The delusion that the ordo idearum (order of ideas) should be the ordo rerum (order of things) is based on the insinuation that the mediated is unmediated. (p. 158)
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Essay as Form, Adorno
Monday, July 28, 2008
Beacon Chap. Draft, part 1.3
Web-based
In The Archaeology of Knowledge, Foucault links the formation of knowledge to the formation of personhood, prefiguring a link that search engines historically and technologically re-mediate. Foucault’s suggestion is that the historical procedures which require that individual books and oeuvres be conceived of as diachronically and synchronically stable units of knowledge provide shelter for the human subject conceived as sovereign: self-contained, and stable, able to make decisions whose outcomes determine the horizon of the subject’s continuance and transformation. With this link in place between the ways knowledge is organized, visualized and manifest, Foucault then begins to vary the units of knowledge as part of a project—still nascent in 1972 when Archaeology was published in English, but pursued into the eighties and Foucault’s last writings—of varying our conception of the human subject. If a book is a “node within a network” (23), then human sovereignty might be similarly distributed. If knowledge is therefore re-conceived as a “dispersion,” a “series of series” (7, 54-5), then personhood might similarly be something to be found, laboriously traced, dispersed among the various site where people appear for others, where they act in the world, where they encounter themselves and one another. To have an encounter with the world, with a person or thing in it, is to map the contours and distributions of subjectivity, not to manifest personhood across a series of sites. “Horse sucker molds.”
But Foucault does not abandon all familiar units, all representations of knowledge. An archaeology instead shifts the focus to a form of knowledge—his concept “discursive formation” points explicitly to the centrality of form (33)—a form that is more mobile, and therefore more trackable across distributed networks of knowledge, between books, oeuvres, disciplines, sciences. The archaeologist’s faith in statements rewards a curiosity about where they might lead, the paths they might trace. Beacon presents search engines as statement machines, but where statements assume a historically particular form: the search query. And Beacon is the archaeologist of search engines. You are what you eat.
In the 1970s, the mobility of statements drove a poststructuralist re-conceptualization of history. In the 2000s, the mobility of statements substantiates the business plan for search engines. A search engine works because it can mobilize a search query, efficaciously and quickly, within a vast indexed database of websites, calling up the sites that that particular search engines calls the most “relevant.” A search engine works because it can simultaneously mobilize a search query within a network of advertisers, each of whom wants their ads to appear next to and within certain search results, and not only generate a real-time price for an ad in the time it takes to return search results (a market economy in .25 seconds), but serve up a small series of ads as the marginalia of what Google calls its “objective results.” Free catchy phrases. The archaeology of knowledge, as materialized by Beacon, thus connects historical analysis to market analysis, showing them to be conjoined and historically contiguous.
In The Archaeology of Knowledge, Foucault links the formation of knowledge to the formation of personhood, prefiguring a link that search engines historically and technologically re-mediate. Foucault’s suggestion is that the historical procedures which require that individual books and oeuvres be conceived of as diachronically and synchronically stable units of knowledge provide shelter for the human subject conceived as sovereign: self-contained, and stable, able to make decisions whose outcomes determine the horizon of the subject’s continuance and transformation. With this link in place between the ways knowledge is organized, visualized and manifest, Foucault then begins to vary the units of knowledge as part of a project—still nascent in 1972 when Archaeology was published in English, but pursued into the eighties and Foucault’s last writings—of varying our conception of the human subject. If a book is a “node within a network” (23), then human sovereignty might be similarly distributed. If knowledge is therefore re-conceived as a “dispersion,” a “series of series” (7, 54-5), then personhood might similarly be something to be found, laboriously traced, dispersed among the various site where people appear for others, where they act in the world, where they encounter themselves and one another. To have an encounter with the world, with a person or thing in it, is to map the contours and distributions of subjectivity, not to manifest personhood across a series of sites. “Horse sucker molds.”
But Foucault does not abandon all familiar units, all representations of knowledge. An archaeology instead shifts the focus to a form of knowledge—his concept “discursive formation” points explicitly to the centrality of form (33)—a form that is more mobile, and therefore more trackable across distributed networks of knowledge, between books, oeuvres, disciplines, sciences. The archaeologist’s faith in statements rewards a curiosity about where they might lead, the paths they might trace. Beacon presents search engines as statement machines, but where statements assume a historically particular form: the search query. And Beacon is the archaeologist of search engines. You are what you eat.
In the 1970s, the mobility of statements drove a poststructuralist re-conceptualization of history. In the 2000s, the mobility of statements substantiates the business plan for search engines. A search engine works because it can mobilize a search query, efficaciously and quickly, within a vast indexed database of websites, calling up the sites that that particular search engines calls the most “relevant.” A search engine works because it can simultaneously mobilize a search query within a network of advertisers, each of whom wants their ads to appear next to and within certain search results, and not only generate a real-time price for an ad in the time it takes to return search results (a market economy in .25 seconds), but serve up a small series of ads as the marginalia of what Google calls its “objective results.” Free catchy phrases. The archaeology of knowledge, as materialized by Beacon, thus connects historical analysis to market analysis, showing them to be conjoined and historically contiguous.
Beacon Chap. Draft, part 1.2
Because it is a live feed, a beacon, the series is as endless as the search engine is takes as its feed, dogpile.com, a search engine compiler (the “dogpile” in the name refers to the “pile” of other search engines that a search query, typed into Dogpile, gives one access to). Clinton Thomas Lee. That is to say, Beacon will last as long as Dogpile’s business lasts, which could be a long time, or, if we watch the signs of Google’s ascendance and the concomitant decline of every other search engine, possibly not long at all. Endlessness, as an art historical trope, always referred to the Culture Industry and its temporality of numbing repetition, terminologically and (the hope was) phenomenologically marked off from a more dramatic aesthetic temporality (e.g. the sublime, the evental, the self-reflexive). Beacon pins the critique of the Culture Industry to a particular company, Dogpile, and by implication (of both the piece and of Dogpile’s status as a meta-search engine, or a search engine that references other search engines), calling its bluff or forcing it to specify its claims. If the Culture Industry is not to be an ahistorical concept, if it works differently in different times, transforms along with industry, then Beacon suggests that the critique might be extended by considering it in the context of a single company and the search engine industry it represents not just metonymically but competitively, within a dwindling landscape of market competition, dominated more and more completely by Google. Lesbian ass eating.
