conversational drift, informatic license, exquisite enclaves
nqpaofu.com by jouke kleerebezem
notes, quotes, provocations and other fair use
[20 August 2003] whatblog
Kiss goodbye the we in the weblog.
Within 4 years after peterme coined weblog to say 'we blog', the personal publishing phenomenon has exploded beyond the we of whatever community conceivable and fragmented all over a place where notoriously there's no there there.
Blog bulk banned the we out of the weblog. Personal publishing has become a native Internet journalistic format. Fulfilling the 'web-for-one' promise and other Early Information Age democratic ideas, way beyond the 'home page', where the 'we' was the turf, the chief, his wife, kids, car, sport and the family dog.
When the we are out, what to expect from the blog? Certainly, many parties, after five years of fulfilling prime Internet principles (remember Berners-Lee's this all works only if each person makes links as he or she browses, so writing, link creation and browsing must be totally integrated), now see the light of personal publishing shine brightly. Some like Microdoc News' Elwyn Jenkins go as far as to see a power developing, which he names The Emerging Sixth Estate. Like with the fragmented but strongly motivated protests before the war in Iraq started, or in international circles around anti-globalists, or culture jammers of sorts, with a lack of competition for the last and stumbling self acclaimed 'super power', people are hoping for a, be it dispersed, distributed but heavily connected and in that way well organized, de-institutionalized informed counter-force. Will 'we' see such force developing? Who will be the 'we' involved, and how and what will they manage?
When all the world blogs, and the rest of us spend our days playing games never ending, Google functioning as the Internet's 'operating system', showing us where which documents are in what state of development, how much of a communities of interest's turf can the world be? Sincerely I wouldn't want to see a ruling party develop out of any of the 'we blog' web circles. It's simply the Next Big Horror after Barlow's dopey ("I come from Cyberspace, the new home of Mind...") Cyberspace Independence Declaration, or whatever it was called. We blog should be all we do. My blog differs from yours.
If personal publishing, keeping up this first native Internet journalist routine (or second, if you count Usenet groups as the first original Internet publishing venue), is not exactly against joining arms, what am I doing here? This is one-man's-bandwidth. Et Si Omnes Ego Non, my house: my rules, der Einzige und sein Eigentum &tc. Whatever algorithms prove whatever kinship don't ever try to get it organized into any card carrying niche pushing party, power, estate or force. Get off of our turf, if you've come to enlist us!
To find guidance and even steering power through connected individual publications, its opinions and expertise in social cultural affairs, one needs some kind of editorial agency that exactly 'routes around' the power block paradigm. But first one needs a sphere of influence which effectively engages in real world interventions. Weblogs are, and aren't: 'some people have a life, I have a weblog', is a quote I repeat to myself at times. When those who have weblogs, but no lives, are called to power, it's time to blog out. It's more of that Cyberspace Independence's problem: as soon as you isolate, you have no claim outside your own niche however you tune your algorithm, don't count on its fire power.
Next: revenue talks
[19 August 2003] you're googlin' baby!
Underhyping Google #keepcounting. Apparently if you take Google serious (as in 'serious searching') pretty soon you run into Elwyn Jenkins, of MicroDoc News (previously known as Google Village) et al. Lots of sensible as well as awkward stuff as to make sense of where personal publishing, or 'nano publishing' for that matter, googlified, might lead. I have to browse his different outlets carefully before I know exactly where he finds and takes his arguments but it looks comfortably close to my ubiscribe and offgoogle ideas. His commercial(?) interests ("daily digest of the world's best blogs" style advertizing, err hm) seem pretty default as contrasted to his wilder thinking, but hey, WEIN?
