The digital poem The Future of Publishing, created by the Brits of Dorling Kindersley Books and produced by Khaki Films, literally speaks to the issues of platform within the publishing community. The platform used here is a video which, as a result of its platform, provides audio commentary to the lines of the poem as they glide across the window. Audio commentary is something that the codex is incapable of doing in isolation; you would need another person to read it to you as you followed along to get the same visual and audial experience. Having the commentary also sets a specific tone for the poem as it is read. Since there were no instructions included with the poem, if there had been a lack of commentary, I’m not sure if I would have even known to read the text backwards. It seems only necessary to this digitalized text. The movement of the lines is also symptomatic of its platform. We know that the physicality of the codex cripples its ability to move without our help, whereas the digital poem is capable of moving its own text, thanks to sneaky HTML codes.

Despite the differences in platforms between this digital poem and the codex, the video still contains an element borrowed from the codex. The coloring of the video is made to resemble the traditional white paper and black text found in the codex. Perhaps this is because the mission of the poem is to “reverse how you see me (digital publishing)”. The aim of the poem is to suggest the new promises of publishing. It’s not the end, but merely a platform shift that can contain old elements of structure, as well as new creative options. For example, the significance of the lack of punctuation is vital to the surprise reversal of the poem. The phrases have completely changed, and valid punctuation could not have worked in both readings. In this aspect, digital texts give more liberty than the structures embedded in the traditional codex.

Much of our reading this week has focused intensely (whether out of admiration or in defense) on the rise of the internet and its supposed superseding of print media as a social platform and how the very format of literature will compensate. As “English Literature” students, this can be fairly troubling. And despite our natural instincts to enforce “ivory tower” idealisms in combating this, I think, similar to Hayles’ own assertions, there is a “happy medium” (for the lack of a better word) to be found between electronic and print formats: that one neither replaces nor displaces the other, but that they readily imitate one another. Ergodic literature is one such overlap, and I can’t think a much better example of this than Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves.

Printed in early 2000, House of Leaves is a novel that chronicles the story of a man named Johnny Truant, who stumbles upon an unfinished manuscript in the apartment of a recently-deceased neighbor named Zampano. Truant’s reading of this manuscript, a literary critique of a documentary film, The Navidson Record, becomes interlaced with the general flow of the story along with selected transcripts of interviews and notes on and from The Navidson Record itself.

These narratives become interwoven with one another, differentiated by font size, color, or type. Along with copious footnotes that sometimes lead to other footnotes or terminate at random with no actual reference, House of Leaves is certainly a novel that requires nontrivial effort to traverse, similar to many electronic hypertexts.

In fact, its playfulness of form allows House of Leaves to exist as an “ergodic” novel, if not literally a print “hypertext.” Because, as Hayles asserts in her own article, the hypertext is not an electronic-only format, but is merely any expressed medium “inviting playful forays that test the limits of the form by modifying, enlarging, or transforming them” (73). And by performing exercises similar to this, applying such theories beyond the realm of the electronic and applying them to print, we can more easily discern the qualities that differentiate print and electronic media, and in what ways they openly influence and imitate one another.

“Pieces of Herself” by Juliet Davis is an exploration into the ways women identify with their gender through their relationships to public and private spaces.  The user explores the public and private spaces and discovers various objects in each space that can be dragged and dropped onto a woman’s body (a doll) that is on the left side of the screen.  By dressing up the doll with the objects, the user is able to experience audio clips from interviews with women, music loops, and sound effects. As each audio clip is selected, the game reveals issues of gender identity in each space that a woman embodies.

http://collection.eliterature.org/2/works/davis_pieces_of_herself.html

The game begins with the following statement: “Her friends said she needed to “find” herself. And sure enough, when she started looking, she found pieces of herself everywhere.”  This quotation invites the user into the game to discover these pieces, and to learn that a woman’s identity is connected to everyplace, activity, and person with whom she comes into contact—she leaves a trace that influences her peers and family, but is also influenced by these spaces, which in turn controls her identity. By allowing the user to explore the inner thoughts of a woman and to gain insight into the forces that influence her identity, we begin to hack into the issues with which women struggle (issues that women try to keep private), and we begin to understand why women have these conflicts of identity. While this is a good way to understand and bring to light these topics that are often considered taboo, it also contradicts the idea of privacy within private spaces. This game demonstrates that while we may think our homes are private and identities safe, there are many objects that can unveil our secrets.

Below I provide an analysis for spaces in the home, work, and community. This analysis is not comprehensive, but provides insight into some of the issues with which women struggle.

