The Self-Concious Text

It would be a dramatic understatement to suggest that The Filth is more than a little self-conscious, for it is the epitome of a body in conflict with itself.  It is reminiscent of The Man with the Movie Camera, in that it works creatively to draw attention to the very act of creating the text.  Moreover, its authors work critically in a way that other authors seem reluctant to consider.  They bring into question the text’s very abilities as medium, by means of this self-consciousness. 

What I am referring to as the “self-consciousness” of the text, becomes most explicit by means of two focal points: 

First, there is a strange moment in The Filth that is incredibly disruptive to the reader.  In one very provocative scene, a superhero is murdered by two figures dressed entirely in black.  As these figures flee a veritable superhero posse, another hero spontaneously combusts.  At this point, the figures dressed in black emerge from the comic strip in which they were originally featured.  The text produces this effect by positioning the former comic strip at a new and strange angle to the page.  There exists, in place of the comic strip’s initial positioning, an abundance of blue absent space, that the reader is encouraged to perceive as the blank page of an empty book.  Here, the black figures are featured flying across this “blank” space.  The book disrupts the comic strip momentarily, and the reader is reminded of the very act of reading, as well as the creative process.  Interestingly, the characters never really leave the comic book.  They are subsumed by another comic strip, on the next page.  Perhaps, this suggests feelings of being trapped within the medium, although I am reluctant to argue that this is denigrating. 

Another point of particular interest is the means by which the “Hand,” a crime clean-up unit, proceeds.  A subset of the group is concerned with the re-writing of comic book scenes.  Here, the text explicitly addresses the act of creating a comic strip.  The characters are no longer just interacting with other characters within the confines of the text.  The events of the text are determined by another group of characters that possess the power of rewriting integral scenes.  They are in possession of a series of giant pens and special ink.  Here, the writing implements and the re-writing of scenes exist as a notable reference to the act of designing the book. 

Something very similar is suggested in Rotman’s text when he acknowledges that he is still using the alphabet as a medium.  Rotman seems to acknowledge certain inadequacies as he argues that an imageology or gesture-haptic system will emerge.   

There seem to be several benefits to creating an explicitly self-conscious text.  First, it is suggestively disruptive.  The seam of this disruption is an interesting site for the reader to consider the very act of reading.  Second, and more importantly, the text explores its own means of production; the informational system by which the text operates.

Dark Glasses

Click the following link to read the excerpt from A Lover’s Discourse…”Dark Glasses“

Dark Glasses

Dark Glasses (from A Lover’s Discourse – Roland Barthes)cacher / to hide

A deliberative figure: the amorous subject wonders, not whether he should declare his love to the loved being (this is not a figure of avowal), but to what degree he should conceal the turbulences of his passion: his desires, his distresses; in short, his excesses (in Racinian language:  his fureur).

 1.         X, who left for his vacation without me, has shown no signs of life since his departure: accident? post-office strike?  indifference?  distancing maneuver?  exercise of a passing impulse of autonomy (“His youth deafens him, he fails to hear”)? or simple innocence?  I grow increasingly anxious, pass through each act of the waiting-scenario.  But when X reappears in one way or another, for he cannot fail to do so (a thought which should immediately dispel any anxiety), what will I say to him?  Should I hide my distress—which will be over by then (“How are you?”)?  Release it aggressively (“That wasn’t at all nice, at least you could have . . .”) or passionately (“Do you know how much worry you have caused me?”)?  Or let this distress of mine be delicately, discreetly understood, so that it will be discovered without having to strike down the other (“I was rather concerned . . .”)?  A secondary anxiety seizes me, which is that I must determine the degree of publicity I shall give to my initial anxiety. 

