Tachistoscope: The Conscious and the Subconscious

Hayles writes that “literature…activates a recursive feedback loop between knowledge realized in the body through gesture, ritual, performance, posture, and enactment, and knowledge realized in the neocortex as conscious and explicit articulations. As the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu has shown, robust and durable knowledge can be transmitted through social practices and enactments without being consciously articulated” (132). This concept comes into play, particularly when considering William Poundstone’s Tachistoscope. Because of the element of subliminal messaging and the way the text is constructed in terms of color, multimedia, and symbolism, the reader is, in effect, approaching a text that is almost dream-like, greatly engaging the subconscious realm of the brain.

While Hayles offers her own assessment of Tachistoscope, her explanations for various symbols are subjective and her analysis of the work itself seems cursory, functioning more appropriately as a summary of what the reader is to encounter while interacting with the text. After going through Tachistoscope several times, the text became much more cohesive as a story. While I did, as Hayles predicted, attempt to “screen out…‘extraneous’ information” (142), I also attempted to force my consciousness to integrate it into the work and understand the underlying meanings of the symbols and subliminal pictures and messages. The white words, superimposed by larger black words, generally appeared on the screen at a pace that was too fast for me to process. However, I did notice images of faces in these sequences, as well, which may have subliminally provided context in the form of characterization. Were they the faces of people who had fallen into the bottomless pit? Were they the faces of people from the town where the pit had been formed? I could not be sure, although these questions came to mind. I also took into account the use of color and how the colors made me feel. For example, dark blues appeared to signal tragic events, such as people falling into the bottomless pit. I also noticed that the orange spheres increased my anxiety as I read the text. 

As for the symbols behind most of the words (e.g. the knife and fork, the cross, the martini glass), I was unsure of what to make of their meanings. Hayles’s inferences as to what their meanings were did not come to mind while I, personally, was interacting with the text. The symbols seemed to denote the man-made objects and, perhaps, their implications, both negative and positive. In the work, there are symbols depicting construction work—perhaps referencing the main plot event at hand, which has caused irreparable damage, not just to the area of land itself, but to the town in which it exists and the people who live in that town. There are also symbols like keys and planes—perhaps alluding to the idea of escape. The population of the town does eventually dwindle, as the text reveals. Additionally, I felt as though the symbols alluded to a sense of historical context. I understand that this is a far reach, but the Afro pick, for example, reminded me of Civil Rights events in the 20th century, while the bomb reminded me of war. I associated the crown with medieval times, and also associated the key with the distant past, because of its shape and form. 

For me, the symbols placed the words flashing across the screen within the context of culture that was ever-evolving and ever-changing. This may have also been partially due to the nature of the music, which contained a series of chord progressions that, at its climax, seemed uplifting by providing the reader a sense of movement within the text—a feeling of being propelled forward during the crescendo and the addition of music that was more melodic than the repetitive notes played at the beginning of the music’s cycle.

The music, I found, was the most compelling aspect of the text, rather than the imagery. I did not feel as though the images had much of an effect on me other than the fact that I found them distracting. Perhaps because, as humans, we have an innate desire to make sense of our experiences and observations, the subliminal messaging along with the use of symbols in this piece became frustrating components of the work for me. Nonetheless, it was an interesting exploration; trying to find meaning within the symbols used, as well as the subliminal messaging. I felt somewhat detached to the literal text of the piece because of the symbols and subliminal messaging, which I thought was interesting. Rather than responding emotionally to the text, I felt myself responding to it from a more analytical standpoint. For this reason, the symbols and subliminal messaging most likely contributed to the tone of the piece in my experience of interacting with it.

Blog #4: Vespers

I think Krisztian brought up an interesting point about “self-reflection and questioning our true selves.” I found this to be relevant to a certain degree while attempting to navigate through Vespers. Unlike in The Baron, I was unable to make the same sort of interactive choices which would significantly impact my outcome, although I felt as though I was an atmosphere which was clearly defined by a set of morals, specifically the Christian religion.

I had great difficulty getting to an ending in Vespers as I tried to interact with the brothers of the monastery who seemed to have grave mental issues and disorders. I visited and re-visited several sites around the church, examining various objects and pathways. Something was clearly affecting those brothers who remained at the church, and it was obvious that some sort of traumatic event had occurred on the grounds of the church, as evidenced by the ruins, ashes, et al.

I felt like I was attempting to navigate through a particularly elaborate maze, as I found myself in many rooms (the Cloistery, the character’s room, the hallway, and so on) and felt as though I kept running out of choices to examine, touch, or otherwise interact with the data that might be available to me. As with many of the other Interactive Fiction narratives, I found myself frustrated and confused.