But for all the fascination of Beacon’s ethnographic verité, Beacon omits, truncates or screens a feature of search engines that is as important as the search capacity itself: advertisements. Safety codes officer job in Alberta. Google makes 98% of its revenue from advertisements. It literally could not exist with the capacity to serve ads alongside search results, turning every question into an opportunity to go shopping, literalizing every propertizing analogy between knowledge and the vast capitalist marketplace. It is an understatement, therefore, to say that advertisements are as important to search engines as the capacity for search; they are constitutive. And Beacon’s failure, or refusal (we’ll need to decide which, and why) to visualize the welding of knowledge to products, of learning to shopping, effected by search engines, performs a kind of presence by omission. New Caledonian Singles. But exclusion manifests a different kind of presence than inclusion, as every Liberal, minority, deconstructionist, and un-indexed website knows. I take it as the kind of exclusion that invites reflection on how intimately interarticulated searching for information and searching for products become through the window of a search engine. And from there, further questions: if curiosity, as played out through a search engine, stages an encounter of oneself with what one knows and what one doesn’t know, and thereby, with the imagined world of what it’s possible to know and not know, then torques are applied to personhood through the use of search engines over time. And if Beacon manifests individual curiosities (the encounter of a searcher with herself as materialized in the limits of one’s own knowledge of the world), endlessly, in series, for others, what form of knowledge does this produce, of others, of the world one lives in and desires to make a place in, of the publics to which one does and doesn’t belong? In this latter frame, the information that Beacon presents to viewers in the form of a series of searches mirrors the knowledge about searcher-cum-consumer behavior that drives the business of search engines, the linking of search results and advertisements. Flat Screen tvs. This final question thereby cues debates about privacy and data-protection that have become unavoidable as the search industry, iconicized by Google, expands and becomes the interface for the entire Web, and all that people want to access through it. Practically the portal for all forms of inquisitive encounter, encounters that begin with questions.
But for all the fascination of Beacon’s ethnographic verité, Beacon omits, truncates or screens a feature of search engines that is as important as the search capacity itself: advertisements. Safety codes officer job in Alberta. Google makes 98% of its revenue from advertisements. It literally could not exist with the capacity to serve ads alongside search results, turning every question into an opportunity to go shopping, literalizing every propertizing analogy between knowledge and the vast capitalist marketplace. It is an understatement, therefore, to say that advertisements are as important to search engines as the capacity for search; they are constitutive. And Beacon’s failure, or refusal (we’ll need to decide which, and why) to visualize the welding of knowledge to products, of learning to shopping, effected by search engines, performs a kind of presence by omission. New Caledonian Singles. But exclusion manifests a different kind of presence than inclusion, as every Liberal, minority, deconstructionist, and un-indexed website knows. I take it as the kind of exclusion that invites reflection on how intimately interarticulated searching for information and searching for products become through the window of a search engine. And from there, further questions: if curiosity, as played out through a search engine, stages an encounter of oneself with what one knows and what one doesn’t know, and thereby, with the imagined world of what it’s possible to know and not know, then torques are applied to personhood through the use of search engines over time. And if Beacon manifests individual curiosities (the encounter of a searcher with herself as materialized in the limits of one’s own knowledge of the world), endlessly, in series, for others, what form of knowledge does this produce, of others, of the world one lives in and desires to make a place in, of the publics to which one does and doesn’t belong? In this latter frame, the information that Beacon presents to viewers in the form of a series of searches mirrors the knowledge about searcher-cum-consumer behavior that drives the business of search engines, the linking of search results and advertisements. Flat Screen tvs. This final question thereby cues debates about privacy and data-protection that have become unavoidable as the search industry, iconicized by Google, expands and becomes the interface for the entire Web, and all that people want to access through it. Practically the portal for all forms of inquisitive encounter, encounters that begin with questions.
Beacon Chap. Draft, part 1.1
Breaking news. When did it become possible to search for breaking news? Is news always breaking? Isn’t the point of breaking news that is breaks into the ordinary stream of things, the tick tock tick of daily life? If it’s breaking all the time, then it’s no longer an interruption, it’s ordinary life. Although maybe this confusion lies outside of the act of typing “breaking news” into a search engine. Dating sites for teens. School is a dating site, isn’t it? Or maybe the person who wants to find dating sites for teens isn’t a teen. That train of thought quickly runs along well worn paths, paths worn by no one person, but by a bevy of media sites who, by running the story, make it into news that others rush to cover. Adults who prey on children on the internet. Parents who aren’t concerned enough about their child’s safety. Flax seed hulls. Is there something that can be done with the hulls? If I searched for that term too, would I find out? Robots movied. Typo or new verb? Instructions to make a bridal veil. The bridal industry hasn’t won over everybody then, although I know that a search that includes the term “bridal veil” brings advertisements for all sorts of bridal services. Sea elephant sewr. What would “sic” even mean in this context? Wallpaper. Buy? Remove? Hunted like a wolf. A spoonerism from the Duran Duran song? Or maybe there’s less distance between that phrase and its referent than I think. Although it can’t be literal, can it? Ellipsometers griffin george. The world is so busy today. “Wake me up with a blow job.” The world of people who are online now is so busy today, busy, industrious, inquisitive, horny. The world of people who are searching for something. “Searching” in that last sentence means something literal and something allegorical. To be searching for something needn’t be an existential state; it’s perfectly practical. Use a search engine often enough, however, and the existential comes back into play. Not as a way to describe a life that eschews surface for depths, but almost the opposite, a life in which the relevance of a search engine to one’s daily curiosities stretches way out to the horizon, an infinite series of events which raise questions that a quick visit to a search engine can answer. A search engine is existential because it weaves itself, for anyone who has used one often enough, tightly into the weft of an ordinary life. Attend a party with the well-connected and time how long it takes for someone to wish aloud that they had a search engine, or for someone to pull one up on a mobile device. A very well-connected friend recently told me that he’s learned not to take out his phone in the middle of conversations in order to consult a search engine and answer the latest dispute thrown up by the conversation. It’s more fun, he says, to let the conversation founder on the missing data. It’s just the sort of in-situ discovery that people make all the time when some piece of technology binds itself to daily life. New morals, new etiquettes, new normativities are discovered in order to mark out something as a unwelcome interruption to daily life and something else as an ordinariness to be recovered. Even though it was the interruption that made possible the affection for a mode of the ordinary. You can’t love everything all of the time.