Meanwhile, over at Google, Tuesday 19 August, 16:01-16:09 CET:
"art as knowledge": 68 hits
"design as knowledge": 67 hits
"art as knowing": 73 hits
"design as knowing": 2 hits, both PDFs
"information as knowledge": 553 hits
"information as knowing": 37 hits
"internet as knowledge": 111 hits
"internet as knowing": 0 hits
"google as knowledge": 8 hits (all Microdoc News)
"google as knowing": 0 hits
[16-18 August 2003] domaining
Aside: 16-18 my itch to upload started to increase. Why did this have to take so long? There was the week-end, there's slow VISA and there's little trust on the provider's side that my credit was good. It all adds up.
'One site fits all' (Alamut) is a solemn vow I cannot obey, alas. Some word strings give such good domains you just want them for the sake of suggesting the kind of possibility space which of course a domain is. You don't even want the site with it. Recently in NL 'herejezus.nl' ('lordjezus') was found still available and today offers free email addresses @herejezus.nl, for people to diplay their religious challenge, including the obvious atheist at herejezus.
If you search this site for "still available" you will find some (among which probably most still available, they're not all that good, though I think yesterblogs is sexy, for a blog conservancy operation, in some future time) of such ad hoc possibilityspace.toplevel inspirations. indeed it is the promise of the Internet domain to attract content at some moment in time. There's also the thrill of having this title, this name, this dream, knowing that at some point someone else will get a same hunch and searches for the possibility space's availability.
Every domain tells a thousand stories. Make your reservations.
[15 August 2003] cooling
With a couple of wind strokes the leaves started falling off the hot and dry trees. This has been extreme. In Paris over four times the average amount of people die every week, some 180. Elderly and babies suffer most from dehydration, hospitals lack beds and morgues are filling up because the undertakers can't handle anymore. The canicule disaster is 'official' since yesterday, meaning the government denies any responsibility for not recognizing and anticipating health risks. But where we are the temperature is dropping to about C/F 28/82 and here came some rain, two quickly passing outpours.
[14 August 2003] stemmingmakerij
Finished De Witte Raaf text. Lack of VISA credit got my FTP access blocked at llamacom.com for a couple of days. Hm. I thought they knew me.
Sauvage. I imagine to lay myself to rest in my writing. It's hard to get out. Then the need for communication comes visiting you, contact over distance even if that distance means only a couple of rooms away, or a couple of hundreds of kilometres, or a generation, at any time you crave the feed-back, which is more often than you are likely to admit. Must be Nick Cave's call that I hear from outside my textual shell. The 9-5 poet. That hard to match mix art and life cover.
Een stemmingenmarkt is de natuurlijke habitat van het populisme, van de toenadering tot de 'gewone' man, niet als een in vele bijzondere doelgroepen met eigenzinnige kwaliteiten en voorkeuren, interessen, noden, wensen en uitdagingen te identificeren en daarna persoonlijk aan te spreken recipiënt, of consument, neen, de gewone man en vrouw als idool en als karikatuur, karikatuur en nog eens beeld, als propagandamiddel in dubieuze politieke of culturele stemmingmakerij. Dit zwaktebod van bepaalde facties van de intelligentsia, waarvan de vorming zeker in de culturele sector nog niet ten einde is, vindt in vele vormen zijn weg naar de media, onder ander in het naar goed alarmistische gebruik uitroepen van crises. In een tijd zonder kritiek en zonder geld, zonder redactie en zonder ambitie, maar met een enorm aanbod aan data, informatie en inhoud, waarin een losgeslagen mediale dynamiek en logistiek manifest wordt, vindt het populistische geluid de juiste akoestiek. De gewone man en de gewone vrouw en hun gewone leven worden tegen wil en dank ingezet tegen spookachtige vijanden en tegenstrevers, die niet anders dan in de grootst mogelijke generalisaties worden opgevoerd: 'links', 'elite', 'abstractie', 'Franse denkers'...: de kogel komt altijd uit het niets van een lege verzameling.