2.         I am caught up in a double discourse, from which I cannot escape.  On the one hand, I tell myself: suppose the other, by some arrangement of his own structure, needed my questioning?  Then wouldn’t I be justified in abandoning myself to the literal expression, the lyrical utterance of my “passion”?  Are not excess and madness my truth, my strength?  And if this is true, this strength ultimately prevailed?But on the other hand, I tell myself:  the signs of this passion run the risk of smothering the other.  Then should I not, precisely because of my love, hide from the other how much I love him?  I see the other with a double vision: sometimes as object, sometimes as subject; I hesitate between tyranny and oblation.  Thus I doom myself to blackmail:  if I love the other, I am forced to seek his happiness; but then I can only do myself harm:  a trap:  I am condemned to be a saint or a monster:  unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other:  hence I tergiversate:  I show my passion a little. 

3.         To impose upon my passion the mask of discretion (of impassivity):  this is a strictly heroic value:  “It is unworthy of great souls to expose to those around them the distress they feel” (Clotilde de Vaux); Captain Paz, one of Balzac’s heroes, invents a false mistress in order to be sure of keeping his best friend’s wife from knowing that he loves her passionately.Yet to hide a passion totally (or even to hide, more simply, its excess)  is inconceivable:  not because the human subject is too weak, but because passion is in essence made to be seen:  the hiding must be seen:  I want you to know that I am hiding something from you, that is the active paradox I must resolve:  at one and the same time it must be known and not known:  I want you to know that I don’t want to show my feelings:  that is the message I address to the other.  Larvatus prodeo:  I advance pointing to my mask:  is set a mask upon my passion, but with a discreet (and wily) finger I designate this mask.  Every passion, ultimately, has its spectator: at the moment of his death, Captain Paz cannot keep from writing to the woman he has loved in silence:  no amorous oblation without a final theater:  the sign is always victorious. Balzac: La Fausse maitresse(Also references Descartes above) 

4.         Let us suppose that I have wept, on account of some incident of which the other has not even become aware to weep is part of the normal activity of the amorous body), and that, so this cannot be seen, I put on dark glasses to mask my swollen eyes (a fine example of denial:  to darken the sight in order not to be seen).  The intention of this gesture is a calculated one:  I want to keep the oral advantage of stoicism, of “dignity” (I take myself for Clotilde de Vaux), and at the same time, contradictorily, I want to provoke the tender question (“But what’s the matter with you?”); I want to be both pathetic and admirable, I want to be at the same time a child and an adult.  Thereby I gamble, I take a risk:  for it is always possible that the other will simply ask no question whatever about these unaccustomed glasses: that the other will see, in the fact, no sign. 

5.         In order to suggest, delicately, that I am suffering, in order to hide without lying, I shall make use of a cunning preterition:  I shall divide the economy of my signs.  The task of the verbal signs will be to silence, to mask, to deceive:  I shall never account, verbally, for the excesses of my sentiment.  Having said nothing of the ravages of this anxiety, I can always, once it has passed, reassure myself that no one has guessed anything.  The power of language:  with my language I can do everything:  even and especially say nothing.I can do everything with my language, but not with my body.  What I hide by my language, my body utters.  I can deliberately mold my message, not my voice.  By my voice, whatever it says, the other will recognize “that something is wrong with me.”  I am a liar (by preterition), not an actor.  My body is a stubborn child, my language is a very civilized adult . . . 

6.         . . . so that a long series of verbal contentions (my “politenesses”)  may suddenly explode into some generalized revulsion:  a crying jag (for instance), before the other’s flabbergasted eyes, will suddenly wipe out all the efforts (and the effects) of a carefully controlled language.  I break apart: 

Racine             Connais donc Phedre et toute sa fureur.

                        Now you know Phaedra and all her fury.

A Filthy “Soul”: From Spector to Rotman

 

Slade:  What was my last mission?  Before I went nuts…

You’ve given me a drug.

Spector:  Aye, fukken reality, big man. See, inna Science Gestapo, everything’s jist whit it is, no whit wey waant it tay be.  Maist people jist see whit they’re telt so that’s whit geez us an advantage thut looks lik magic.  Tell us this; whit’s the wan hing thut lives inside yih aw yer life but survives efter death?  The wan immortal hing thut remembers past bodies and past lives?

