Andrei Gheorghe's poem made of rhyming tweets

Here is the author’s description:

“The Longest Poem in the World is composed by aggregating real-time public twitter updates and selecting those that rhyme. It is constantly growing at ~4000 verses / day. You can see more verses by clicking the three dots at the bottom (• • •) Made by Andrei Gheorghe.”

It’s interesting to read a bit of this. And if you reload it, it changes. So perhaps it is being added to top-up rather than bottom-down.

The almost-perfect Twitter longest poem in the world. Shoot me now. No, wait; it has not quite unfurled.

We read at edition.cnn.com that “Gheorghe said he doesn’t consider his work art. “It was just a random idea that popped up and I played with it. And it is what it is.”" Gheorghe is a web developer from Romania.

I expect it is art. There are all sorts of different types of art. From pop and viral to esoterica. This is definitely viral. And possibly pop. And definitely computer and net art.

It’s a really good code idea. Random tweets one after another would be dismal, but tweets with the same syllable count that also rhyme, why, they twitter quite delightfully, as it turns out.

Here we have a feed-based piece that saves Twitter from itself. It’s doing something interesting with a very odd database.

When I read it on Friday afternoon, it was all about people getting ready for the weekend.  A poem in rhyming couplets that may chronicle the time but is continually atwitter with the buzz of the moment. Remarkable.

Wallace Stevens said that poetry is a matter of making silk purses out of sows’ ears. I don’t know how silky this one is but surely it’s made of almost a hundred percent sows’ ears.

And how would you implement the idea? You’d need a rhyming dictionary (like this one). That is stored on the server. It isn’t downloaded to the client. All the writing happens server-side. It isn’t clear what language the server-side processing is done with. PHP or Perl or ASP or Java or whatever. The rhyming dictionary would probably have an API for that language. So that you could, say, send the dictionary a word and get back all the words that rhyme with it. Or you could send the dictionary two words and get back a yes or no as to whether they rhyme.

If it was a good rhyming dictionary, you could also send it a word and get back a number. This number would be a label for the set of words that rhymes with the word you sent. So you get the same number back if you send, on different occassions, two words that rhyme. And you get different numbers back if, on different occassions, you send two words that don’t rhyme.

Rhyming is an equivalence relation.  It partitions the set of words into disjoint sets. Each of the sets in the partition is made up of words that rhyme with one another.

Of course you also need access to lots of current tweets. I’m not sure how this would go. Would this be limited to a set of your friends or what? Anyone have a sense of how that would go?

If you wanted to make it so that each two tweets in a rhyming couplet have the same number of syllables you have to be able to count syllables in a word. In English, that’s usually a matter of the number of vowel clusters. For instance, ‘beautiful’ has 3 syllables and 3 vowel clusters: ‘eau’, ‘i’, and ‘u’. There are exceptions to this rule, such as ‘estuary’, which has only 3 vowel clusters (‘e’, ‘ua’, ‘y’) but 4 syllables, or ‘one’, which has 2 vowel clusters but only 1 syllable, but the rule works broadly enough to be of use.

So for each tweet, you have a few pieces of info.

1. The tweet itself.
2. The URL of the tweet. 
3. The number of syllables in the tweet.
4. The last word in the tweet.
5. And all the words that rhyme with the last word in the tweet.

Alternative to 5 would be the number label for the set of rhyming words, if the dictionary had that feature (discussed above).

Given two tweets, to determine if they can make a couplet, you compare item 3 in each tweet to see if they’re the same. And you compare item 4 to make sure they’re different (so you don’t rhyme x with x). And you compare item 5 to make sure they’re the same or that the one word is in the set of the other word.

If that pans out, you write the couplet to the poem, which is maintained on the server. Top-up. In other words, when you add a couplet to the poem, you add it to the top of the poem.

And when somebody visits the site to look at the poem, you feed them the most recently generated couplets.

by Jim Andrews
vispo.com

Access image linked from University of Cambridge

Part 1 is here.

