow audience participation. This recognizes the reader’s ability to fill in what’s not been stated. The reader is allowed to wonder, produce mental images, using the text, without being tied to it. Meaning lay in the interpretation, was arguable, therefore had plurality, and opened up the literature to far beyond its numbered pages.

Barthes’ suggestion of writerly writing is exactly geared toward the new media of hypertext.

She wore a dress the color of blood. (Pretty denotative; if you think “green,” you’d be wrong or invalid. Flash image, and although dependent upon reader recall, pretty limiting in color between arterial or venous. However, being given the time, the reader’s natural imagination may conjure up a style as well.)

She wore a red dress. (Ah, now that’s better, very connotative; the reader must work a bit. Although it happens rather quickly, and the reader, anxious to move along, picks a color, not much more.)

She wore a dress. (Different ballgame. And while the “writer” still offers an authoritative color palette, he’s offering many choices as well. Each reader, by choice, will take a different path. Each reader, by choice, may take a different path each time he reads the story.

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LITERATURE: Adultery and the Lure of the Romance Novel

It’s probably just me, maybe because I’m a “mature” woman, maybe because of whatever movies I watched on “The Early Show” as a kid, but I’m noticing a trend in fiction that is telling of societal changes (somewhat–just had a flash of Clinton as conflicting evidence). I think that audiences, readers, the young adult through forties group can willinglyaccept as literary fodder explicit sex, multiple partners, liberal ideas in who, what, where and how often with how many, but has drawn the line at adultery to be sympathetic to their protagonists.

I first noticed this in a Contemporary Fiction class with the reading of Woody Allen’s “The Kugelmass Episode.” Allen’s protagonist is a married man who through the help of a magician, manages to have affairs with his favorite sexy ladies of literature, but receives his just desserts by a glitch to end up permanently locked within a textbook. I thought it was funny. I loved the story. I felt sorry for Kugelmass. Very few, if any, were of the opinion that the story was funny, and specifically pointed out the despicability of Kugelmass’ adulterous ways in self-righteous opinions.

With today’s weblogs, and the large number of them being written as personal journals with some measure of privacy retained, I am amazed at the openness with which people offer their sexual exploits as entertainment. Yet, when one woman revealed her open marriage arrangement, it horrified many. Of course in that particular instance, it was kind of cut and dry and agreed upon by both partners. More acceptable to many that way.

But the old fashioned, unhappy spouse, locked into a loveless marriage, but who just happens to be lucky enough to meet someone that makes her/his heart soar? Well today, they would be publicly stoned.

While I am certainly no advocate of adultery, I can well understand it when the lying and cheating that one is willing to undertake in order to find a little happiness while protecting one’s spouse and children from dishonor by devious maneuvering, is driven by emotional need. There are certainly worse things that people do to each other.

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BLOGGING & NEW MEDIA: Interface

I visit my personalized (variability) Typepad home page several times during the day. With posting, editing, getting to Spinning to connect with those not available through Bloglines, some stat checking, etc. I can use the “back door” plain entry that brings up just the Typepad logo and a box for my user name and secret password code, or I can go via Typepad’s main page and do the same thing there in a much fancier “grand entry” version. There is an added benefit to the latter; I am greeted with “Welcome, Susan!”

I’m sure that in time this site page will become even more aware and knowledgeable about me and my visits.

I only hope it doesn’t go so far as to say, “Good Grief! Not YOU again!”

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NEW MEDIA & LITERATURE: Writerly/Readerly

Before I tackle the “Writerly/Readerly” (Roland Barthes, S/Z) question I raised earlier, I found this piece of raw poetry I wrote and posted here back on February 6th, 2004, that must have reflected my feelings at the time in sorting through Contemporay Fiction. It was a gut reaction (and possibly, rebellion) to efforts to both accept a reader’s input as a writer, and acknowledgement of the readerly/writerly form without knowing it at the time:

“Reader vs. Writer”

I need to be
amongst the leaves
of horrid poetry;
for great is good
no doubt
to also put
the fire out.