Slade:  The soul?

Spector:  Aye, right.  Mitochondrial DNA.  That’s yir technical term for the “soul.”  It’s aw aboot how yih describe hings.

Slade:  And this is to make me feel better about what exactly?

(The Filth 210-211)

It seems that many of more subtle movements, in the text, are amongst the most provocative.  With The Filth, more emphasis is placed on a certain textual self-consciousness and the issue of the body, than on the development of amazing or fantastic superheroes/villains.  I am assuming that this is the case with most of the more serious graphic novels, though I must admit a general ignorance concerning this genre. 

In this portion of the text, the relationship of soul to body is brought into explicit discourse.  More specifically, the dialogue critiques the classic insistence on the detachment of soul from the body.  The dialogue also calls forth theoretical maneuvers that aim to divorce the mind and spirit from the body, as is suggested by a long tradition of philosophical work.  When Spector questions Slade concerning the one “hing” (thing) that survives the body, Slade’s response is to question the continuing existence of a soul (foolish human!); something quite detached from the body; the incorporeal that continues to exist even as the body decays.  The response is not without critical import.  Spector replies by providing that if it is the soul which survives, it is as mitochondrial DNA.  Here, the response functions as an attempt to place the soul back within the very physical context of the body.   

Although I commented on this before, it seems necessary to draw on Rotman’s work here.  Specifically, it is fruitful to consider Rotman’s work in relationship to the body (Isn’t it all related to the body?). Rotman argues most effectively that the mind has long been wrongfully disembodied.  In his criticism of the alphabet, he suggests that forms which are detached from the body lose their voice.  The alphabet divorces the prosodic from the text.  This is the case with “God.”   Although the reader may draw on contextual information to imagine prosodic value, this often degrades voice.  For Rotman, the loss of body seems to indicate the loss of substance.  This becomes evident in his attempts to address a communicational form which might eventually restore the body (Imageology, Gesturo-haptic).  In The Filth as in Rotman’s texts, the corporeal is attributed a significance which effectively distances attempts to create a hierarchy of mind over body.

I find this an important point of consideration as I am working on my own text.  As I study the cultural/social movements, I plan on focusing on the body.  Instead of denigrating the body as most work focusing on ideology, I will focus on the corporeal as a site of discourse.  This is the move I will be making in relationship to the body that is inscribed upon.

Rhizomatic Ghosts?

In “Ghost effects,” Rotman discusses the “ghosts” that have arisen in relationship to the written and spoken “I.”  These are the ghosts of the Mind and the God.  Whereas the mind, soul, and spirit were originally conceived of as physical organs in pre-literate Homer, they soon became disembodied.  In the fifth century, with Heraclitus, the soul was disassociated with the body and the qualities of physical organs.  With Aristotle, the “noos” or thinking principle emerged as something distinct and separable from the body.  Thus, as time progressed, and technologies advanced, the body, soul, and spirit lost their corporeality.  Here, it seems important to reference the effect Rotman suggests the media has on the creation of the ghost.  Whereas in pre-literate times, the soul, spirit, and mind were something entirely corporeal, through the Platonic dialogues, and writing concerning such entities, they lost their corporeality.  Although media do not “determine” situation, technologies do open it up to new effects and new forums of affect, as Rotman suggests.  According to Rotman, speech midwifes the first out of body experience.  Similarly, writing allows for the virtualization of spoken presence, while materializing the utterance.  In these ways, Rotman demonstrates the means by which new technologies, new media, allow for the creation of certain ghosts.  This becomes even more evident in the provocative and convoluted discussion he provides of God.