Het gewone volk is ondertussen van nul en generlei betekenis voor de productie van culturele kritiek. Zij die namens en voor dit volk spreken diskwalificeren zichzelf door zich aan generalisaties over te geven. Het schetsen van een big picture kan niet zonder een enorme berg micro views te hebben gescand en blijft dan nog steeds een discutabele strategie. Een gedetailleerde blik zou namelijk te zien geven dat we al lang niet meer in een 'gewone' maatschappij leven, juist niet in de dagelijkse omgang, op straat, op de markt, in het openbaar vervoer, tussen het 'gewone' volk. Daar verandert alles voortdurend en natuurlijk ontstaan daar ook de echte crises. Een gewone maatschappij kunnen we ondertussen nog in haar originele regressie zien, in een museale opvoering, overal waar populisten de bekende retoriek uitventen, want juist daar is weinig tot het minst veranderd in dertien jaar, in vijfendertig jaar, in drieenzestig jaar en ga zo maar door. 'Gewone' beelden zien we alleen nog in de musea en andere culturele instituties, waar 'gewoon' nog goede en minder goede kunst wordt getoond en 'gewoon' gediscussieerd wordt aan de hand van gekende drogredenen, halve waarheden, op basis van de achterblijvende observaties van een hypokritiek die de kunst een crisis inpraat. Hoe gewoon en hoe boring en hoe weinig van de ongewone tijd die we leven.
Stemmingmakerij maakte van onze cultuur een 'beeldcultuur'. De informatiemaatschappij wordt op carnavaleske wijze gevierd met de inauguratie van het beeld als drager van alle politieke, intellectuele en natuurlijk commerciële communicatie, kennis en geheugen. Beeld, beeld en nog eens cultuur ook, klinkt de boodschap van een ongewoon gedesoriënteerde intelligentsia die de informatie- en communicatievloed niet kan keren, behalve door haar tot 'beeld' te reduceren. 'Het zijn maar plaatjes', zo troostte ook mijn moeder mij als ik weer eens te kort voor het slapen gaan de te gedetailleerde illustraties bij een te gruwelijk sprookje had bestudeerd. De beeldcultuur zou de golf zijn die met donderend geraas torenhoog op ons afkomst, de tsunami van de informatisering, 'alle informatie te allen tijde overal aan iedereen beschikbaar'. Je wil het je niet voorstellen en het is zeker een afschrikwekkend beeld. Maar ook gewoon een plaatje voor het slapen gaan. Die gevreesde golf is al vele jaren in slow motion uiteen aan het spatten, zodat we de druppeltjes een voor een goed kunnen bekijken en aanklikken. Ondanks de daarbij geproduceerde prismatische diversiteit ziet de kritiek aan dit rijk gefacetteerde effect van de informatisering voorbij. Ze is er blijkbaar niet voor in de stemming.
[11 August 2003] one trick weblog
Lack of confessional blurb biography. I am still here, please date and time stamp. Writing a lot of long sentences in Dutch, working on Stemmingmakerij, for De Witte Raaf, and Het oordeel van de twijfel for the FBKVB fonds, some 14k+ words and counting, to be divided over these two essays.
We moved most of the activity to the north side of the house, the hallways and landings, to escape the heat. We've been at C/F around the 40/104 for a week now. I am typing near the front door, which has to remain closed like the shutters and windows to keep out the summer temperature. R+r sleep on the first floor landing. We read long stories on the loo. Day and night situation.
[6 August 2003] the irremediable narrative (unfinished)
Remy Zaugg quote on title? Jeder Titel usurpiert die Funktion, die das Werk dem Subjekt zugedacht hat. Es muss verbannt werden, inbegriffen "OhneTtitel". (Die List der Unschuld, 1980)
A show. A title. Anecdote. Porn?
(Everything at the end of the day turns into anecdote. Porn is petty anecdote.)
[5 August 2003] time and again
Real time stand still. I repeat therefor I am. Monuments, 'built against the ages', is a clairvoyant recalling of a kind of information age trend.