The printed institution of intellectual property holds that works cannot be reproduced “without prior written permission” (as the legalese runs). The printed work at hand is always documentary evidence of the printer’s permission for that work, whereas any additional permission – the permission of the subject to write and read in the face of the work – requires a chain of additional writings (prior written permission).

If chmod is tied to the body’s ontological topology in the network apparatus, it also renders this topology inseparable from crowds and communities. Consider digital rights management (DRM), perhaps the most intense site of debate around permissions. The debates around downloading, torrents, music sharing, and so on, are inseparable from the problem of controlling permission and its constraint to specific users and communities.

Keep in mind that on the net, domains of permission are separated into user, group, and world. Symbolic notation sets read, write, and execute permissions for each of these domains, so -777 is represented as –rwx/rwx/rwx. The first notation is left empty for a file or set to a “d” for permission on a directory. The next octet or notation sets permission for user, then group, and then world. A single string for topology of crowds. Take these as shifters: on the net the shifter can no longer be simply the familiar markers in language. Permission for user or group or world speaks those communities; speaks the community of one (user), a specific group, or anyone at all on the net. Group membership is complex; it can be temporary, overlapping, exclusionary. The chmod command can also set a “sticky bit” that allows or limits mass changing of modes. The sticky pit aggregates and speeds up operations. Stickiness involves retaining the read-only segment of a program in memory or “swap space,” so that users can create but not write files. The point is to prevent users from changing or deleting each others’ files. As a result, user permissions are collapsed into group and world permissions. The implications for digital writers are simple: where previously I saw myself as a creative writer, as modeled on the solitary artist producing from the depths of my psyche; in truth, I am shifted to be part of a more open and indeterminate group of writers who share constrained but communal permission. In this way, the voice and subject of digital poetics is never fixed but fluctuates between the plural and the singular through the setting of permissions.

Sandy Baldwin at E-Poetry in Barcelona, image by Chris Funkhouser

Each domain of permission demarcates the place for inhabiting and projecting onto the space of electronic writing. Once again: permission spaces is the netting of the subject. A site of “group” ownership is fundamentally different than “user” only, and so on, while “world” opens permission to all. Each case attempts to constrain the scope of the indicative (deictic) function of the shifter. DRM controls constrain permissions to certain users and groups, while sharing communities (torrents, etc.) open permission the world. The crux is less ownership than permission to access and the community (user, group, world) that is allowed this permission; or rather, ownership is within the domain of permission. Lawrence Lessig writes of the danger of the “read-only” internet. Perhaps unintentionally, he frames his argument with the terminology of permission. His call for a necessity and importance of a “read-write” internet is built on the space of permission described here. We are far from the pale remediations and idealizations of the writer and reader that still dominate discussions of digital writing and reading.

To write and to read text assumes at least a minimal narrative. Text is text because it is narrated. The structural narratology of Mieke Bal insists on this narrative premise in every utterance. Every <text> is readable because of the framing <I narrate <text>>. Even the blankest screen is an utterance. This minimal narrativity is tied to the deictic function of language. In the structural linguistics of Emile Benveniste, deictic utterances point to and invoke a world. Benveniste spoke of the signs used in the subject’s act of utterance as the “formal apparatus of enunciation.” The apparatus makes the subject present, an autobiographical apparatus allowing the subject to say and write “I.” Following Roman Jakobson, “shifters” are the linguistic deictics understood as speaking the subject: “I” or “me” or “Sandy” do not possess semantic value but syntactically speak the subject.

What are shifters on the net? Shifters enact the deictic function of language. Through shifters language “says” being. All digital writing is enunciated. What does it speak? What does digital writing utter? In part, it speaks permissive enframing and containment by the operating system. The indicative function of deixis references the operating system as the background world of the net. The system contains and holds language.

The psyche of the subject is circumscribed by the closure of the site. Permissive closure as shifter places and locates the subject’s enunciation. Nothing exits this closure. All that the subject is, is uttered here. The speaking subject is entirely a product of this apparatus. The shifter operates with a “punctual” reality concept (“wirklichkeitsbegriff”), in Hans Blumenberg’s sense. The “point” (or punctum) of the shifter holds the subject and system together.