Rotman suggests that God is largely the result of writing.  God’s revelation occurred through the written word, and through several transmutations afforded by the written word thereafter.  Interestingly, Rotman questions how Yahweh or God gave birth to himself in the text.  There exists a certain formulaic self creation: I write “I” hence I exist.  Yet, God is a ghost without body.  Perhaps, this is best emphasized by Rotman’s discussion of the prosodic.  Rotman suggests that when one reads, one attributes a certain prosodic value to an alphabetic text.  The reader begins to make assumptions about the tone or emphasis accompanying the words, sentences, etc.  Rotman argues that these assumptions concerning the prosodic are based on context.  Thus, if there is no context, no point of reference, then assessing the prosodic values of each word becomes impossible.  This is the case with God.  If there were no precursors to God’s written text, as God wrote the text, then God’s voice loses its prosodic value.  Thus, God’s voice loses its physical qualities, suggesting that God is a ghost. 

In consideration of the ramifications that speech and writing technologies have had on the existence of ghosts, Rotman moves, quite predictably, into the realm of the digital.  Simply, it must be assumed, based on prior experience, that the digital will also have an effect on the existence of ghosts.  Unpredictably, Rotman immediately indicates his reluctance to make any assertions as to what digital ghosts may exist as of yet.  He suggests, instead, that digitality is still an unfinished project (the final frontier? Hardly).  What Rotman is willing to indicate though, again following on the theoretical coat tails of Guattari and Deleuze (not a bad thing), is that it will no longer be the “I” of the written or spoken, but rather, the “we” or “they” of a plural assemblage; a multiplicity or collective.  Furthermore, Rotman is also willing to suggest as in his other works, namely “The Alphabetic Body,” that we will have to move beyond the alphabet.  For one has to question, as Rotman has, what it has given us.  It seems quite evident from the middle portion of his essay that it has delivered us an “absent monoGod” and a “disembodied mind.”  Perhaps, the digital will be the end of our reliance on this system.  Perhaps, we will move to reassert the importance of the image, as Rotman suggests more forcefully in, “The Alphabetic Body.”  Provocatively, Rotman ends by stating that we need to make way for new ghosts.  What will these ghosts be?  Until the new technology or media emerges, we can only speculate.  We can, however, speculate that these might be plural ghosts; we ghosts.  What does this mean for the future of this infinite technology, and, by relation, its users?  It is interesting to consider rhizomatic ghosts, if that is what Rotman is getting at. 

The Body as a Site of Conflict

I am currently considering the text that I am developing as a series of segments.  These segments will constitute or comprise a greater text, that of the map.  By clicking on a particular portion of the map, one will be able to access the segment pertaining to that locality.

One segment of particular interest is the body as a site of conflict.  Here, I am interested, as I mentioned previously, in what is suggested by the practice of inscribing words upon the body, and the act of puking.  This interest in the period after “interaction,” is encouraged, in part, by John Sinclair’s discourse on the ineffectiveness of the demonstration.  Sinclair suggests, as noted previously, that the demonstration is rather ineffective in that after the event has concluded people return to the individuality of their lives.  For Sinclair, this return, marks the dissolution of that which the demonstration might have momentarily achieved.  More significantly, Sinclair suggests a seperation of realms; a certain distinction between the public shared event and the private individual experience.  On the one hand, there exists a certain forum for interaction which becomes a locus; the focal point of the evening.  Here, I am referencing the event by which everything hinges (Funk Night, the Fourth Street Festival, etc.).  The other realm is comprised of those instances which occur in private, on an individual basis.  This is the period both before after the event.  Here, one must recall that the virtual provides an interesting dissolution of boundaries, while providing for the establishment of others.

In consideration, it seems important not to limit my analysis or discussion to the events themselves.  This would denigrate the importance of transition, and the relationship of the individual to the whole.  Currently, two main points of discussion arise in relationship to the individual body.  First, as mentioned previously, there is the act of puking.  I plan on using this as a referential point, just as the Mississippi River is used provocatively in Boob Jubilee.  Here, the act of puking is but a means of approaching something else.  Second, and more pertinent to this particular post, is an after party ritual which occurs rather infrequently, and yet, still deserves attention.  This is the prank that typically involves inscribing words upon the body of a sleeping companion. 