(later) (after, before) (period) (earlier)
(courtesy Caterina) Robert Smithson, Entropy and the New Monuments, at robertsmithson.com/essays/ess.htm:
Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future...They are not built for the ages, but rather against the ages. They are involved in a systematic reduction of time down to fractions of seconds, rather than in representing the long spaces of centuries. Both past and future are placed into an objective present. This kind of time has little or no space; it is stationary and without movement, it is going nowhere, it is anti-Newtonian, as well as being instant, and is against the wheels of the time-clock.
Forward move. Backward move. Swing. Repetition. Sway. Never too late.
star gazing, stubbed sky dancing
[3 August 2003] 50 more like that
The day after party brings together the F/NL connection and some new guests from Paris and Amsterdam, following the friends-of-friends play together principle. We hang out in the Moulin shade and water. Florence's birthday is tomorrow so in the evening we follow her uphill to La Grange Treillard to enjoy Kim's meal. Elongated in the middle of a dark stubbed field at midnight I find myself partly covered by a wet towel under a brilliant sky, holding a last prune, a larme really, in my new age plus one day, staring at fast moving satellites, falling stars, a stretch of milky way, the background babble from the party at the candle lit Grange on the horizon, until Florence, Jet, R+r find me and we wander further out by the light of the CP4300 screen and flash to stumble upon Gijs.
local colour and song
At the end of a long very hot vide grenier day Franck, Corinne, Romain, Chantal, Ivan, Thibault, Dominique, Claude et al sing their joyeux anniversaire in the village cabin kitchen. Merci les amis!
[2 August 2003, 6:18] feed your head
All my childhood I imagined the remote future of year 2003, this date. Now I imagine the childhood that imagined this date, like just yesterday. A two-way fantasy. We're shaking hands, going along.
Our clairvoyants provide the most intimate & accurate readings available over the Internet
[1 August 2003] you can't be serious
The incredible rise of mass consumption might well be the foremost awe inspiring phenomenon of our times, easily surpassing... well: making subordinate all social, cultural, economical, technological revolutions that we've cheered over the past half a century. Our age is time stamp branded by consumerism, with every intake or upload we are killing time instead of spending it, let alone resisting it to save time for the sake of time. All major changes are at the service of consumption. Consumption drives the Western world's economies and culture. Hungry man, here to deplete his world, establishes dog eat dog civilization. Consumption is modern man's prime decadence, a true fall from grace.
Unless we will see a, for lack of a better word, spiritual turn away from the urge to consume, we're not going to see a better world, not in our children's children lifetime or after. It does not suffice to make art, to write, to kill consumption and save time. One could and one should definitely do so in a way that it does have an effect, if one is gifted and inclined to do so. Yet, like in all writing and art making: truth is not in 'about' what you are, but in how, or that you are ('about' something). Don't allow yourself to make propaganda, not even for the best of causes. If you can be that serious. To resist consumption is a deeply serious effort which goes beyond obeying buy nothing days. It takes a talent to resist consumption and to stimulate others in doing so. Yet we are not 'hard-wired' consumers, nor talented anti-consumerists for that matter. Consumerism is acquired taste, not a genetic predisposition or condition for survival. Neither is anti-consumerism. A form of art, if you like. But then again: an art of life, not an art of art. Acquired art, acquired life.
Materialism. No .org. Materialism is not necessarily related to consumerism. I'm a happy materialist. I can drown in material. I can worship material. I can even be material.
For your demographic
entertainmenteducation: Micro-marketing online.
United Kingdom nineteen consumer types: Hard Wired Oliver; On-line Saves Time Jeremy; Surfer for Knowledge Dominic; Hi-tech Wannabe Steve; Wired for Excitement Ryan; Living the Advert Gemma; Calculating Innovator Nigel; Easy Going Bloke Jason; Mail Order Heartland Samantha; Value Driven Switcher Carolyn; New Must Be Better Leanne; Downstream Novelty Bernadette; Selective and Personal Roger; Contented Conservative Bryan; Price Led and Local Chris; Mrs. Mainstream Marilyn; ITV Heavyweight Maureen; Principles and Prejudices Basil; E- Marginalised Nellie...