I need to read
the prose that’s
dozing to the mind.
with brevity
not levity that stirs
the evil imps

Of illusion
and persuasion
and delusion
and evasion
until I lie there–
a muddled green and
huddled yellow
pile of words.

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NEW MEDIA: Transcoding

Along with Sister Mary Winword as an example of transcoding, we should place Clippy, perhaps better in his alias of “The Genius” (whom I used when I first started with Windows 2000 and called “Albert” before I got tired of his happy little wave).

These tools are in effect, “part of a new culture that blends human with computer” (Prof. J. Timmons, New Media class) and are but crude examples of this principle of New Media according to Lev Manovich’s “The Language of New Media.”

As Professor Timmons has pointed out, they also contain the element of “Variability” (Manovich) because they can exist in different versions (Clippy/The Genius, etc.), and can be user-chosen. I would also go so far as to say they may be considered “Modular” (Manovich) as they are part of the software program, and exist as a separate module that can be a part of the screen display or not, at the click of a button.

Professor Steve Ersinghaus has noted that Clippy–as himself, a paper clip–is a weird choice for a representation of a “help” file, as the paper clip as a sign meaning “attachment” had already been established, and thus we have been culturally coded to recognize it as such in the computer writing programs, e-mail, etc.

Having said this, who’s for turning Spellcheck into a graphical penguin?

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POETRY: Haiku

Just to prove that despite becoming so technically minded in dissecting literary efforts–mostly my own for benefit of the learning process, I can still write bad poetry:

Autumn

Summer is crying
falling golden orange tears
wind brushes away.

(NOTE: Excellent example of editing and reworking: How, after squeezing inspiration into the boundaries of seventeen syllables by demand, ten words by choice, do we still need to go back and tweak? “Falling “was “shedding” for most of the day.)

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NEW MEDIA: Existence Update

Checked the garage this morning; sat for a few minutes and looked around. Visually, I still wasn’t there. By virtue of cultural coding, I was able to maneuver within the space, leave and enter an area where the light revealed at least my own visibility and separation from the darkness.

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CURRENT AFFAIRS: Local Airport Referendum Update

In a previous post I noted that our town was voting on the question of taking an airport and the 376 acres that went along with it by power of eminent domain, and the necessity of researching the question before making a decision and casting a vote. I voted NO and NO. Here’s the results:

“Monday, residents voted 2,298 to 861 against a feasibility study for a municipal airport at Johnnycake. In the second question on the referendum, residents voted, 2,575 to 561, against taking the airstrip property by eminent domain.”

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NEW MEDIA: Sister Mary Winword

How’s this for transcoding (a blend of human and computer), although not graphically accurate: Winword’s little Spelling & Grammar Tool taking the place of your second-grade nun cracking a ruler on your knuckles every time you misspelled a word.

Those squiggles of red and green don’t hurt as badly, though.

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NEW MEDIA: Thinking on Writerly/Readerly

I feel like a server on a DSL or cable line. Always open to the thoughts flying around out there, and some stimuli acts like a cursor that clicks it onscreen. Yet I can’t focus on something when called upon, as in New Media today. Can’t think on my feet anymore. Come to think of it, this last year of over 1100 posts in Spinning were created from seated (deep-seated?) inspiration out in the backyard, and followed through while seated at the computer.

Better to get this down before I forget it, but I’ll have to come back to carry the thought because I must go make dinner for the lonely.

Barthes’ (S/Z) Writerly Reading/Writing versus Readerly Reading/Writing can be applied to these statements:

She wore a red dress.

She wore a dress the color of blood.

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NEW MEDIA & LITERATURE: And, a connection in reality

Before I go any further, please allow me this: I smoked in class today—NYAH-NYAH-NYAH-NYAH-NYASH! (No that’s not a typo, it’s a Polish nyah.