The website for the online version of Thomson and Craighead’s Beacon tells its visitors that it began broadcasting other people’s search queries to the web at “00:00HRS GMT on 01st January 2005” (as I type these passages, I watch Beacon in a separate window on my desktop and intercalate its search queries, in italics, with these sentences about them). Since 01st January 2005, Thomson and Craighead have produced two different versions of Beacon, a gallery installation and a railway flap sign. The gallery installation projects Beacon, borderless, onto an unmarked painted gallery wall, search queries appearing and replacing each other every 1.5 seconds. The railway flap sign is more formally multivariate. It references an older style of public information system, common to airports and train stations from the late 1950s until the 1990s when such systems started to be replaced by LCD displays driven by networked computer databases. The three versions, considered together, reference three modes of address—an untrackably diffuse Web, a rarefied art gallery, and a historically multi-sited information display in which web traffic is overlaid onto air or train traffic as evoked by the form of the sign. Three modes of address assembling three public sphere imaginaries, not actual publics, assembled and ready for action, but three publics imagined by the technologies that address them: a public unified by its intermittent presence online; a public unified by its taste in art, its refractive desire to be part of an art scene; and a public both unified and split by its juxtaposed presence to history and to the present tense. A site-unspecific public, a taste public and a temporal public. Taken altogether as an iterative system, Beacon conjoins three distinct forms of publicness via three forms of public address and a congeries of meditative technologies.
If critical publics, or what Nancy Fraser called “counterpublics,” voice a wish for political change, Beacon’s publics are driven by a different engine: a more individualized wish, desire, curiosity, although the unit of subjectivity here is not clearly the individual (much less the liberal subject), nor is it related via a part-whole relationship to critical publics. James g. king + redmond. Beacon presents search queries that hail from one searcher, or one IP address anyway, for an uncertain audience of witnesses. It’s quite possible that I’m the only one watching at just this moment, as I write this sentence. By the time I finish the next, others may have joined me, although I’d never know. Beastly stories. That not-knowing is a feature of web publics which is not unlike a feature of print publics, as Michael Warner has described them: one’s presence to the public is a technical matter, are you or aren’t you a reader. In any case, one needn’t know anything about the other members of that public. And in the life of a public, learning something about one’s fellow members often appears as an anomaly. A book itself is enough; there needn’t be a “letters to the editor” feature for the public to be self-reflexive in the way Warner intends, for it to receive echoes of itself in the form of self-knowledge or self-awareness. The existence of a book is enough, and in that particular sense, a website is no different. Value place liberty mo. When websites do fold in forms of feedback, participatory forms, these forms can be reckoned therefore not as a constitutive feature of the site’s publicness—it’s sufficiently public on Warner’s and Habermas’ terms without those forms—but as one of the forms of communication afforded by the web, or a website, as a particular site for public action.
Beacon, however, in all of its versions, bends self-awareness around a further corner by reflecting an otherwise invisible feature of search engine use: the search queries themselves, as other people formulate them. Which is to say, other people’s questions, wishes, curiosities, desires, hopes, conundrums, memory lapses, researches, investigations, idlings, typos, misspellings, secrets, embarrassments, bored maunderings, desultory semi-free associations, and etcetera. Beacon’s formalism is both understated and camouflaged, so warrants scrutiny (fig. 1). Camouflaged because it looks like a million other websites, with nothing to single it out as anything other than any other website, let alone a commentary or meta-reflection on web culture itself: simple courier font, some lines of static text that surround the one active, apparently live window in which search queries appear, then disappear, then are replaced by the next search query in the ceaseless series, one every 1.5 seconds. Each individual search query appears, left-aligned, in Beacon’s search window. Then begins a rapid fade-to-black, blinks out to an opaque blackness, then that blackness gives way, before a cinematic wipe fade, moving left to right, revealing the next search query, fed live from Dogpile, a query typed at that moment, right then, by somebody.
The website for the online version of Thomson and Craighead’s Beacon tells its visitors that it began broadcasting other people’s search queries to the web at “00:00HRS GMT on 01st January 2005” (as I type these passages, I watch Beacon in a separate window on my desktop and intercalate its search queries, in italics, with these sentences about them). Since 01st January 2005, Thomson and Craighead have produced two different versions of Beacon, a gallery installation and a railway flap sign. The gallery installation projects Beacon, borderless, onto an unmarked painted gallery wall, search queries appearing and replacing each other every 1.5 seconds. The railway flap sign is more formally multivariate. It references an older style of public information system, common to airports and train stations from the late 1950s until the 1990s when such systems started to be replaced by LCD displays driven by networked computer databases. The three versions, considered together, reference three modes of address—an untrackably diffuse Web, a rarefied art gallery, and a historically multi-sited information display in which web traffic is overlaid onto air or train traffic as evoked by the form of the sign. Three modes of address assembling three public sphere imaginaries, not actual publics, assembled and ready for action, but three publics imagined by the technologies that address them: a public unified by its intermittent presence online; a public unified by its taste in art, its refractive desire to be part of an art scene; and a public both unified and split by its juxtaposed presence to history and to the present tense. A site-unspecific public, a taste public and a temporal public. Taken altogether as an iterative system, Beacon conjoins three distinct forms of publicness via three forms of public address and a congeries of meditative technologies.
If critical publics, or what Nancy Fraser called “counterpublics,” voice a wish for political change, Beacon’s publics are driven by a different engine: a more individualized wish, desire, curiosity, although the unit of subjectivity here is not clearly the individual (much less the liberal subject), nor is it related via a part-whole relationship to critical publics. James g. king + redmond. Beacon presents search queries that hail from one searcher, or one IP address anyway, for an uncertain audience of witnesses. It’s quite possible that I’m the only one watching at just this moment, as I write this sentence. By the time I finish the next, others may have joined me, although I’d never know. Beastly stories. That not-knowing is a feature of web publics which is not unlike a feature of print publics, as Michael Warner has described them: one’s presence to the public is a technical matter, are you or aren’t you a reader. In any case, one needn’t know anything about the other members of that public. And in the life of a public, learning something about one’s fellow members often appears as an anomaly. A book itself is enough; there needn’t be a “letters to the editor” feature for the public to be self-reflexive in the way Warner intends, for it to receive echoes of itself in the form of self-knowledge or self-awareness. The existence of a book is enough, and in that particular sense, a website is no different. Value place liberty mo. When websites do fold in forms of feedback, participatory forms, these forms can be reckoned therefore not as a constitutive feature of the site’s publicness—it’s sufficiently public on Warner’s and Habermas’ terms without those forms—but as one of the forms of communication afforded by the web, or a website, as a particular site for public action.