What does the inscription of words such as “Dick” or “Pussy” upon the forehead of a friend signify?  It is interesting that after moments such as Funk Night, which are attributed a certain cultural or social significance (people claim that they assist in the establishment of social networks, provide a forum for discussion, get people involved with the city, etc.), that this occurs.  What does the inscription of these words indicate about the effectiveness, the success of each event’s directives?  Admittedly, this is still quite confusing to me.  Yet, I think that this provides interesting grounds for consideration.  It seems that the very influence of the night, and of the event, is taken to a different level as it effects, or fails to effect, both mind and body.  Does the night persist in the very ink which temporarily stains the skin?  What of the reflection?  What of looking in the mirror the morning after?  What of recollection?  What of feelings of animosity or betrayal?  What of Rotman’s assertion that the mind is disembodied?  These are all questions that propel further questioning.  For now, the most effective means of intiating this project seems to be to keep asking them. 

The Alphabetic Body

In “Alphabetic body,” Rotman posits that the brain of the alphabetic writer is altered dramatically.  The alphabet records what is said without suggesting the way in which it is said.  It is silent about the sound, what can be considered the prosody.  The prosodic concerns the long waves and pulsations of the larynx and lungs during speech.  This movement attributes the message a certain tone and emphasis.  With the prosodic, vocal modification is continuous.  One hears oneself speaking, and the body psyche, as a result, is assembled, invented, and created from outside of itself.  This, as Rotman argues, is the driving force in human evolution. 

One of the more significant portions of Rotman’s text deals with what he considers the “invisible effect” of the alphabet.  He argues that the alphabet institutes and perpetuates a certain dualism.  This primary dualism is the hierarchy of the mind over the body.  The result of this hierarchy is that the mind is essentially disembodied.  Since the body is disconnected from the mind, the prosodic is lost, and a strange physic entity comes into existence: “a physic entity which speaks in a voice without tone, emphasis, irony, distance from itself, humour, doubleness, affect, pain or the possibility of such things.”

On another note, throughout the text, Rotman continually references the importance of the pictorial; the significance of the image.  In the initial portion of the text, when discussing the evolution of the alphabet, Rotman suggests that the alphabet derives from Egyptian hieroglyphics.  Here, he briefly laments that the images were divorced from the characters, during its creation.  Later, in his discussion of the philosophical alphabet, Rotman suggests the importance of placing the picture back into discourse; into the philosophical text.  In this section he criticizes a long tradition of philosophical discourse which disregards the importance of the image.  In philosophical texts there is an emphasis on the ability to read a text aloud.  Rotman suggests that this excludes the pictographic, for one can’t utter an image.  Thus, philosophical texts shield themselves from a connection to the body (100).  Whereas the written word needs to be looked through, the visual necessitates that one look at it.  Here, Rotman responds with a call for a “consciously ideogrammatized text.”  This text would include symbols and diagrams.

Here, though, it is also important that one not misread Rotman’s call for the pictorial or the ideogrammatized.  Rotman is not necessarily arguing the addition of pictures at random; this is not a call for the haphazard.  It seems, instead, that he is suggesting something much more calculated.  He states that the symbols and diagrams should be, “doing philosophical work.”  The images must serve a particular function.  Furthermore, he calls for a “consciously” gesturalized text. 

On a side note: I am interested in what is signified by the ascribing of words onto the body.  The absurd party ritual of writing on the body of the person that passes out.  More on this later.

Becoming Beside Oneself

Brian Rotman suggests that there are essentially two ways in critical discourse, that desire has been considered.  Foremost, there exists, following in the tradition of Freud and Lacan, a problematic conception of desire as lack.  Rotman suggests that from Plato to Hegel, the body has been subordinated to what might be considered the ideal mind or soul.  Conversely, another, more beneficial or fruitful theoretical assessment of desire, is the one forwarded in the work of Spinoza, Deleuze/Guatarri, Foucault, and Nietzsche.  This is the conception of desire as a certain excess; a discourse on desire as source.  In the Spinozist conception of desire, the latter, corporeality has “ontological primacy.”  Here, Rotman suggests that he will follow the second theoretical movement.  He suggests, furthermore, that he will be arguing in relationship to the “assemblage,” which is intimately familiar to those who have read A Thousand Plateaus by Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari.  Rotman suggests that he will discuss the assembled self in relationship to what might be considered the contextual revolution.