This confusion was not lessened at all by the supposed “hints” that popped up, sometimes too quickly for me to read them, at the top of some of the screens. Most of the messages appeared to be religious in nature, ostensibly coming from the Bible. These hints did little to help me, and, in fact, I found none of them useful. One, which was about laughter, foreshadowed a future dialogue with Matteo, in which he laughs, seemingly, at nothing in particular, or at least in a manner that is nonsensical. None of the brothers of the monastery seemed to provide any real clues as to what path the character was supposed to follow.

Perhaps this was a particular trail I took and others were able to find other ones, but the only ending I could come to was one that took me to the top of the Belltower. In this ending, the character talks to the brother, Matteo, but their conversation is quickly exhausted and little to no information is revealed by the end of their exchange. Suddenly, the character feels a scratch beneath his skin. I tried several commands, such as “scratch itch,” “touch skin,” and so on. Finally, I decided to navigate north. Apparently, I had made an “unlucky” choice, and found my character plummeting to his death. I was informed that he had committed suicide. “Hell has a special place for those who commit suicide,” the screen read. 

Ultimately, Vespers seems to be a story of despair and loss, though I was unable to come to a true realization or conclusion about the meaning of the story. The other characters are listless, crying, and mostly absent from the story other than acting as further indicators that something is ostensibly very wrong with this church and that something terrible has happened. In terms of Interactive Fiction, I feel that Vespers is a richer, more complex text than most of the ones we have encountered so far. Nonetheless, I am still unsure of the message it is trying to send, exactly. Perhaps if there are other potential endings which are more easily accessible, I would better be able to acquire an understanding of the text.

Blog #2: While Reading

In order to capture an array of emotions, I’ll write part of this blog while experiencing the first half of Tuesday’s reading, My Boyfriend Came Back From the War.

On the very outset, which, what, where or when is not explictly offered for this reading, so I cannot say whether the war refers to the current war in Iraq, or war in years past. Regardless, one can still argue that the emotion tearing and impact can be very much the same. Onto the hypertext.

Written as I went along:

I keep checking every page for hidden, black-on-black text. So far, that does not seem to be the case.

I have somewhat cheated in the exploration of this site: maybe the hyperlinked text is meant to be chosen at random, but in order to maintain some sort of order, I have been mousing over each link, and quickly checking the URL as it displays on the Internet browser status bar. I attempt to click 117.html before 130.html, etc etc. Overall I have kept some semblance of numerical order. I will see whether or not that changes how it is experienced.

“Don’t kill.” Click. “Him.” Click. “Them.” Click. “ME”

Several new frames have appeared since starting this part of the homework. Four are now empty and sit at the bottom of the page. It is possible for a link on a separate part of the page to redirect its contents to any chosen frame, I will wait and see whether or not that happens. Maybe the whole of the page will be divided into HTML frames and left blank at the end.

Who are the tigers the page mentioned?

“I keep your photo here” — three clicks later, the photo disappears. I checked the black background for text, there still is none. Onto the next link, its destination is marked as 164.html. The other visible link is 169.html, but I will still maintain some sort of numeric order.

Why a 20th Century Fox logo?

I found an equivalent of a newspaper byline: the author’s e-mail address and an external link that is titled the Last Rest Net Art Museum. The copyright of this particular page by Olia Lialina is 1996. (That means it is not about the current Iraq War…)

Found a clock. The time is 9:16.

Another clock, the time is 6:02. Is it a.m. or p.m., I wonder?

Third clock, 1:57.

No more links left to click, a total of sixteen unevenly distrubted frames cover the webpage, in addition to a seventeenth frame that holds half the space, and has two pictures. One picture looks suspiciously like a window, but it is too heavily pixelated to conclusively tell.

Exercise done. What was the intent of this text?

My opinion is that it was meant to evoke an emotion response, hence why I recorded it as I did–so I could write done my immediate thoughts to each part of the piece. To me, the short, unpunctuated phrases, read to me like halting, hesitate or quiet conversation–conversation that was occasionally interrupted by sudden outbursts, as signified by capital letters.

But beyond interpreting the language and grammar of this piece, overall it seemed to be an unfolding maze. Perhaps my attempt to somewhat organize it was a good one, because each segment seemed to lead into the next as long as it is done in some sort of order. Still, there were several times when I could not track done the page that was to proceed another, and still other times when I would jump ahead to page 169 without reading 140-147. However, this overall did not seem to affect the understanding of the text, which read to me like something from an art museum: war can tear people apart, make them sad, make them angry, and put distance between life before and life after a war.