In her editorial introducing the issue, Jill Jones rightly points to the issue’s presumptive focus on electronica and electronic music, specifically “the ways musicians in various modes and guises have used electric technologies to generate sound.” The poetry in this issue runs the gamut from highly experimental works to extended meditations on musical memories and forms. It’s absorbing, intriguing and puzzling – and this is just as it should be.

The spoken word tracks selected by our audio editor Emilie Zoey Baker are similarly pre-occupied with the bleeps, hisses and clicks we associate nowadays with electronic music. From Philip Norton’s bizarro Yes I Dream of Electric Sheep to Sean M. Whelan and Isnod’s Dream Machines, the works selected here paint an aural kaleidoscope that fizzes and pops, echoing electronic art from the works of Phillip K. Dick through to Kraftwerk. Check out the individual tracks or stream the hour-plus mix of electronica as one. Headphones highly recommended!

When it comes to the selected works of multimedia or ‘electronic literature’, however, we are faced with a series of disruptions that more often than not question rather than reflect the theme of the issue. Benjamin Laird’s Sound-less-scape and nothing left in, for example, present the reader (viewer? player?) with opportunities for interaction but remain stubbornly mute, like a silent rave. Joshua Mei Ling Dubrau’s Et Tu demonstrates the jump-cut nature of screen-capture technology when applied to text, while Konrad McCarthy’s TV Life strips bare the artifice of the audio-visual in a montage of movements.

The publication of these pieces – some HTML-based, others video – inevitably raises the question of genre and form. Is this literature? Is it even e-literature? As Tim Wrights asks in his review of the Electronic Literature Collection Volume 2, ‘What literature today isn’t electronic?’ I’d like to think, instead, of overlapping spaces – some of which may be electronic, others organic. Beverliey Braune’s Supra-text Sequences essay offers one glimpse into such a world.

When it comes to the work of Jason Nelson, one might instead ask where the electronic world actually stops. I’m really excited to be able to publish three of Jason’s work in this issue, because in many respects his work attempts to break through the imposition imposed by the computer screen to offer a neural landscape that is deeply textured and interactive. Depth: Text and Playthings addresses this tension directly, by stating bluntly ‘Your screen is horribly flat’.

Elsewhere, Nelson’s work is playful and self-referential. Branching: branch branch is a work where the traditional branching structure of file folders clashes comically with a goofy soundtrack that is perhaps more amenable to a 1980s computer game. Meanwhile, With love, from a failed planet presents a phantasmagoria of late-capitalist logos. In addition to these pieces, I’m pleased to present an interview with Jason in which he reflects on his creative practices as an electronic literature artist.

Nelson’s work offers one possible ‘entry-point’ into the world of e-lit. The work of Mez Breeze offers another. Sally Evans’ essay entitled ‘The Anti-Logos Weapon’: Excesses of Meaning and Subjectivity in Mezangelle Poetry demonstrates that electronic literature can be just as much about ‘texts’ as traditional literature. Mez’s work is justifiably renowned in e-lit circles as innovative and highly complex. In an online world where more and more of us are exposed to the vagaries of computer code, Mezangelle chews up that code, parses it with human language and spits out art. Adam Fieled’s essay on Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons (a work that is itself highly amenable to remediation as a hypertext) shows that the worlds of literary practise and literary criticism remain inextricably entwined.

In terms of my own personal experience of electronic literature, Mez’s work was amongst the first that I viewed (scanned? played?). Over the course of this year, working as a post-doctoral researcher on the ELMCIP project, I’ve also been met a wide range of scholars and practitioners working in the field of e-lit. For this reason, I’ve included in this issue two interviews with my colleagues at Blekinge Tekniska Högskola in Karlskrona, Sweden. Both Talan Memmott and Maria Engberg have inspired me to re-think my attitudes to the digital realm.

This brings me back to the question of Cordite’s place within that realm. As Benjamin Laird demonstrates in his overview entitled Australian Literary Journals: Virtual and social, Cordite is by no means alone in its attempts to engage with online communities. In fact, pretty much every Australian literature journal is undergoing a process of morphing and reinvention. I’d like to think that, in the future, Cordite will evolve to include more works of electronic literature that actually engage with the medium in which the journal ‘lives’.

This is not to suggest that the thousand-odd poems we have published on the site over the past decade or not ‘alive’, or that text-based works are somehow inferior to HTML, Flash-based or interactive works. Nevertheless, I hope that these tiny steps we have taken towards the electr(on)ification of Cordite will inspire others to create engaging, accessible art that takes advantage of the multitude of possibilities made available when viewing (reading? parsing?) information using a networked computer.”

- David Prater, Cordite’s Managing Editor

The inaugural issue of VLAK will be launched at the St Marks Poetry Project, 131 E. 10th St., New York, on the 27th of September, and at the Prague Microfestival Poetry Series in October.

