My friend Mandy was the first to respond to the "machine writing" questionnaire:
1. To what extent do you consider your writing/aesthetic
practice a collaboration with machines? Describe in detail.
Thesaurus.com is my collaborator, as much as anything. I think at the
speed I can type. But I write poetry mostly by hand with a pen in a lined
notebook, at first. Later drafts go onto the computer, though these days many
are photographed from my notebook with my phone and text messaged to my human
collaborators. At work, the computer is an essential component of everything I
do. It holds my memory and I can't work without it. It's a powerful and long
relationship to my Dell Inspiron!
2. Do you feel that your writing could be reduced (more or
less) to a procedure or algorithm? Would a computing process (algorithm,
program, or app) be able to successfully reproduce what you make/do?
No way. Or maybe yes. Or no. I'm thinking about digital sound processing.
There has got to be some cyborg in there somewhere. Someone built something. I
consider my ex-husband a cyborg. He builds analog and digital synthesizers, but
it's never just his machines. There is always him in there. Another person
using the tools he builds makes different sounds. In my work, I spend a
great deal of time trying to convey big ideas simply to compel human action. A
machine can't do that. But there is an algorithm at the same time. There are
key words - kind, caring, compassionate, helpful, friendly, loyal, strong,
honest, generous, fair. We know people like to be described by these words.
There is a rhythm to the language I use that a machine could probably copy. But
poetry starts with human friction. What makes it compelling is that something
has caused a rub, and the poem is a process for massaging the rub, smoothing
it, making sense of it. I am thinking of Eliade here. Island of clarity in a
sea of chaos. Can a machine bring clarity? I don't know. I am sure a machine
could write something beautiful, but it's the tension I am looking for. Does a
machine know tension?
3. What meaning do you assign to the term “cyborg”? Do you
consider yourself to be one? RE: Donna Haraway, does the cyborg still offer a
set of liberatory potential or has the emancipatory value of her 20+ year-old
figure passed?
I love Haraway, and I think we are all cyborgs, definitely. It's good to
admit who you are. That's where freedom comes from, right? So I admit it. I am
a cyborg. My daughter's experience using an iPad as a two year old is a good
example of this. She manipulates it like it's her own body. She has an
intuitive understanding of it and can dj on Spotify, play games, draw, whatever
she wants, without being able to read. She is still learning that she is
separate from me, that we are different bodies, and also learning about this
machine that makes life work for her, that stores memories and brings pleasure.
She checks the moon phase on it everyday! That is truly virtual reality, though
in her life, she knows nothing else.
4. In what ways are you conditioned by machines and in
what (if any) ways do you defy technological conditions/determinacy? To what
extend do you, especially via an aesthetic practice (the 'way you live,' for
instance), escape a socio-political administration/determination through
machines?
For a long time - until about two months ago - I didn't have a cell
phone. This was pretty rebellious. But when my marriage ended, I had to get one
because I wanted to meet men, and I knew I'd need to be able to text to do
that. The phone is a tool for being in the world, conditionally. I don't think
I defy technological conditions/determinacy with any fierceness any more,
though I did try for maybe 10 years. I am just like everybody else.
5. To you what extent does your embodiment pose a limit to
what you wish to do? To what extent does it offer a set of
possibilities/potential surpassing your determination by machine cultures?
My embodiment poses no limitations to
what I wish to do because my primary desire is to be in my body. Just like I am
not my machines, I am also not my body. My body is its own kind of machine and
its own kind of miracle, something I inhabit. I am learning everyday how to
work it, how to use it to achieve expansive bliss, to express the true calling
of my soul. The body is a tool like none other and I don't feel held back by it
at all. A machine can help me capture an experience or make a connection, but I
don't laugh in its arms. It might seem like when I'm texting I am soul gazing,
but really I am just making plans in the hope of soul gazing. My life revolves
around children, dancing, cooking, eating, writing, cleaning up, spiritual
pursuits, sleeping, and loving. It is a pretty grounded reality. Being in the
body, my sandals can't stop the soaking rain.