Community: The Shower room is one of the public spaces that provide insight into how women feel about their identities in society. In the Shower room, women try to hide, and try not to be seen by other women. The game interface communicates this act of hiding by showing toilet stalls with objects that are only revealed if you hover over the door and the stall opens.  This is the same with the shower curtains, and there is a woman trying to hide behind one of the curtains. The objects all communicate a sense of uneasiness about physical image and beauty, especially when in the presence of community members, and people who may judge them.  Women are very concerned with their appearance, even around other women. For example, after moving an object that looks like hair onto the doll, the audio clip is of a woman telling the listener that she colors her hair because she has a gray streak, thus revealing that she is uncomfortable with aging and the effects of aging (she is trying to look young again).

Home: The Kitchen is one of the private spaces that provides insight into how women feel about their identities inside of the home. In the Kitchen, women can express themselves through their cooking.  For instance, the audio clip of an object that looks like some sort of spice is of a woman saying “Sometimes I wanna be spicy.” Also, a grocery list plays a music loop that is upbeat and creative, to illustrate a woman’s creative talents, but also the tune is a bit jumbled and chaotic, perhaps to represent that sometimes it can be a hectic task to make dinner for a family, especially if the woman has a full time job. While cooking may enable women to express themselves in a constructive and healthy manner, and to provide sustenance for their family, the idea of cooking and eating also creates sensitive feelings about weight and being critically judged for their weight. The audio clip of an object that looks like some sort of liquid pouring onto a plate is of a woman telling that her mom is obsessed with her (the daughter) looking skinny again.

Work: At the office, women try to not show emotion because it is inappropriate and unprofessional. Thus, women cannot always speak their mind for fear of losing credibility and responsibility.  If she shows emotion, or is open about her opinions, her coworkers might not take her seriously or they may not think that she is capable of getting the job done. The paper clips communicate this idea, illustrating that women can sometimes seem to have split personalities.  Interestingly, an audio clip associated with an object that flashes “where are you?” is of a woman discussing liposuction and $300 shoes–things that women believe will improve their appearance.  Perhaps this is what women wish they could spend their money on, or it could be communicating the types of things that women try to save their money for so that they can be noticed and so that they can stand out.

Creative Response #1

Creative Response to Tao

Tao has religious ties to Buddhism and Daoism that are both concerned with finding the path to enlightenment. Going through the whole experience and working with Tao I was instantly able to see how it aimed to achieve that and I recognized several elements of those two religions. The whole process was meditative with the soft sounds of the flute playing in the background, yet you also encountered a definite sense of spirituality as it runs through the different images of landmasses with lots of trees and water. There is heavy emphasis on nature and meditation, practiced by Buddhists.

The word “Tao” itself means a physical way or path. What I find utterly enchanting is that Tao provides a completely new and unique experience for each person that uses it. The flash player allows you to flip the images in different directions as frequently as you want over the course of the experience and then at the end you can start over if you want by pressing the red triangle button. What is wonderful about that is in the end everyone ends up at the same place, yet each takes a slightly different path to get there. If you don’t flip the images at all and just let the videos run their course both windows start out being the same and then slowly transition and differ from each other slightly as times goes on. Whether you chose to alter it or not, it eventually does it on it’s own. There is also a feeling of danger through viewing the vastness of the earth, which actually increased my interest as a viewer. It is ironic to experience something that evokes peace and at the same time has a sense of danger.

To me, Tao symbolizes the way in which each person choses their life path. We all make different life decisions and have different experiences just as we can chose how to flip the images in the videos, but in the end we all end up at the same spot. We have a common entity uniting us, the freedom to manipulate and live our lives the way we want.

Click here to view “Faith” by Robert Kendall.

In the beginning was the Word…

And for Robert Kendall’s new media poem, that word was: Faith. Scripted like the ornate letters of a Gutenberg-like bible, the first word sits securely high on the first screen of his poem in motion.

But out of the sky – presumably from a heaven above – the words “logic” fall down past “Faith” and take up a place hovering below “Faith”. The yellow words “logic can’t bend this” appear on the screen. “Bend” what an interesting choice of a verb. The logic doesn’t sway, or sweep away, and it cannot bend, like a mind-bender, but neither is it a bind-mender for the poet. In the next screen the bend becomes a corner, a mile-post to pass in order to achieve a holy consummation, a vision not from above, but from below, in the depths.

Then in the 3^rd installment of 5 frames, burgundy red words flicker and wink a “neon logic.” Why neon? The contrast to the preserved ink of a 500 year-old bible is fascinating.

And then, what is the “sunny side” of his mind? Is it like the Pogues’ Shane MacGowan singing that he’ll “stay right here on the sunny side of the street”? Why won’t Kendall press the black button? One can only connect a black button to something sinister and destructive. Who would black out the sun if they could?

The 4^th installment: LEAP. Kendall leaps. Leap of faith. He “simply” strides out of his mind – his logic – and then leaves “One True Word.” Is it LEAP? The LEAP word flies dangerously at the viewer, taking up the whole screen and moving towards them. It doesn’t disappear into a chasm, unless the chasm is the viewer’s mind. Instead, it approaches like a fighter plane and engages the viewer face-on before disappearing.