Contributors to VLAK 1.1 include Abigail Child, Holly Tavel, Marjorie Perloff, Alexander Jorgensen, Joshua Cohen, Eileen Myles, Stephanie Barber, John Wilkinson, Matt Hall, Stephanie Strickland, Allen Fisher, Marjorie Welish, Catherine Hales, Mez, Karen Mac Cormack, Robert Sheppard, Bill Mousoulis, Ali Alizadeh, Ron Padget, Brandon Downing, Pam Brown, Thor Garcia, John Coletti, Jessica Fiorini, Bruce Andrews, Richard Tipping, Vincent Farnsworth, Mark Terrill, Elizabeth Gross, Douglas Piccinnini, Stephan Delbos, Arlo Quint, Vincent Katz, Veronique Vassiliou, Vadim Erent, Pierre Joris, Habib Tengour, Aaron Lowinger, Darren Tofts, Ian Haig, Louis Armand, John Kinsella, Steve McCaffery, Stacey Szymaszek, Mike Farrell, Andrea Brady, Edwin Torres, Alli Warren, Jess Mynes, Tim Gaze, Jen Hofer, Lina Ramona Vitkauskas, Ales Steger, Betsy Fagin, Amande In, Jena Osman, Henry Hills, Keith Jones, Octavio Armand, John Godfrey, Allyssa Wolf… and more!

It has not been long since the last one, but there’s a new story at webyarns.com…

“This Is Not A Poem” is a toy, a game, a language engine, and a poem all at the same time….

The new plaything is at http://www.ThisIsNotAPoem.com

Also, in case you missed it, “My Nervous Breakdown,” released a few months ago, is available at
http://webyarns.com/MyNervousBreakdown.html

For other stories, both new and old, please visit http://www.webyarns.com

Many thanks for your interest!

yours,

alan
–
stories for the web
http://www.webyarns.com

[LET THEM EAT CACHE]

[currently on #feralC]: @QReada does indeed go “feral” + starts spouting cryptic comms: “[THE WROTE WRITES ROTTINGS ON THE WALL]” + “[LARGE CHARCOAL BLACK DOG WITH SNOW WHITE SAND OOZING EYES]” + “[LET THEM EAT CACHE]” + “[SMALL SUEDE TAN CAT WITH SANDPAPER CLAWS]” etc… @pupa_mistress warns @QReada 2 stop but 2 no avail + @QReada is now suspended from the #feralC study…[2 b cont].

That House

[...over in #feralC Twitterland theres lots-a-foamin': @Miss_Stressa is incommunicado. @HUD_B is trying to help @QReada + has worked out how to decipher his/her QR code(s). @shadowmcclone is taciturn as usual. @gossama game chats 2 Shane Hinton and is concerned about the absence of @Miss_Stressa. @jr_carpenter also chats to @gossama about her suspicions that @Miss_Stressa may have been swallowed by that house she's fascinated by [House of Leaves-style].  @QReada is having a hard time of it + reveals communicating isn’t pleasant: “THIS HURTS”. @pupa_mistress has delayed Session 5 due to “technical difficulties”…[to be continued]

Texts by mez breeze

3 June, 5pm-8pm
Reading Room in Arnolfini and online at
http://automatist.net/deptofreading/wiki/pmwiki.php/CommonPractice
contact common_practice on Skype to join the session
(next sessions: 24 June, 9 and 30 September)
Italo Calvino said ‘the storyteller explored the possibilities implied in
his own language by combining and changing the permutations of the figures
and the actions, and of the objects on which these actions could be brought
to bear’. It is by following this principle that common practice will start.

The first session will open with mez breeze’s mezangelle poems, written in a
blend of code and language, and we will be practising a simultaneous
reading/writing reworking of these texts to experience their language-code
operations during the event.

common practice is a reading group that uses Wiki and Skype to perform a
Calvino-style manipulation of texts. Through unpredictable cobbling together
of texts, poetry, people, code, language, Wiki, chat, conversations etc. we
will co-produce untagged and free style body/ies of knowledge.

The reading groups that make up common practice will take place in June and
September. You are invited to read, write, tinker with and intervene in the
literary and theoretical texts and poetry together with others through the
simple-to-use online tools. You can join us in the Reading Room at Arnolfini
or online and via Skype (contact: common_practice).

common practice references the widespread and increasingly familiar activity
of using online tools in everyday to communicate, contact, work, socialise,
play, research, be entertained etc. The practice embodies the curiosity to
experience ways in which human and machine skills and abilities perform
together.

More importantly, however, common practice also refers to the fact that it
is done in common – together with others. Thus it is social space of
knowledge materialised through co-labour, codeworking and language. Anxiety,
concern and conflict might be part of the practice in the same way that
curiosity, hospitality and kindness are hoped for. This is practice in flux,
nomadic practice that exists in the common. Knowledge and experiences
generated during the session will be captured by its users.

common practice is a series of curated events initiated by Magda
Tyzlik-Carver, hosted by the Reading Room in Arnolfini, and online by
Department of Reading
http://automatist.net/deptofreading/wiki/pmwiki.php/CommonPractice and
project.arnolfini  http://project.arnolfini.org.uk/?t=5 .

Please bring your own laptop with wireless enabled to join the common
practice in the Reading Room. If you don’t have your own laptop, there will
be a common computer available to use by those without one. Wiki-page will
be also projected on the wall so it will be possible to follow the practice.