Time is involved as well. The shifter fixes the time of the subject and creates a “pure present.” In digital writing, this is the real time of the screen, or the temporality of the “work.” This deictic time-space siting is at work in every surface, every web page, every electronic word, every font and pixel, and every space.

What kind of subject knows that they are permitted? A pervert, of course. The psychoanalytic terminology of “perversion” is specific here: I write and read and execute by assuming the desire of the other. The knowledge that allows digital writing and reading is the pervert’s knowledge. I only know the other’s desire because I act it out (I execute and perform) in my desire (in my reading and writing). A psychic model of digital poetics is found in the creativity of the pervert who wishes to recreate the world in the image of an other that can only be found precisely through this imaginary. What a pervert I am! I gaze at the screen or at the pixel or at the font, I imagine through the apparatus, and play until I am fulfilled. This is digital poetics.

How does chmod relate to the absent body?

It is too easy to emphasize the closure of the site. Permissions are openings. Setting permission to -777 or -775 allows access to write and alter files. A site can be taken over, owned, defaced, renamed. The chmod -setuid can allow trojan horse or other malware entry through “privilege escalation.”

To grasp the shifter as a sign and as part of a language is to inhabit a particular culture and a particular habitus. To see the site as closed and to take permission for granted is to punctually and permissively close the horizon of my culture, to say “I am a writer” and “I am a reader” with the confidence of a shared community and writing materials and techniques. In doing so, the sememe is narrowed to particular domains of knowledge. Or rather, to directories and files. Digital writing and writers today are caught in this narrow, constrained into file systems. The “emerging” field of digital writing is constituted through this closure of knowledge. We know what constitutes a work and a writer. Or rather, a file and a directory. What is a digital writer but a directory, a space of permission with the capability of siting files (works)?

Think here of Heidegger’s “enframing” technology but in terms of acts of permission rather than of the unfolding of being. The net is already a culture for us. It is thick with the other and our desire towards the other. It is lived and cultural. It is part of our world. Permission is at work here. The application and its features are permitted as objects of understanding. The “application” or technical object is a foreclosure of the shifter. Only in this way can we comfortably operate (write/read/execute). Protocol is definable because of this closing off. Protocol must not be understood as technical specifications. No, the reverse is true: every technical specification is the fictionalized residue of the body sieved and emitted through permissions. Protocol is a narrative of the body’s presentation. Permission is one of the protocological features that formalize actions, controls responsibility, and elaborate institutional personas. It is a concrete form of culture. The real but absent body is splayed across the files and directories of the permissive site.

To take permission for granted is to believe in the net’s existence. Could things be otherwise? Surely the opposite is the case? The net is fragile, built on the fly, barely or not at all existent, constantly happening and collapsing around us. (Think of the origin of the internet in Paul Baran’s desire for “survivable communication.” The net is the phantasm of this survival, always claimed in theory, sought in practice, lost in truth.)

Back with the shifter: we locate ourselves uncertainly in this projection. It is a partial source of the subject, a clot or coagulate without amounting to a body. The body is absent in every shifter. On the one hand, authority withdraws. The discourse of “protocol” following Galloway, or of “network culture” following Castells, or other cognate formations, formalizes the chmod command (and all similar commands), as if commands were at work as a performative ground of all writing online. Execution – the most significant but least graspable aspect of permission – is assumed everywhere. The net works. If permission must be given and set in practice, it is easier to assume the stability of the network in theory.

Listen to this: permission is prior to the deictic site. Or rather, permission opens the utterance through the possibility of narrative and quest. Deixis results from permission. The deictic display or pointing requires context. It invokes or carries semantics rather than containing a fixed semantic meaning. Enunciation always is other. The time of the screen is elsewhere, historical. A fundamental poetic point: permission creates mission. Narratives are stories unfolded of permission given. The materiality of media is emitted from permission to use the apparatus, as tools, as raw material. At the least, this means there is a voice caught up in the apparatus, a voice that must be “sourced.” Voice as material for enunciation but also as distant echo from outside the material. The apparatus allows speech but also speaks of allowance.