Beacon, however, in all of its versions, bends self-awareness around a further corner by reflecting an otherwise invisible feature of search engine use: the search queries themselves, as other people formulate them. Which is to say, other people’s questions, wishes, curiosities, desires, hopes, conundrums, memory lapses, researches, investigations, idlings, typos, misspellings, secrets, embarrassments, bored maunderings, desultory semi-free associations, and etcetera. Beacon’s formalism is both understated and camouflaged, so warrants scrutiny (fig. 1). Camouflaged because it looks like a million other websites, with nothing to single it out as anything other than any other website, let alone a commentary or meta-reflection on web culture itself: simple courier font, some lines of static text that surround the one active, apparently live window in which search queries appear, then disappear, then are replaced by the next search query in the ceaseless series, one every 1.5 seconds. Each individual search query appears, left-aligned, in Beacon’s search window. Then begins a rapid fade-to-black, blinks out to an opaque blackness, then that blackness gives way, before a cinematic wipe fade, moving left to right, revealing the next search query, fed live from Dogpile, a query typed at that moment, right then, by somebody.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Search Engines and Transference
Lacan: "As soon as there is someone presumed to know, there is transference."
With google, there is someone presumed to know, but is there transference? What do we have transference with?
With google, there is someone presumed to know, but is there transference? What do we have transference with?
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Atomization of Encounter
SEARCHING: reconfigures the self as simultaneously a new type of market segment (data) and a new form of discursive subject [selfhood].
PROTEST: reconfigures critique as mediated, the self weaponized toward an other, e.g. the state, haters of democracy [counterpublics].
LAUGHTER: reconfigures being with others as arrhythmic, mediated, nonplaces of interaction through a network (Galloway) [publics].
Each of these terms is both a literary instancing of the reconfiguration of an aspect of encounter (where encounter now means the coming together of self, public and counterpublic in potential) and a figure for that reconfiguration, e.g. laughter in separate bedrooms figures the form of the kind of public sociality I'm describing. The collision of form (figural relation of event to knowledge or history of it) and fact (literal relation to event, i.e. description) is siginificant for the way it marks the centrality of form to cultural analysis and of fact or the objective world to form.
PROTEST: reconfigures critique as mediated, the self weaponized toward an other, e.g. the state, haters of democracy [counterpublics].
LAUGHTER: reconfigures being with others as arrhythmic, mediated, nonplaces of interaction through a network (Galloway) [publics].
Each of these terms is both a literary instancing of the reconfiguration of an aspect of encounter (where encounter now means the coming together of self, public and counterpublic in potential) and a figure for that reconfiguration, e.g. laughter in separate bedrooms figures the form of the kind of public sociality I'm describing. The collision of form (figural relation of event to knowledge or history of it) and fact (literal relation to event, i.e. description) is siginificant for the way it marks the centrality of form to cultural analysis and of fact or the objective world to form.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Algorithmic Identity
Your identity is what search engines say it is (cf. advice from senior academics to young academics: be careful what you post online. Also: M. Gregg's response)
This might not seem different than identity has ever been, i.e. reputation always has made identity extimate in just that way (an effect of the outside).
The difference with search engines is that they not only have cultural capital (analogous to a very reputable source ruining the reputation of someone with less cultural capital and therefore fewer means to fight back), they exist within a system that codes them as neutral, objective, informational, algorithmic.
This might not seem different than identity has ever been, i.e. reputation always has made identity extimate in just that way (an effect of the outside).
The difference with search engines is that they not only have cultural capital (analogous to a very reputable source ruining the reputation of someone with less cultural capital and therefore fewer means to fight back), they exist within a system that codes them as neutral, objective, informational, algorithmic.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Railway Flap Sign 1 (Grid-networks and flow-networks)
Stand in front of a railway flap sign, a historical form of today's electronic time schedule, and you see, above you, a grid of numbers, letters and symbols for keeping time that changes rhythmically, but unpredictably. Changes are accompanied by a mass of noise, the simultaneous flapping of hundreds of letters and numbers, changes marking the arrival of a new train on the board, the progress of time as a schedule of arrivals and departures, all trains and their itineraries moving to the left to give way to a new train added to the right, signaling that time is moving forward and so is the schedule.
You search the board to find "your" train: the train you had planned to take, the train you always take, the train that you know is due, was due 5 min ago, 20 min ago. Or you search the board to find the train the best suits you: the one leaving soonest, the one with the fewest stops, the one that gets you to the right connection point. You scan the board for times, for place names, for changes to time or place. The board keeps you abreast of changes as they happen; it also helps you to synchronize the time of your day with the schedule of trains, to catch up, or to inhabit the lag of waiting.
The railway sign seems to lay out all that there is to know. The total corpus of knowledge about the trains at that particular moment; changes to this corpus are marked by the noise and visual disarray of the flapping sign. Because of this appearance of completeness, any ideas you might get about knowledge that is not represented makes you a paranoid (which doesn't mean that you are wrong; it simply means that you believe appearances are never all that there is). [whereas search engines work, in part, because they foster in us the radical imagination of limitless information, IF ONLY we can figure out the right sequences of letters and numbers to get us there. The flapping digits of the search engine are the flappings of our furious typing and re-typing, perfecting the query].
The railway sign also presents knowledge about a knowable, more or less visualizable entity: a network of trains. The railway sign thus offers access, through semiotics, through visual scanning, through the right positioning of our bodies beneath and in front of the sign, to knowledge about the workings of a network [whereas search engines use a network to give us knowledge that seems to be about something else: it figures content as the object of our search, while form is the network itself]. The train network, represented by the railway sign, appears as a grid of time and timings, the salient information for railway sign searchers being the timing of arrivals and departures. There is a limit to this network, although it is vast, although marketing for train transportation often tantalizes with the allure of "going anywhere." But there is an empiricism as work in even the most idealistic of train slogans: you can look it up on the sign: a train either goes there (today) or is doesn't (today or ever). There are railroad tracks that go there, or there aren't. [whereas books like "Invisible Web" hyperbolize the endlessness of our already endless imaginations for what might be out there, for what the Internet's network might contain, if only...]. Looking at a railway sign, we place ourselves amidst the possible. [Looking at a search engine's blank field, we take our chances with a space that search engines themselves encourage us to believe goes on and on without cease.] The network of trains can be visualized by a grid of symbols which is finite because the network of trains itself is finite. In this sense, it is not a network at all. But calling it a network of trains is denotatively sound; it also helps us mark a difference. Call it a grid-network.