In the end, all the words of the poem fall to the bottom and what remains? Only the pieces: “Just to sum up.” Even “Faith” falls from its height into the pile with the rest. Just a summary of experience, nothing else. Only the words are left…Sola scriptura.

Video games have evolved greatly from their predecessors of years past. Where there were once high scores and obscene difficulty in order to extend an otherwise short experience, games now more than ever emphasize story, art styles, and. Yet the central aspect of nearly every game, especially competitive games such as Starcraft and Counter-Strike, is at its very core simple: to win. Whether that means victory in a competitive match in Street Fighter, beating the final boss and seeing the ending, getting 100% of the achievements, or even scoring loot in a game like Diablo or World of Warcraft, the compulsion to win is almost always what keeps you in the game. The infamous ‘Mcdonald’s Video Game’ uses that concept to highlight the ultimate cultural cost of McDonald’s’ brand of corporate excess.

The game itself is a fairly casual browser game, with a simple objective: to make money. The player is given access to several aspects of the company to manage: a pasture farm, a slaughterhouse, the McDonald’s restaurant itself, and the corporate office. Each of these aspects have extremely questionable shortcuts: growing genetically modified plants  to increase your soy production, corrupting city officials and politicians, using hormones and animal flour to fatten up your cows and obtain more beef, punishing your employees or awarding them a badge, and using clever stealth marketing tactics (like toy deals with Disney) to get more people to come to your restaurant. At least some of these tactics have to be used, as the game itself seems designed to be too difficult to keep from going bankrupt without them.

With that said, my playthrough of the game felt far less political than I expected. Though it took me a few tries to keep the company from going bankrupt within 5 minutes, I eventually adjusted to the rhythm of the game, manufacturing tons upon tons of genetically modified soy product, killing off overly diseased cows before they’re processed into meat, micromanaging the restaurant, and of course keeping environmental lobbyists and problematic politicians sated with loads of money. I tried to avoid some of the obviously immoral actions to be taken in the game, including wiping out rainforests and reusing animal matter to feed cows. The in-game repercussions were nearly non-existent , however, and there was no in-game moral prompt saying “Hey, this is totally wrong and you should stop.” I caved in and reaped the rewards of virtual corporate overkill. I wanted to see that profit number go up, and it promptly did. It is, after all, a game. I played to win.

But hey, who likes losing?

Letterscapes by Peter Cho is a collection of twenty-six interactive scenes, one for each letter of the alphabet.  When I select a letter from the main dark blue screen, in which small white letters are swirling like water down a drain, the screen focuses in on that letter.  Movement of my mouse triggers movement of the letter. Each letter behaves differently.  Some letters are distorted into individual pixels, but when my mouse and the letter stop moving, its recognizable form returns.  Some letters keep their form but swirl or spin.  Some letters float or fly gently, others lurch and convulse violently.

Cho calls these scenes “typographic landscapes,” but what I see is a child’s letter recognition game gone awry.  As a parent of young children, I’ve downloaded several letter recognition apps for my iPhone.  These apps are designed to show children how the letters of the alphabet look and to allow the child to interact with the letter in some way.  For example, some tell the child how the letter sounds; others allow the child to practice writing the letter with his finger.  Letterscapes begins with the same model.  The user selects a letter and interacts with it.  The difference is that the interaction is essentially meaningless.  There is no deeper understanding that comes from the interaction.

The introduction from the Electronic Literature Collection Volume Two suggests that the user meditate on reference, representation, and abstraction.  I can see where the reference to a known shape, a letter, calls to mind certain concerts: perhaps literacy or communication of ideas.  The changing representation could call to mind the fact that letters are simply representations or symbols which have no meaning outside our culture’s shared understanding.  The abstraction of these symbols could make the user question the literacy and communication of ideas represented by letters.  But to be honest, this analysis is a stretch to find meaning.  Letterscapes didn’t entertain or enlighten me.

   Though it may be a cop-out to write a ‘creative response’ to a music video, the cultural relevance and omnipresence of Psy’s (short for psycho) “Gangnam Style” pushes the video into the limelight, calling for any and all criticisms to be had.  Accordingly, herein lies the response of both a pop-culture blah-ist and a student of new media seeking to explore music videos in the context of ‘platform studies’.  Bypassing the physical platform by which the music video is presented (i.e. television, the Internet and everything in-between), the notion of ‘technological determinism’ as it pertains to the cultural relevancy of what is physically depicted in the video is of particular interest and great concern to me. 

