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| ''there is no repetition : mathias spahlinger," from http://norepetition.tumblr.com/ |
‘’Documents are becoming applications.’’ --David Siegel
A. Language as Repetition, Repetition as Language
1. “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote” by Jorge Luis Borges
2. Kenneth Goldsmith, ''context as the new content''
3. The mechanical reproduction of language
B. Text Algorithms and Generators
If you scan the web, you will find many articles about algorithms now being developed and being used to produce articles, news, novels, and poetry. Take a look at some funny results from a contest to write a program that will make a novel. here is a sample from Twide and Twejudice by Michelle Fullwood:
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| From https://github.com/dariusk/NaNoGenMo-2014/issues/51 |
Michelle Fullwood, made Twide and Twejudice: Pride and Prejudice but with each word of dialogue substituted for a word used in a similar context on Twitter. The result is delightfully absurd, a normal-seeming Austen novel where characters break out in almost-intelligible gobbledegook. For instance, here is Mr. Bennett telling Mrs. Bennett that plenty more wealthy young men will move to town for their daughters to marry.
"But I hope you willl get ovaaa it, whereby live to see
manyy young snowmobilers ofthe four karat a yearrr comeeee into tje neighbourhood."
And in an earlier version:
"But I hopee yiou willllll gget ovaaa itttttttttt ,
aand livee to seee meny peppy cyborgs ofv umpteen luft awhole mnth coem intoo
tthe neighbourhood."
C. Language/History as Data/Module: Robot-Speak
Hip-Deep
novel excerpt || John Pursch
Momo boots MLK-14, feeds him shredded history, unblocks
dialectic ports, and discards every other phoneme, tuning down to treasured
lowland imitation chatter. “Drink up, Marty, else you’ll never pass QC, end up
stuck at barnyard babbler, fit for local watering hole gibberish, like
slobbering loadie Reagan-83.”
A few more shreds and Martin’s speaking perfect Latin,
polished English, composing sonnets on the fly, breakthrough theologies ready
for final facelift. “So much for lingual grooving; let’s install the orator,”
Momo suggests, uploading pre-configured content, tweaked to equal bias. “OK,
let’s hear that dream again.”
The lobot’s eyes flip up and open, fixed on textured
holographic millions, Watchingstoned’s Refracting Pool thronged and shimmering
below. Instinctively, he sits up, adjusts his tie, smooths his hair, clears his
throat, now decides to stand; the hologram recalibrates, fills the room with
feed from early ’68, crowd cheering, and Martin leaps right in: “I have a dream
today!”
“Nice energy,” Momo nods, raising an eyebrow. “Continue.”
“…one day this nation will rise up and live out the true
meaning of its credo, ergo, illimitable reductio ad Absalomo, foregone
connubial sandhogs sifting sense from referential presto, hovering in vocal context,
melting into diagnostic meals, timing silent laughter, climbing to a
smoke-filled auction of decimal fins…”
“Slipping off topic,” Momo observes, looping her right index
finger. “Tighten it up, Marty.”
“…Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, simian
constituencies, donuts of the demolition quartets fondling demitasses,
spindling woven thoughts in frozen lakes and missing hotel sinks, clipping
croutons from the Royal Mayonnaise Gazette, Issue 42, Volume e…”
Momo sighs, raises her finger, and MLK-14 goes silent,
gazing into holographic sinkage. She thinks a moment and spews code: “Linearize
on theological segment 37.4285, spin to seeker-centric, tail off humanizer
femme flagship, pin to retro-tracheal minimizer, follow loosened autonomic listener,
fallback to tonal motion flux. Retry and iterate,” leaving the room.
“How’s he look?” Emily asks, glancing up from JFK-21’s
nascent torso.
“He’ll be ready for Montauk tonight,” Momo replies, entering
the lab. “Working on his speech…”
“Excellent. Hey, this new Jack’s quite an upgrade; reduced
womanizer, pegged charisma, double IQ, unlimited libido… Let’s set him up with
MM-23 before we take Marty to the lighthouse; she just finished off that row of
drooling Bobbies, barely broke a sweat. What do you think of that, Jack? Would
you like to meet Marilyn?”
JFK-21’s eyes light up: “Well, having been trimmed by
scarcity’s flippant league of bellicose brethren, I flounder as gracefully as
ignorance allows, hip-deep in hypocrisy and halitosis. Who can tolerate, let
alone absorb, the bilious ramjet spittle, the fleshy flux of gibbous gawking
and flailing that crowds of craven characters routinely regurgitate, in
thoughtless tureens of cellular wastage? Not a concept given, not a consequence
considered! The uhh current global situation is an incredibly profligate mess,
a wildly inefficient, sprawling debacle, taking down continental jungles, ice
caps, planets of neglect, barren moons yawning and winking, admiring the
incessant, insatiable repetition of creative destruction, of deadly
reproduction, of mindless lunacy.”
“Great, that’s just fine, Jack. Marilyn, this is Jack. Jack,
Marilyn.”
“Good evening, Mr. President,” MM-23 coos.
“I uhh well uhh welcome to my laboratory, Miss Monroe. Emily, perhaps you and uhh Momo here-ya would
be so kind as to take our good friend Martin for a little spin to the
lighthouse. Marilyn and I will be happy to uhh mind the store, so to speak.”
(From
http://ex-ex-lit.blogspot.com/2013/01/novel-excerpt-john-pursch.html,
January 26, 2013.)
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