Search engines visualize the Internet network with a blank rectangular field (the search field) in order to imply the limitlessness of the field to be searched. The search field places the epistemological onus on the searcher, not on the search engine. Search Engine's famous secrecy about their algorithm augments this implication. Older search engines, called directories (e.g. Yahoo), presented a list of categories rather than an empty field. One scanned the categories like an index, or a railway sign. The categories seemed to measure the extent of what there was to be known, to hint at, if not actually demarcate, the boundaries of that space. This was a space of places (Castells, Shaviro). The empty search field indexes a space of flows (Castells, Shaviro, Jameson), which is the space of finance capital in the midst of which search engines like Google now thrive.
Beacon thinks about the form of a search field. It visually echoes the empty search field with its austere online version. It maps that open field onto the field of projection (see Cavell on projection and screens) in its installation version. And it jams that open form, a space of flows, into the grid-network or space of places form of the railway sign [here talk very precisely about the form of the fit; the precise way that the open search field fits within the grid-network search field].
You search the board to find "your" train: the train you had planned to take, the train you always take, the train that you know is due, was due 5 min ago, 20 min ago. Or you search the board to find the train the best suits you: the one leaving soonest, the one with the fewest stops, the one that gets you to the right connection point. You scan the board for times, for place names, for changes to time or place. The board keeps you abreast of changes as they happen; it also helps you to synchronize the time of your day with the schedule of trains, to catch up, or to inhabit the lag of waiting.
The railway sign seems to lay out all that there is to know. The total corpus of knowledge about the trains at that particular moment; changes to this corpus are marked by the noise and visual disarray of the flapping sign. Because of this appearance of completeness, any ideas you might get about knowledge that is not represented makes you a paranoid (which doesn't mean that you are wrong; it simply means that you believe appearances are never all that there is). [whereas search engines work, in part, because they foster in us the radical imagination of limitless information, IF ONLY we can figure out the right sequences of letters and numbers to get us there. The flapping digits of the search engine are the flappings of our furious typing and re-typing, perfecting the query].
The railway sign also presents knowledge about a knowable, more or less visualizable entity: a network of trains. The railway sign thus offers access, through semiotics, through visual scanning, through the right positioning of our bodies beneath and in front of the sign, to knowledge about the workings of a network [whereas search engines use a network to give us knowledge that seems to be about something else: it figures content as the object of our search, while form is the network itself]. The train network, represented by the railway sign, appears as a grid of time and timings, the salient information for railway sign searchers being the timing of arrivals and departures. There is a limit to this network, although it is vast, although marketing for train transportation often tantalizes with the allure of "going anywhere." But there is an empiricism as work in even the most idealistic of train slogans: you can look it up on the sign: a train either goes there (today) or is doesn't (today or ever). There are railroad tracks that go there, or there aren't. [whereas books like "Invisible Web" hyperbolize the endlessness of our already endless imaginations for what might be out there, for what the Internet's network might contain, if only...]. Looking at a railway sign, we place ourselves amidst the possible. [Looking at a search engine's blank field, we take our chances with a space that search engines themselves encourage us to believe goes on and on without cease.] The network of trains can be visualized by a grid of symbols which is finite because the network of trains itself is finite. In this sense, it is not a network at all. But calling it a network of trains is denotatively sound; it also helps us mark a difference. Call it a grid-network.
Search engines visualize the Internet network with a blank rectangular field (the search field) in order to imply the limitlessness of the field to be searched. The search field places the epistemological onus on the searcher, not on the search engine. Search Engine's famous secrecy about their algorithm augments this implication. Older search engines, called directories (e.g. Yahoo), presented a list of categories rather than an empty field. One scanned the categories like an index, or a railway sign. The categories seemed to measure the extent of what there was to be known, to hint at, if not actually demarcate, the boundaries of that space. This was a space of places (Castells, Shaviro). The empty search field indexes a space of flows (Castells, Shaviro, Jameson), which is the space of finance capital in the midst of which search engines like Google now thrive.
Beacon thinks about the form of a search field. It visually echoes the empty search field with its austere online version. It maps that open field onto the field of projection (see Cavell on projection and screens) in its installation version. And it jams that open form, a space of flows, into the grid-network or space of places form of the railway sign [here talk very precisely about the form of the fit; the precise way that the open search field fits within the grid-network search field].
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Jameson 3 (New frontiers for the dispersion of culture?)
Jameson 3 (New frontiers for the dispersion of culture?)
7.8.08
The severest point of change to which Jameson returns again and again in his writings on postmodernity is the becoming-culture of everything. He also refers to the complete merger of culture and economy, refereing thereby to a broad process of commodification. Since his postmodernity is constitutively spatial (a feature masked, he argues, by the visual spectacles of postmodernity), the most significant feature of the expansion of capital in postmodernity (which J also calls the third phase of capitalism) is its territorialization of the globe itself, its exploitation of land as new markets, and including its expansions into (production of and then expansion into) what J calls "cyberspace," which he describes as an information space. He often points to contemporary art to exemplify this claim: there is no longer, he argues, any art produces outside of the vast and varied processes of commodification (as there were, he argues, at the turn of the 19th c.). But also to the way that corporations (which we might formerly have thought were more or less purely on the side of the economy) benefit from, extract from, learn from, steal from, thrive on, depend on...culture and cultural production (e.g. fashion companies employing cool hunters, see: Gibson's Pattern Recognition).
But S. Shaviro argues in a recent blog post (from a series of extracts from his forthcoming book on Aesthetics, see: http://www.shaviro.com/Blog/?p=646) that capital can never be all that there is, even though it "is the milieu that all our thoughts and actions presuppose, the environment to which they all refer, the context in relation to which they alone have meaning." It can never be all because capital is not self-generating, not auto-poetic; it needs people as resources to exploit and as consumers to buy. It also needs new raw materials to convert into markets. The "monstrous body of capital" or body without organs can never be complete in itself. Reciprocally, D&G figure humans as parasites on the body of capital or the socius.
In the equivalence between Capital, body (without organs) and socius, we can hear echoes of J's constitutive postmodern merger of culture with economy, the dissemination of culture to all parts of the globe, and the coeval dissemination of capital (commodification) to all parts of culture. But, J argues for a total merger while Shaviro theorizes capital as a set of processes never complete in itself, a process that is constitutively parasitic, or, better for the comparison with J that I'm after here, territorializing. Is there a contradiction here? Or is Jameson's total dissemination of culture compatible with, even reliant upon, Shaviro's version of capital as forever-imcomplete, constitutively incomplete?