- MANUAL FOR THE COMMON PRACTICE SESSION -

In order to take part in common practice all you need is an account on Skype
and a connection to the internet for the time of the session. You can also
join us in the Reading Room at Arnolfini at the time of the session. Please
bring your laptop with you.

The space of the session is a Skype-chat and a Wiki-page. The Wiki
(http://automatist.net/deptofreading/wiki/pmwiki.php/Seisure) contains two
poems by mez breeze, each line marked by a number.

The Department of Reading Internet System (doris) connects the chat and the
pool directly. doris listens to the chat, records all entries and allows for
manipulation of the poems directly through the chat. In this session we will
make use of the module [getput]. This module consists of two commands,
namely [get], which allows to get any one of the lines from the poems
directly to the chat; and [put], which allows to put any entry of the chat
into any one of the numbered lines on the Wiki.

To get any line from one of the poems into the chat, write: “get 1″ or “get
6″ depending on which section you want to get the line from. The text will
not be deleted on the Wiki, but can be altered in the chat and replaced
later on by using the command “put”. In between the two poems is an empty
column that can as well be addressed by the commands [get] and [put] via the
related numbers – this will become operative during the session.

doris allows to modify, rewrite, edit or manipulate the poems with the
command [put]. To place any entry or rewritten line into the poems, write it
in the chat, then press ENTER, and then write: “put 1″ in the chat and press
ENTER again. This will place the entry in line 1 of the Wiki and overwrite
the previously given line of the poem. If you want to position an entry in
section 3 or 4 or 9 or any other, you need to change the number in the
command accordingly. For example, if you want an entry to be in section 4,
the command should be: “put 4″, etc.

There are some signs, so called markups, that allow for italic, bold and
coloured text. They can be used as well through the Skype-chat, simply in
writing them along with the related entry that you would like to post on the
Wiki. In order to set an expression italic, you would have to use two
apostrophes at the beginning and the end of that expression – like
”italic”. When it comes to bold, just use three apostrophes ”’bold”’.
It’s also possible to use colours in this reading session. The signs % is
necessary in this case, again one before the name of the colour, then one
after the name of the colour. Next comes the text and then comes another %
sign to stop the colouring. Like this: %blue%coloured-invisi.belles%.
The mark-up [[<<]] introduces a line-break.

You need to refresh the Wiki-page from time to time to see the changes.
Since the poems easily might interfere with the marks-ups as it plays with
quite similar signs, it can happen that you don’t necessarily get, what you
might have intended with an entry.

Binary Katwalk

[From Jeremy Hight, Curator:]

“Happy to announce that the latest in the series “Line of Influence”(Binary Katwalk) looking at an important and influential artist, their influences and in who they see a kinship….now live with the brilliant writer/artist MEZ.”

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.

King Davin Heckman

I have been thinking a bit about the question of “poetics” and what it means:  Does it refer to poetry specifically?  Does it refer theories of literature?  Or can it be loosened to denote theory, in general?  These distinctions have been in play for some time time, as definitions of poetry, literature and theory have been contentious throughout the 20th Century.  But in the 21st Century, specifically as it relates to “netpoetics” and the art and criticism that this forum is dedicated to, the question, “What is poetics?” appears more difficult to answer than ever.

I have come down on the issue in various ways, occasionally advocating a definition of “poetics” that is restrictive, and, at other times, arguing for a “poetics” that is broad to the point of meaninglessness.  I guess, the question I have is, what do we mean when we talk about “poetics”?  The goal of this prompt is not to stir up ideological conflict, rather, it is to initiate some discussion about the many things we mean when we approach this topic.

To offer an illustration, I would like to hold up the example of the MAICgregator <http://maicgregator.org/>:

MAICgregator is a Firefox extension that aggregates information about colleges and universities embedded in the military-academic-industrial complex (MAIC). It searches government funding databases, private news sources, private press releases, and public information about trustees to try and produce a radical cartography of the modern university via the replacement or overlay of this information on academic websites. This is a necessary activity in light of the contemporary financial “crisis”.

On its surface, we might easily situate such work in the category of advocacy and activism.  In terms of what you see, it delivers fairly straighforward informational content, culled from various official sources.  On one level, the MAICgregator functions seeks to be something other than poetic, literary or even theoretical.  It is highly practical.

Beneath its surface, the MAICgregator does contain the sort of technical “virtuosity” that Rita Raley highlights in her book Tactical Media (University of Minnesota Press, 2009).  While I am not qualified to comment on the ease or difficulty of creating and maintaining such a project, I am impressed, and am thus inclined to accept that it qualifies as a masterful performance, regardless of its aesthetic dimension.

But there is another angle to consider, and that is how successfully the MAICgregator intervenes against an aestheticised backdrop.  What makes this particular piece so interesting is not the aesthetics of the project itself, but the way that it interacts with the poetics of the various university websites that it modifies.  The MAICgregator is interesting because it disrupts the seamless and (often deceptively) innocuousness of public relations, to add a splash of reality against which the idyllic depictions of the space of the university can be contrasted.

To come back to the question, then, I would ask, in a culture where everything is “designed,” does the critique of this landscape also amount to a poetic practice?