Essentially, following in line with the previous differentiation of the Platonic and the Spinozist, the contextual revolution is another point at which the two theoretical groups can be distinguished.  There has been, throughout much of the tradition of critical discourse, a tendency to move from the top down.  This model relies on linear reasoning, internal instruction, and hierarchized order.  With Nietzsche, Spinoza, Deleuze/Guattari, there exists, instead, a system of horizontal thought.  This is where the rhizomatic, as discussed by Deleuze and Guattari, comes into play.  One responds not to a hierarchized internal order, but rather, to the contextual; to stimuli in one’s environment.  Simply, one responds to the ever-changing context that is one’s surroundings (both virtual and physical).  Here, a certain duality of the self becomes most evident.  Rotman posits, most forcefully that, “the self is a behavior of the body that is a dual inside/outside phenomenon.”   The self becomes a complex assemblage.  Thus, if the self is defined in terms of the contextual signifiers, stimuli, etc., then the self becomes plural.  The self is no longer one self.   

As Rotman continues, it becomes evident that self moves from “1 self” to “n self.”  Essentially, “n self” indicates a heterogeneous or collective self.  In terms of the computational self, there is a move from the serial 1-self to the parallel n-self.  Rotman suggests that virtual practices, and the computational methodologies we have adopted, contribute to the creation of parallel computers.  The parallel computer emerged from the serial.  Serial computing’s emphasis in on the sequential; on the move from one thing to another; everything follows in some linearity of order.  With parallel computing there exist many things at the same time.  This is the move from Turing’s Fordist computer to a certain plurality of the other.   This is the move to parallel cognition.

Interestingly, this has several ramification for the way in which the self must be considered (or, more appropriately, re-considered).  The self becomes what Rotman refers to as the, “selfless self.”  Due to the contextual revolution, and parallel computation, the brain can be considered without a center.  There exists no controlling entity in this consideration.  Instead, there is a distributed collection of independent and linked systems or sub minds working together (or, even, as Rotman suggests, against each other).  This gives rise to what might be considered the postmodern condition of the self.  There exists an inescapable dispersed n-self.  The self’s duality prompts the self to be defined in part by the contextual, as previously suggested.  In Discipline and Punish this can be seen in consideration of Foucault’s discipline society.  The institution seeks information beyond physical boundaries.  The institution is defined, in part, by the information it collects.  It uses this information to obtain a certain import.  Similarly, the self seeks its own definition, or perpetual re-defining, by means of a network; by means of contextual stimuli.  In Deleuze and Guattari’s work this conception of the self can be identified in consideration of the multiplicity, or the rhizome.  The self becomes selfless as it is defined by means of a certain connectivity; a parallel computational structure.  The text and the self are defined in relationship to other texts, and other selves. 

At this juncture, Rotman suggests the emergence of the ‘visual self.”  He suggests that the third wave of the post-literate is on the rise.  Instead of a self patterned on words, the self is patterned on the, “fluid multiplicities of the image.”  The third wave of the image overtaking the word takes the explicit form of digitization.  With the digital, as Rotman suggests, there exists images of constituent images which interact with each other (they overlap, juxtapose, underlap, etc.).  This portion of the text is incredibly illuminating, and helps one to reconsider the ways in which the image is perceived.  With new pragmatic digital mapping processes, the map is no longer fixed and suggestive of a world exterior to it. 