I've also been reading Lewis Hyde's work in progress on creative commons (http://www.warholfoundation.org/paperseries/article8.htm, http://www.lewishyde.com/progress.html), in which Hyde argues that there is a trackable trend in contemporary culture to relegate the protection of creative culture to the market and to thereby steal from, and gut, the creative commons (obviously he's not the only one to make this argument, but from what I've read, I can't yet tell how or where his work diverges from, say, Lessig's, although in places, Hyde's emphasis on the non-incompatibility of market forces and creative commons sounds like Lessig's Libertarian slant). Thus, the commodification of the human genome project jeopardizes the potentials of human genome science by yolking all innovation to profit, thereby foreclosing on any chance that a nonprofitable discovery, or a discovery whose profitability are simply unknown and unknowable, might be pursued. Hyde's stuff is well written, and I'm looking forward to his book, which he promises will be a parallel historicization of 1. the commons and 2. the creative individual. But so far it's all a pretty standard creative commons defense (like my essay "What will happen next?" in that sense).
Still, his essays make me think about something like creativity or the creative mind or innovation or potentiality itself as the latest frontier, or gap, of the sort Shaviro theorizes from his cross-reading of D&G and Marx. The latest itch of capital. Boltanski and Chiapello's work on The New Spirit of Capitalism offers very broad-scale support for this idea (being parasitic on avant garde culture, capitalism was, throughout what J calls the end of modernism, already capitalizing (on) potentiality as such). Deleuze's essay "Postscript on the Societies of Control" makes a cognate argument via D's retooling and updating of Foucault's concept of biopolitics.
Of course, this wouldn't surprise Jameson. In his discussion of the waning of affect, and his idea that the modernist Sublime has been replaced in postmodernity by theory, he is clearly pointing to some of the impacts of postmodernism on the human body, the sensorium, and more broadly, on the horizons of personhood itself. He refers negatively to the same problem (postmodernity's impacts on personhood) with his ideas about our disorientation in space and consequent need for cognitive mapping. Nor would drawing the recent changes to copyright and patent law into this discussion be dischordant with J's overall sense of the defining changes of postmodernity.
But there might nevertheless be value in charting the micro-movements in what J refers to, very broadly, as the total dissemination of commodity culture. Such micro-movements might materialize significant details which nuance our understanding of the overall process by establishing any number of relations with the overall trend: from contradiction to affirmation to exemplification to counter-models, etc. And (to think J and S together) we might think of these micro-movements within the wider flow as exactly the kinds of gaps that Shaviro describes in his version of capital as the "monstrous body," socius, or body without organs.
Along these same lines, Beacon charts the further excursions of capital: into the very idea of searching itself, the retrieval of knowledge, the potentiality of knowledge as such, the very idea of finding out, formulating questions, the very thought that the world contains an answer, that it's possible to know [something]. The value of placing this description within the broader changes outlined by Jameson, understanding it as a micro-flow within the wider flow of commodity culture, would be that any resistance I might find Beacon to offer up in this context could not be divorced from, or set in opposition to a more pessimistic Marxist account. Utopianism could not be set in opposition to critique because optimism and pessimism would both be set in motion within the broader currents of capitalist territorialization. Capitalism becomes the terrain, the field of operations, the conditions, not the force to be resisted (what is to be resisted, then, sits below capital and capitalism as such; this placement is one of the sought-after effects of Jameson's work on postmodernity: namely, to produce a clear-eyed description of capitalism today so that we can stop the residual form of utopianism which says that capitalism itself can still meaningfully be resisted, tout court, even though it's obvious that it bears responsibility for all sorts of lived misery).
7.8.08
The severest point of change to which Jameson returns again and again in his writings on postmodernity is the becoming-culture of everything. He also refers to the complete merger of culture and economy, refereing thereby to a broad process of commodification. Since his postmodernity is constitutively spatial (a feature masked, he argues, by the visual spectacles of postmodernity), the most significant feature of the expansion of capital in postmodernity (which J also calls the third phase of capitalism) is its territorialization of the globe itself, its exploitation of land as new markets, and including its expansions into (production of and then expansion into) what J calls "cyberspace," which he describes as an information space. He often points to contemporary art to exemplify this claim: there is no longer, he argues, any art produces outside of the vast and varied processes of commodification (as there were, he argues, at the turn of the 19th c.). But also to the way that corporations (which we might formerly have thought were more or less purely on the side of the economy) benefit from, extract from, learn from, steal from, thrive on, depend on...culture and cultural production (e.g. fashion companies employing cool hunters, see: Gibson's Pattern Recognition).
But S. Shaviro argues in a recent blog post (from a series of extracts from his forthcoming book on Aesthetics, see: http://www.shaviro.com/Blog/?p=646) that capital can never be all that there is, even though it "is the milieu that all our thoughts and actions presuppose, the environment to which they all refer, the context in relation to which they alone have meaning." It can never be all because capital is not self-generating, not auto-poetic; it needs people as resources to exploit and as consumers to buy. It also needs new raw materials to convert into markets. The "monstrous body of capital" or body without organs can never be complete in itself. Reciprocally, D&G figure humans as parasites on the body of capital or the socius.
In the equivalence between Capital, body (without organs) and socius, we can hear echoes of J's constitutive postmodern merger of culture with economy, the dissemination of culture to all parts of the globe, and the coeval dissemination of capital (commodification) to all parts of culture. But, J argues for a total merger while Shaviro theorizes capital as a set of processes never complete in itself, a process that is constitutively parasitic, or, better for the comparison with J that I'm after here, territorializing. Is there a contradiction here? Or is Jameson's total dissemination of culture compatible with, even reliant upon, Shaviro's version of capital as forever-imcomplete, constitutively incomplete?
I've also been reading Lewis Hyde's work in progress on creative commons (http://www.warholfoundation.org/paperseries/article8.htm, http://www.lewishyde.com/progress.html), in which Hyde argues that there is a trackable trend in contemporary culture to relegate the protection of creative culture to the market and to thereby steal from, and gut, the creative commons (obviously he's not the only one to make this argument, but from what I've read, I can't yet tell how or where his work diverges from, say, Lessig's, although in places, Hyde's emphasis on the non-incompatibility of market forces and creative commons sounds like Lessig's Libertarian slant). Thus, the commodification of the human genome project jeopardizes the potentials of human genome science by yolking all innovation to profit, thereby foreclosing on any chance that a nonprofitable discovery, or a discovery whose profitability are simply unknown and unknowable, might be pursued. Hyde's stuff is well written, and I'm looking forward to his book, which he promises will be a parallel historicization of 1. the commons and 2. the creative individual. But so far it's all a pretty standard creative commons defense (like my essay "What will happen next?" in that sense).