Between classes I pulled out my copy of Ploughshares (Fall, 2004, Vol. 30, Nos. 2 & 3) and started reading the first short story in the book (Inter Media note: Although all bets are off with anthologies, I maintained rules of textual readerly {passive}style and started at the front of the book, following cultural code {learned behavior, in this case, recognizing the letters as something decipherable that will “tell” a story} to attempt to begin a narrative of reading (part of the story space) the story in a writerly {freely interpretative} fashion.)

The story is by Thomas Beller, and it is called, “Sally the Slut.” Right here I am bringing in my own experience to the reading, as my sainted mother’s name was Sally, so I may be beginning with an attitude.

The diagetic space of the narrative, that of the words of the author begins in a timeline sometime in the past, and gives us an added sense of deja vu, with this very first sentence: “The taxi pulled to a stop in front of a brownstone whose wrought-iron gate looked oddly familiar.” Within a few more sentences, we learn that the narrator is giving us some information that relates to the protagonist, Jason. So here we have the central focus on Jason, and as he approaches this brownstone, he is bringing a story (experience) into the narrative we are following in this event that brings the memory into what we find are his thoughts. Meanwhile, we’re bringing in our own images of wrought iron gates and brownstones.

Okay for now, enough of the highly technical stuff. This next part is as well, but not so detail-oriented.

As I read, I felt that I was following a story about a young man I know. His life plots followed in a very similar direction that which the textual Jason was following. Even the feelings, ( as described by the 3rd person narrator) of what Jason was going through as he grew up on one page, fell deeply into his first love, the ending of the relationship, and his subsequent meeting with her were just so familiar to me, based on my friend’s story.

I stopped at this point for two reasons. First, I had to go into my next class, and second—it hit me that as Jason’s path started to veer from what I knew to be “true” of my friend’s, I started wondering about it again. The big “What if…?”

Haven’t finished reading it yet, but just needed to get these thoughts down before I forgot them. Like the way I forgot my Statistics formulas earlier.

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EDUCATION: Panic Attack

Remember jamais vu? Drawing a complete blank upon visual contact with a familiar thing? Well, it happened in my Stat class this morning. I couldn’t conceive of how to find the mean!

I think I’ll go back to wondering if we exist.

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NEW MEDIA & REALITY: Existence

Very dark outside this morning; inside too, if I shut the lights off. Very condusive to odd thoughts when one is questioning the reality of space and the bodies within it, as I started once again to do this past weekend.

I went out into the garage with a cup of coffee and a lit cigarette. I sat down on the kitchen step and realized I didn’t have hands—or legs, or any other part of what I formerly believed was “me.” Where I believed my physical self was within the space, was not to be seen at all! A bit worried, and puzzled because I knew I was there, I began to explore.

What I realized was that, no longer able to depend upon visual confirmation, I (the I that was thinking, somewhere in the area of where my head was, behind my nose that I usually can see) slowly became aware of my self in various bits and pieces. My back was achy, so I think it’s somewhere below and behind the “I” of my brain. My feet (or at least what I think are my feet) are stopped at some point which I think is a floor, and my ass is flattened on the wooden step. I hold out my right hand, and I see the bright tip of what must be a cigarette about a foot and a half away from me. But I don’t know that for sure—at least by visual confirmation. At this point, I must depend upon memory imprint to decide, guess exactly where my hand is, as well as the rest of me. There is no delineation, no separation between my fingers, my hand, and the blackness around me. I’m guessing that I “end” somewhere at this point that I can only imagine in the darkness.

Can I depend upon this “memory” to establish myself here, in this space? Or am I really where I’m supposed to be, on the living room couch studying for a Stat exam? This would be better, and I’d like to believe it’s true. But with the absence of visual confirmation, and unused to depending upon the other senses for this information, I really can’t be sure.

Ah, I go back inside, into a brightly lit kitchen, and there I am! At least for now, and luckily I didn’t lose myself in the dark. But my eyes have lied to me before, let me down out in that dark garage. Can I really trust them when they seem to see my hands?

The Great Lettuce Head is discussing Borges, Barthes, and the fictional “I.” this morning. I think I may have a glimmer of what he means.

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