Instead, the map becomes a dynamic tool capable of responding to the world it represents.  Because the map exists as several maps, the user/designer is capable of changing the map as the world changes, or as is otherwise necessary.  There is no, “metaphysical drama” of viewing the world from a position outside it.  And, this is where another interesting argument comes into being.  Rotman proclaims that it is this very transition from the fixed to the variable/infinitely controllable that marks the move from the invisible seeing soul to the “sighted” body.  The body, in relationship to the map, becomes visible.  If the map responds to the environment, these responses indicate the involvement of a third party; a party intimate to the map.  The creator/adjustor of the map, as he/she continually modifies the map, becomes visible to the world receiving the map, and even to himself as he registers the changes/impact that he has made.  Essentially, as Rotman argues, the body has been put back into the image. 

This is where Rotman’s discussion becomes a most relevant point of consideration.  Rotman’s discourse concerning the body and imaging is an interesting referential point for the project that I am undertaking.  It seems important to draw on the power of what Rotman considers the digital map, and, by relation, the sighted body.  If, as I have suggested previously, I am to create a digital map of current cultural movements, then I am assuring by the nature of a certain responsive changeability, that the body of both the spectator and my body will become more visible.  This is interesting, because it will allow me to place my own body into the discourse, instead of allowing it to be subsumed by what can be considered fixed.

Phillip K. Dick and the Virtual (Polly Pocket and the Sims)

As I am reading through, “The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch,” I am really beginning to enjoy the parallels which arise in relationship to the virtual.  Admittedly, I am only a third of the way through the narrative.  Presummably, I will be making a few assumptions about the rest of the text, for the purposes of this post.

In any event, although Dick would most likely argue against the following suggestion, I feel that there exists a rather interesting parallel between his work and that of Heinlein (The Moon is a Harsh Mistress).  In both narratives, inhabitants of Terra (planet Earth), are eventually forced to inhabit a colony on another planet.  In Dick’s narrative, the characters receive draft cards that indicate that they will soon have to inhabit other colonies.  In Heinlein’s text, prisoners are forced to inhabit the moon.  In each case, it seems that this is an undesirable transition for those involved.  And, in each case, the people are again forced elsewhere; a step further.  In Dick’s text this step arises in regards to to P P Layouts, (from what I understand so far) a miniature polly-pocket esque parallel of the virtual (sort of like the Sims).  Heinlein also poses something similar, yet, without the same poignancy.  In Heinlein’s text, the main character turns to a super-computer named Mike, in order to lead a revolution against oppressive people on Terra.  In both cases, those that are depressed by their current surroundings, turn to an alternative for hope, or subsistence.  Dick’s alternative is the most compelling for it provides a more adequate parallel of current virtual practices.

The question becomes, why is Dick’s vision so interesting?

Undoubtedly, Dick provides a rather complicated parallel of the virtual. For the purposes of this post, I will attempt to break it down into several brief sections (indicated by bold headings):

Power Relationships: Does it matter who has power?

I think it is interesting to consider the power relations and structures as they are portrayed in Dick’s work.  In the text, as in life, the sources of power remain quite vague.  A political entity named “UN” (?) distributes draft decisions, and yet, is not described in substantial detail.  Nationalism is evoked when a powerful corporate head expresses disgust with a group run by people from the African-Asian region, but this parallel is hardly even pursued.  Nor does one assume that this is the only power force in play.  It is also suggested that the wealthy have more power than those with less financial backing, and are even able to evolve further, through special treatments that only they can afford.  This sounds overwhelmingly familiar but yet, it seems that Dick is purposefully vague.  He mentions each group briefly, and then moves on to more important issues.  The real issue is not so much who has power, as how do the poeple react to that power system?

By turning to drugs and getting down with groovy polly pocket-esque play-sets.

What is Can-D? What is its significance?