Still, his essays make me think about something like creativity or the creative mind or innovation or potentiality itself as the latest frontier, or gap, of the sort Shaviro theorizes from his cross-reading of D&G and Marx. The latest itch of capital. Boltanski and Chiapello's work on The New Spirit of Capitalism offers very broad-scale support for this idea (being parasitic on avant garde culture, capitalism was, throughout what J calls the end of modernism, already capitalizing (on) potentiality as such). Deleuze's essay "Postscript on the Societies of Control" makes a cognate argument via D's retooling and updating of Foucault's concept of biopolitics.
Of course, this wouldn't surprise Jameson. In his discussion of the waning of affect, and his idea that the modernist Sublime has been replaced in postmodernity by theory, he is clearly pointing to some of the impacts of postmodernism on the human body, the sensorium, and more broadly, on the horizons of personhood itself. He refers negatively to the same problem (postmodernity's impacts on personhood) with his ideas about our disorientation in space and consequent need for cognitive mapping. Nor would drawing the recent changes to copyright and patent law into this discussion be dischordant with J's overall sense of the defining changes of postmodernity.
But there might nevertheless be value in charting the micro-movements in what J refers to, very broadly, as the total dissemination of commodity culture. Such micro-movements might materialize significant details which nuance our understanding of the overall process by establishing any number of relations with the overall trend: from contradiction to affirmation to exemplification to counter-models, etc. And (to think J and S together) we might think of these micro-movements within the wider flow as exactly the kinds of gaps that Shaviro describes in his version of capital as the "monstrous body," socius, or body without organs.
Along these same lines, Beacon charts the further excursions of capital: into the very idea of searching itself, the retrieval of knowledge, the potentiality of knowledge as such, the very idea of finding out, formulating questions, the very thought that the world contains an answer, that it's possible to know [something]. The value of placing this description within the broader changes outlined by Jameson, understanding it as a micro-flow within the wider flow of commodity culture, would be that any resistance I might find Beacon to offer up in this context could not be divorced from, or set in opposition to a more pessimistic Marxist account. Utopianism could not be set in opposition to critique because optimism and pessimism would both be set in motion within the broader currents of capitalist territorialization. Capitalism becomes the terrain, the field of operations, the conditions, not the force to be resisted (what is to be resisted, then, sits below capital and capitalism as such; this placement is one of the sought-after effects of Jameson's work on postmodernity: namely, to produce a clear-eyed description of capitalism today so that we can stop the residual form of utopianism which says that capitalism itself can still meaningfully be resisted, tout court, even though it's obvious that it bears responsibility for all sorts of lived misery).
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Jameson 2 (What kind of fragments are search queries?)
Do the fragments [Jameson, "Culture and Finance Capital"] in Beacon [the serialized queries] emit meaning as a kind of reflex of re-narrativization, as Jameson says of postmodernist fragments? I.e. as stereotypes do, each of which reflexively calls up an entire world, an entire narrative without ever needing to materialize that world, that story (pastiche is J's favorite po-mo tactic of re-narrativization)? I don't think so. I think they're broken, although not necessarily as modernist fragments were broken. Modernist fragments of meaning (e.g. its abstractions) were critical, negative; they referenced the object to be criticized by severing its legibility, its legible relations to that world (of history painting, of narrative fiction). They accumulated into texts that were illegible, partially legible, alienating, aggressive. This aesthetic strategy mirrored a world that had become alienated, like aesthetic fragments. Subjectivity was so fragmented. Experience was fragmented. The body's experience of space and time was fragmented. In J's description of postmodernity, we experience a oneness with the world because all of the fragments (aesthetic, experiential, ordinary) are referentially replete like stereotypes are: they call up everything one needs to receive a full narrative, they fill in the blanks, make us believe that everything we need for understanding is present. Aesthetic fragments no longer need to mirror this world; they are no longer separate from it. "The Cultural Turn" marks the complete merger of aesthetics with the life of capital, and thus the closing of the Historical gap between experience and aesthetics. Beacon's fragments seem to be neither modernist nor postmodernist: they are severed, but not alienating; they are referential, replete, they seem to amount to something like a theory, a sociology, a representation of a public, but they don't get there, they tease with proximity and meaning, but only tease. The broken calligram. What might this imply about the economy of which they are a part? And what is their relation to that economy (if the economy of modernity is mirrored by the aesthetics of modernism, and if the economy of postmodernity has merged with the aesthetics of postmodernism)?
In any case, this sounds like a good articulation of my problem: what larger life do search queries point to, IF they're fragments, and how does this relate to the present economy? OR, if they're not fragments because search engines point to a new horizon of un-representability [data over theory], then what relations do they have to the world they reference [if 'reference' is the right word for their relation to the world]?
In any case, this sounds like a good articulation of my problem: what larger life do search queries point to, IF they're fragments, and how does this relate to the present economy? OR, if they're not fragments because search engines point to a new horizon of un-representability [data over theory], then what relations do they have to the world they reference [if 'reference' is the right word for their relation to the world]?
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Seriality
Beacon's seriality is not the endlessness of Fried's modernism (an assembly line of object production) and not the endlessness of chronophobia (the fear of digital technologies replacing History with the repetitive time of one thing after another), but the endlessness of data-as-knowledge. It is the database replacing the need for theory (models, "provisional generalization"). Thus, my nagging sense that there is something sociological about Beacon's seriality without it ever quite being sociology. Something of a public about it, without the self-reflexivity or self-awareness of a public (it's not the mirror it seems; it offers the form of sociology, data points presented en masse, serially, but not the content). A broken calligram of a public. It is sociology without theory, without models, without representations. Just the data points. As such, Beacon necessitates some other theoretical configuration of publics than Warner's, Fraser's, or Berlant's: e.g. publics as data entities, without need of representation. They exist, for someone, as publics, but less for the people who comprise the public than for the people who collect the data given off by that public's actions, that is, the people who collectivize that action by compiling search data. This means that the broken calligram of the public that Beacon registers breaks at the point of its reflection, its representation. Habermas theorized an audience-oriented subjectivity constitutive of public actions. The broken calligram of Beacon's public does not sever this audience-orientation; it deflects it, steals its reflection, so that the part of a public that produces a representation of that public is available only for the people who collect and can get access to the data, and NOT for the people whose actions comprise that public.