BONUS LINK: :: (solipsis) //:phaneronoemikon :: (allow time to load)
[31 July 2003] trickle time
Advancing on guitar shoulder slung Larry Coryell's picking, a 2002 vide grenier find, Coryell, 1969 Vanguard records. Air guitar proof. Advancing on the August essay. Looking for a concise definition of 'informationalization', which would make sense relevant to the piece, I browse two tomes of unread Manuel Castells and one roughly read Manuel de Landa. I end up
definingdescribing informationalization both as the singularity of information/communication technology emergence and media rule and the preparation, processing and storage, or hosting, of 'ideas, goods and services' for the benefit of their ubiquitous accessibility at all times, where ever by who ever.
Informationalization thus understood effectively halts time, allowing a full choice to review or preview or regard whatever powerful mix of cultural identities, made to fit, made to measure sharable, memorable, just-in-time for its own sake.
I would sincerely hope so. For informationalization to offer an ultimate relativization of progress. Perhaps not a return to 'mythical time', as both Agamben and Sontag seem to me to privilege art, but a leap into serious indifference, detachment even, outside any epistemological isolation, as a general consciousness and condition.
[30 July 2003] singularity minus 3
I'll soon turn fifty and feel the need to one time simply express my gratitude for every single one of those some short some long years, the fleeting and lasting experiences they bring and the good folks that people them. That's one way to put it. There's a lot to learn.
Fifty years is a long stretch, especially if you would experience them 'behind' you. Forwardlooking, almost entering a 51st year makes me as alert for 'exit level' (to quote Ed Fella) opportunities as for reverse ageing products and beliefs. The main risk with reaching this age is that the more you think about it the more it will make a difference, until under your feet the biographing chasm opens to drop you fast and deep into an irretrievable past. Advancing the five-0 idea a few days on the contrary will already help make August 2 an almost average day. Inviting a couple of neighbours for Sunday champagne breakfast on the 3rd dissolves its celebration even more into the everyday. Then there'll be August 4, and 5, September October come, winter installs itself until the next spring, before another year will have passed in the heat of summer, many still to follow, either in or without my presence. Or, "life is short and then you die", to quote dear Andrea, who just last night sent me our kissing picture at her Crestet opening.
This Saturday the day will see the St. Germain des Bois 7 ème vide grenier, with andouillettes frites and moules frites and crèpes sucrées with Coulanges la Vineuse Pinot Noir and Chardonnay from Bon in Migé. I'll be running that bar all day. Indeed who would I have believed if s/he'd foretold me so. Thank you for not disclosing my future to me.
L'attesa ('the wait') (1926), Carlo Carrà
So I've let it be known that my only desire is for small self-made presents. I can't think of what to wish for commercially bought. I will buy myself that Carlo Carrà book, second hand. Home-made jam and liquor or code or brooch or bread dough bird is best. Fifty years is a heck of a long time. You start remembering things from the past. And it ain't all caricatural.
Linkworthy-as-ever Eclogues' Juliet o'Keefe in Scatterbrain:
(...) when I write, the words become almost material. I construct sentences depending on weight and rhythm, and do the same with paragraphs and, finally, entire papers, the writing of which always feels like making things on a potter's wheel. Adding in bits, weighing it more heavily here, more heavily there, spinning it up, smoothing it down. And good prose sings, giving off a pitch or frequency that creates a certain kind of harmony in reading... bad prose just doesn't even get off the ground; it's sensorially painful to experience.
From Juliet's potter's wheel to my yesterday's easel: writing is pushing material, shape shifting until it starts humming. Also her sonic experience is a good description of the qualities of text, when spatial volume and reflective material properties change its resonance.