People get tripped out on Can-D and mess with their layouts.  It is illegal, and yet, most have access to it.  Its distribution is perpetuated by those with control over large corporate assets (specifically, those that distribute the layouts).  It makes people unattentive to the world around them.  This aspect of the text is quite confusing, for if the layouts parallel the virtual than several questions arise.  Is the Can-D a parallel of contemporary drugs? Following on this note: is Dick advocating drugs as a necessary condition of release? Or, rather, is it part of the essence of the virtual, a metaphor for potential feelings of release associated with the virtual? Is neglect necessarily an effect of involvement with the virtual? Does neglecting “reality” really matter?

Are the other planets a metaphor for oppression?

It seems that the other planets are a means of exaggerating the disadvantage or plight of some individuals.  In addition, the other planets could suggest the distance between those that use the virtual and those that don’t. 

Can I be sure that the PP Layouts are a parallel of the Virtual?

No, but the parallels are pretty uncanny.  The people turn to something that they have intimate control over, in order to escape from life (virtual landscape).  They can design every aspect of their layouts (myspace/facebook profiles?).  Also, there is a certain emphasis on networking.  The characters work on their layouts together, much like a virtual multiplicity.  They even provide commentary on each others layouts (blogs). 

The better question is…how are the PP Layouts different from the Virtual?

Creating an Alternative Life Context

Sinclair argues that the demonstration is rather an ineffective means of revolution.  At first, this revelation is rather startling.  Sinclair is openly refuting the very methodology which any “student of protest” has come to revere.  We have been taught that the demonstration is the most effectively peaceful means of obtaining a solution or solutions, and yet, Sinclair refutes this assumption; our revolutionary education.  It is not that Sinclair is, necessarily, calling for a more violent means of overcoming oppression (though, at times, it may seem that he is).  Here, it is important to remember that he advocates taking over the “Man’s” media, rather than destroying it.  The absence of violence, or high energy, is not what he finds problematic in light of the demonstration. Rather, Sinclair suggests cultural revolution; a revolution which is inextricably linked to lifestyle.  One must live revolution in daily life.  The demonstration doesn’t allow for the development of an “alternative life context.”

I mean living in a revolutionary way is what is finally a threat to the established order, and that’s what’s finally going to make the difference…Now the good aspect of demonstrations is that they get a lot of people together and, hopefully, unite them around one issue, at least momentarily.  But that’s as far as they go.  After the demonstration, everyone goes back to their individual rooms with their one roomate, and goes to classes and watches television, consuming, sitting around waiting for the next demonstration to happen.  It doesn’t provide an alternative life context for people who want something different” (Sinclair 176)

On the other hand, Sinclair is not emphasizing something entirely chaotic.  He may be suggesting a recourse to “high energy,” but it should not be mistaken for attempts to demolish everything which existed previously.  To an extent, as previously suggested, Sinclair is suggesting something very similar to what Deleuze and Guattari emphasize in A Thousand Plateaus.  Sometimes working within the strata is the most effective means of subverting the power structure.  Sinclair suggests taking over the radio stations and the literature.  The media forms are not the Man’s media forms, just forms that are used to express the Man’s message.  If the message changes, Sinclair asserts, then the media changes (See pages 109-113). 

Another provocative parallel arises between Sinclair’s work and that of Kunstler in Geography of Nowhere.  Sinclair suggests that the revolution requires thorough consideration and planning.  If Kunstler’s geographies can be considered revolutionary in that they refute the typical disregard for space and human interaction, than they are an important point of consideration.  Throughout Geography of Nowhere, Kunstler continually references the importance of planning.  In the case of Portland, Oregon, Kunstler suggests that certain ordinances were developed with the future in mind.  To control growth, the city planners developed several integral restrictions.  These restrictions barred growth outside of certain areas, prohibited unnecessary increases in parking space, and limited the height of buildings.  Similarly, Sinclair seems to be arguing against a certain spontaneity which is often inaccurately associated with effective revolutions.  Sinclair advocates that people understand the problems, research, develop centers for the dispersement of knowledge, and, most importantly, live that which they feel is right or good.  To live something instead of momentarily demonstrating something is, obviously, much more significant.  Living something insists that one understand the cause and plan for the future.