Beacon, then, materializes both of these situations: the public as a serially arranged data set, and the stolen or deflected representation of that public.
Beacon, then, materializes both of these situations: the public as a serially arranged data set, and the stolen or deflected representation of that public.
Jameson 1
Jameson's analytic vision of postmodernism is a massive interlinking: of the experience of the subject to experience of space to aesthetic culture/consumer culture/form (all equivalents in J's vision), where artistic and commercial form (e.g. the Bonaventure Hotel) registers some profound aspect of a shift in our experience of space which is tied to a precipitating economic shift (post industrialism).
Pastiche is a formal strategy that marks the shift in our relation to history (and how we've become stuck in a perpetual present, also, in a world where our primary access to reality is through images). Unlike parody, pastiche quotes older forms without a normative standard that is implicitly being privileged and appealed to. Pastiche is not critical, in other words. And in this, it is metonymic to postmodern culture in general, which J thinks has not yet found its mode of criticism or negativity (cf. Edelman, No Future). The overall strategy marked by pastiche is mirrored in both artworks and the self-experience of subjects: neither can predicate their existence or worth anymore on uniqueness, individuality, singularity.
Pastiche is a formal strategy that marks the shift in our relation to history (and how we've become stuck in a perpetual present, also, in a world where our primary access to reality is through images). Unlike parody, pastiche quotes older forms without a normative standard that is implicitly being privileged and appealed to. Pastiche is not critical, in other words. And in this, it is metonymic to postmodern culture in general, which J thinks has not yet found its mode of criticism or negativity (cf. Edelman, No Future). The overall strategy marked by pastiche is mirrored in both artworks and the self-experience of subjects: neither can predicate their existence or worth anymore on uniqueness, individuality, singularity.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Archaeology of Knowledge 1
Foucault's 'knowledge' is comprised of statements. Statement are enunciative events: they crop up in a system of discourses, between that which makes the statement possible (institutions, that time, that place, that subject or mode of subjectivity) and that which the statement makes possible. Thus, they are not entirely singular, like events, but also not entirely idealized (like natural laws or mathematical theorems). Discourse names the location (the field or system or network); archaeology names the process, the mode of analysis, by which statements are studied within discursive systems. The focus on discourse and archaeology is a move away from experience, away from transcendental laws or subjectivity, away from the solace of ouevres and authors and books as stable units of identity or experience or analysis; it identifies something that no one person could intend, nor experience as such, even though people experience elements of it. He wants to know how things got stabilized. Anything that is stabilized, like authorship, like the novel, like subjectivity, archaeology is the process of investigating the conditions under which that stabilization happened and under which it shifts and moves over time.
By knowledge, he means what it's possible to know at any one time, given the various interconnected discursive formations and discourses. He means what it's possible to think, and the conditions under which the possibilities for thought shift, slowly, in history, becoming history, laws, codes, theories, ideas.
He wants not to move away from the old comforts of history, the old pillars, but to look at how they got to be the way they got, among other things, incl: and all of the grain of history that lies between. Not micro-histories; more like macro-histories that have to be constructed from a foundation of micro-histories, the single statement, spidering out from a statement to what it implicates, what made it possible (sayable, writable), what it made possible.
So what does knowledge come to mean when referred to or through google? There's a way to make it sound Foucauldian: google and its index and its algorithm are the conditions of possibility for the searches for knowledge conducted by people through google. Like archaeology, google's knowledge base is not the product of a single subject or set of subjects and their intentions (the algorithm was constructed, but acts semi-autonomously, or at least does not remain the direct product of an engineer's intention). Nor is it something that can be experienced as such or as a whole. It's base unit seems to be the search query, including all of the resourcefulness that someone can muster in an extended search. People touch knowledge through their individual searches. They make contact with the database or index. The enunciative field might be something like all of the links and keywords that get a site the ranking it has in relation to any given query, along with all of the sites and sub-sites and links and ads that make up the tendrils of possibility once someone actually arrives at a url (the result of a search: a new location for oneself, for one's desires).
So, if I'm learning anything from Foucault's approach to studying knowledge, what am I learning? Foucauldian questions: What are the discursive formations of knowledge as it is configured by google? What had to happen for google to happen? What had to happen to the ways we understand and organize knowledge for google to be possible? Legible? For it to be considered useful? What are the discourses that prop up people's day to day use of it? What languages, idioms, conventions, laws, vernaculars does it bring into being?
By knowledge, he means what it's possible to know at any one time, given the various interconnected discursive formations and discourses. He means what it's possible to think, and the conditions under which the possibilities for thought shift, slowly, in history, becoming history, laws, codes, theories, ideas.
He wants not to move away from the old comforts of history, the old pillars, but to look at how they got to be the way they got, among other things, incl: and all of the grain of history that lies between. Not micro-histories; more like macro-histories that have to be constructed from a foundation of micro-histories, the single statement, spidering out from a statement to what it implicates, what made it possible (sayable, writable), what it made possible.
So what does knowledge come to mean when referred to or through google? There's a way to make it sound Foucauldian: google and its index and its algorithm are the conditions of possibility for the searches for knowledge conducted by people through google. Like archaeology, google's knowledge base is not the product of a single subject or set of subjects and their intentions (the algorithm was constructed, but acts semi-autonomously, or at least does not remain the direct product of an engineer's intention). Nor is it something that can be experienced as such or as a whole. It's base unit seems to be the search query, including all of the resourcefulness that someone can muster in an extended search. People touch knowledge through their individual searches. They make contact with the database or index. The enunciative field might be something like all of the links and keywords that get a site the ranking it has in relation to any given query, along with all of the sites and sub-sites and links and ads that make up the tendrils of possibility once someone actually arrives at a url (the result of a search: a new location for oneself, for one's desires).
So, if I'm learning anything from Foucault's approach to studying knowledge, what am I learning? Foucauldian questions: What are the discursive formations of knowledge as it is configured by google? What had to happen for google to happen? What had to happen to the ways we understand and organize knowledge for google to be possible? Legible? For it to be considered useful? What are the discourses that prop up people's day to day use of it? What languages, idioms, conventions, laws, vernaculars does it bring into being?
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