   To start, one might ask oneself, “What sorts of images would be in a contemporary, culturally relevant music video?”  Before answering, consider the phrase ‘contemporary, culturally relevant music video’.  Though most of us might not consider music videos to be ‘culturally relevant’ whatsoever, the fact remains that to some, they are.  People often define part of their identity by what music they listen to, or there are those who partly identify themselves by electing not to listen to music.  Either way, by identifying with or not identifying with music (particularly music videos) people are quietly commenting on what they find to be socially or culturally relevant, or both.  This brings us back to, “What sorts of images would be in a contemporary, culturally relevant music video?”  Here is a small sample-list that I have come up with;

• Little kids busting dance moves
• Girls getting garbage facials
• Quasi-homoerotic sauna scene
• A guy taking a shit
• Explosions
• Stable (as in horses) party
• Disco party
• Boat party
• Bus party
• Parking deck party
• Subway (as in trains, not Jared) party
• Mall party
• Slow motion nothingness
• Girls doing yoga
• Inventive, but easily replicated dance moves
• A break-dancing agender in a banana-yellow suit
• Hip thrusting
• Hot tubs.

   It may not be a list that speaks to elitist intellect, but it is one quite deserving of academic reproach.  Why this list?  Well, one might argue that if a video had two or three of these component images it would be enough to make the video culturally relevant, so to speak.  Psy’s four minute, thirteen second video “Gangnam Style”, however, has every last one of these images and more.  But why these images?  Is it because we as a culture (and South Korea) value ‘garbage facials’ and intermittent ‘shit shots’?  To a degree I would say, ‘yes’.  People are obsessed with voyeurism and smut, perhaps more so today than ever.  But why are we addicted to these things?  Why do people flip to the ‘comics’ or the ‘obituaries’ or the ‘style’ section before they read the ‘world news’ or ‘national news’ sections?  Is it because platforms like music videos barrage the public with three to five minutes of senseless imagery and completely distort what we prioritize as socially and culturally relevant?  Or is it because, over time, we as a people have silently advocated for more and more of this senseless voyeuristic smut through our media/median choices?  I don’t have a definitive answer to these questions, partly because I buy into some of what is presented in platforms like ‘music videos’ (namely explosions, girls doing yoga, and the occasional agender in a banana-yellow suit) and partly because I’m not quite sure what the alternative would be.  I’ve watched this video at least 10 times since I first saw it two nights ago, and frankly I love it.  I’m just not sure why. 

   In an interview discussed on www.theatlantic.com Psy claims that the video montage was meant to parody the social and cultural values of today’s youth (particularly in the Gangnam-gu District of Seoul, South Korea).  I commend him in attempting to do so, but believe he has actually reinforced these obsessions (for they aren’t really values; I’ve never heard someone say “I value slow-motion nothingness”).  The video has receive over 140,000,000 views on YouTube since its July 15, 2012 debut, which in itself suggests that peoples’ preoccupation with everything the video encapsulates is not going anywhere soon.  Music videos have certainly changed since The Buggles “Video Killed the Radio Star”, but whether this change is for better or worst (most would say the latter) remains to be seen.  After all, who doesn’t love to party?

The interactive work of fiction Everybody Dies reminds me of a dark The Drew Carey Show set in a suburban area in and around a run-down store. Presumably Everybody Dies, written by Jim Munroe and illustrated by Michael Cho, focuses more on death than the character’s not-so-glamorous lives.

Or does it? After dabbling with the prompts for the first character, I realized what I could do with the story. By typing in HELP, I found that “You can SAVE and RESTORE the game, but dying is a part of life, and for most of the game unavoidable,” among other things such as checking your inventory and giving directions as where to go. I found this intriguing and started typing in commands to see the possibilities of what I could do. I knew though that based on the HELP information, I was destined to die. And sure enough, I did.

But that was after I had gotten to know my Graham the-pot-head character. I/Graham had to retrieve a shopping cart from a river near the store. When giving specific commands to accomplish this task, he answered back like a traditional subconscious. Instead of just doing what I commanded, he would ask, “Really?” (with some sassy remark). By creating this playable dialogue, Munroe makes the player question themselves. This in turn gives the characters (eventually three separate identities) a personality, a more interactive element than the traditional interactive fiction writing (such as the preceding and very similar game Violet), and depth to the story.

How does the game have depth when its outcome only ends in death? I believe the answer lies in the death illustrations in the game. It’s only when you “die” in the game that you move on to the next character. For example, I/Graham fall into the river while retrieving the shopping cart and hit my head against a rock and die. But as I press enter, an image of a fish pops up that is presumably the fish that scared me/Graham into falling and dying. Through a rather strange transition, I become the next character that finds the fish in a toilet bowl inside the store that Graham works at.

After a few minutes of playing around as this new character, I give up. However if I had kept playing, I’m pretty sure I would’ve died and moved on to the next character. Or would I have lived?