Is writing anything other than producing a work or a file? Is the digital writer anything other than a site or directory? The siting and existence of each, within the withdrawn authority of the net.

Every work is addressed to me. I court your permission. Do you give permission? There is no shifter here. There is only words on blank. There are never shifters, never any reference, never any world. All these formulas assume permission given and taken for granted. I can not know if I am permitted, I can only write. In the “absence of the work” (Blanchot) I write without guarantee, transitive and infinite, never knowing if I am permitted or not. The subject surges beyond the site of enunciation. Permission is absent, is everywhere, is uncertain, exorbitant and excessive.

many of us, as writers and/or artists or whatever, find ourselves working with ‘the material’ in ways that we weren’t earlier on. with less emphasis on transcribing our ‘inner thoughts and feelings’ and more emphasis on what the words are saying. and yes there are often things we want to get them to say, if we can (like now), but we observe that not only are we not entirely clear what that might be, until we find the words, but that even when we do, they aren’t quite what we thought they might be and are often better as something we didn’t anticipate at all via not mindless manipulation of symbols but through a process of writerly/artistic discovery that involves mind and mindless, material and material, material and spiritual. via engaging with the material both in an objective manner, as things on a page subject to choice and cutup, random and thoughtful selection…and all the compositional techniques we use.

and this different engagement with ‘the material’ is part of what i had in mind as a kind of materialism. of course the term ‘materialism’ has a very interesting history going back to Indian and Greek atomism and into the contemporary world in many different ways. usually the ‘material’ is atomistic. matter. a philosophy of the composition of matter and the generation of the ten thousand things.

only recently has it been associated with consumerist zeal and denials of the importance of feelings, emotions, and so on. a blip on the map.

usually there’s a scientistic element, often a strong one, to materialisms. they often seek to apply an occam-like razor to eliminate assumptions that are not required or to eliminate attribution of causes to supernatural agents. materialisms usually do their darndest to appeal only to reason and material evidence in their theories.

but of course, as artists, we are by no means in the bizness of appealing solely to reason. we don’t produce many theories of the universe and everything but, instead, are basically wordy minstrels singing into the black hole of mind and media. and, for lack of a better word, there is a ‘spiritual’ dimension to what we talk about, what we do, how we go about it, and so on. emotion, feeling, mood, tone, connotation, subjectivity, all these are normally important to art.

yet our approach, or the approach of many of us, to writing and/or art or whatever, in our current age, does involve this ‘materialism’ i mentioned that does indeed have a scientistic dimension in that we do try to keep our eye somewhat objectively not on what we ourselves are feeling and thinking about what we’re creating but on what others might also get from it and, beyond that, in our approach to working with the material as recombinant, as involved in the processes of network cutup, reassembly, and our sources of the material can be spam or texts recovered from net searches or whatever and our methods of composition can involve the algorithmic and so on. kedrick james’s term for all this is ‘writing post-person’.

but, even so, we are not so much interested in creating interesting language machines as in the human appeal of these machines made out of words. so that a contemporary, writerly materialism usually involves some sort of meditation on our relations with language and machines. not to dehumanize but to locate and explore our humanity in relation to mind and mindlessness, the intention and the unintended, the machine and the human.

there’s that kurzweil book ‘the age of spiritual machines’. with emphasis on artificial intelligence. and that’s interesting, but typically our emphasis is not on artificial intelligence but on our own intelligence extended, changed, dwarfed, zoomed, augmented, pounded, filtered, twittered, frittered, coerced, directed, freed, drugged, blasted, spliced, diced, googled, ogled, bamboozled, frugalled, layered, informationalized, playered, stirred, blurred, penetrated, iconized, infiltrated, visualized, datafied, search enginized, tokenized, blip bopified, ding donglered and piece-wise transformed via our engagement with language and contemporary language environments. our own intelligences are somewhat artificial. and we operate in a material combinatorium of language not as in a meaningless concourse of atoms but in our own very purposefully processual cyclotrons, intent upon both the material and energy of its release.

Jim Andrews
http://vispo.com