Words of Art, resonance isn't one of them.
[29 July 2003, 2:04, 2:21, 2:31, 2:47 exit] sleepless
Sometimes you simply can't get to bed. Tired as hell you're glued to the blogue, staring at the incredible Carrà paintings you just downloaded on a 'genius loci' image and after search, at 72dpi, a meagre 198 by 146 and 200 by 275 pixels, after endless fruitless googling making you wish you had a book about the artist in your library.
Memories of Leon Spilliaert, of whom there is a book to browse in awe. No sign of sleep. Memories of Philip Guston: "to paint is a possessing rather than a picturing".
Open some windows.
9:18 we're back for a necessary edit. Some gardening and breakfast late. 11:01. Time stamping at the service not of history but of exposing a lack of routine, discipline. Still, sitting down at the computer is much like sitting down at the easel. You stare at the HTML, change a tiny detail, add a couple of words, remove some, browse, return to HTML, etc. Shift to MacJournal to repeat some of above actions, toggling between journals and entries. Shift to Mail to repeat some of above actions, wondering which to reply first. Easel-to-easel ease all boogie. Image look-up. Image build-up.
Off course I'm concerned with the question of light (exhibition title, Passionata IBK, 1983). Reviewing artistry.
The rest of the day I photograph the vegetable and south garden, with the wall that I cleaned of ivy yesterday, cut a lot of grass in the orchard and remove the wire fence between it and the prairie where we'll move it this fall, find a dead bat hanging upside down (so at first sight I think she's found herself an odd place to sleep) by its wings in a thistle, close and re-open shutters in order to rinse the west stream where little water goes, attend a comité de fêtes meeting.
Then Paul writes ('unbelievable'): "I've just spent the day downloading images of Spilliaert to pour into DevonThink. And now I read NQPAOFU." We've known these sync moments before. We've never ever mentioned Spilliaert between us.
[28 July 2003] private, public, common, place, practice
Pittura della memoria, Carlo Carrà (1881-1966)
Omnia mea in media.
Genius Loci and Radius Loci (coined 10 November 1998 at the latest, still only Google references to my use, 5 years after) meet in situated publishing. Every site and person are configured in both a live and a review mode, which feed upon each other, neither one being competent without the other. Beyond representation or expression omnia mea is both where I am and where I pop up, roll over, download, link out.
Omnia mea mecum porto.
My life is (in) publishing, not (being) published. This publication is as much a fiction as it that is report. I make things up. Those who people it and the events in which they are immersed only happen here the way they happen here while elsewhere they happen as they happen elsewhere. Their links are here. There's no priority, no order, no stimulus-response causality between goings-on. Whateverhappens happens here and there and between alternating presences, submitted either way.
The private and the public meet in the common. Common media publish the private as public and the public as private. Time based processing/processed publishing/production is common practice. We have no private nor a public life, while secrets and confessions remain. Our lives don't double unless they double here and there. Go figure anywhere.
unknown title, 1921 Carlo Carrà
a passing fancy, unidentified, large size appr. 3" span
[27 July 2003] off-white slide
There's a near new moon out there. I think. Time to move on from 73.
Les Loulous d'Asnois font leur Fête de St. Loup. We sit at their long table this afternoon, among some 200 guests. Asnois is where we lend a hand in Corinne and Franck's grape harvest; where the mayor got two of our kittens, spoiling us with home made apéritif wines in exchange; Asnois is where at the last vide grenier we bought 60 meters of lights on a line for our St. Germain des Bois comité de fêtes. Asnois is a village just like St. Germain des Bois, but different.
Asnois and St. Germain des Bois are passing fancies, like that butterfly. For us to grasp and honor them, to live and publish them, to prepare media momentum. Without hesitation.
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nqpaofu.com 1998-2003 jouke kleerebezem Notes Quotes Provocations and Other Fair Use