In "The Tuning of the World," R. Murray Schafer coins the term "schizophonia" to describe the separation of sound from its maker through the use of reproductive mechanisms such as the tape recorder or record player, "in order to dramatize [its] aberrational effect." Sound reproduction thus effectively turns sounds into new objects, subject to de- an re-contextualization with other sounds and in new physical and temporal locales.
Could it be that hypertext offers an analogous situation for written works? I know that sometimes when I am spontaneously traversing a thread online, reflexively clicking away, I suddenly find myself rather disjoined from my original context. Sometimes this is a good thing, sometimes not; but while something akin to it may be possible when dealing with physical texts, the hypertext environment creates the potential for this to happen at a much-accelerated rate, which emphasizes the divergence from the original context. Down the rabbit hole!
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Schizophonia! I love Murray Schafer! I remember one spectacular performance of his opera, La Testa D'Adrian with MARUEEN FORRESTER!!!!! singing as a disembodied head. I'll never forget it. Also very beautiful. Spent the last few days under a roofing project with the pneumatic nailer and intermittent hailstorms overhead. With that I was a dis-en-pated (is that a word?) body, rather. Nice post. Ludlow.
This is a wonderful sound analogy to hypertext, Jeff. You might also be interested in the "click poetry" that I added a link to this week as sound is definitely part of the landscape of some of the poems. I do know what you mean about linking--we become completely disassociated from the initial thought. They say that doing email and having various windows open impairs thught more than smoking pot!
Everything impairs thought. Thinking impairs thought. Everything impairs everything. I was trying to do something on line last night and the connection (wifi) was slow, so I lifted up the computer and it got better - so every time I made a link I had to stand up and hold the laptop over my head like an offering, and finally my husband opening the aluminum venetian blinds, and voila, the world rushed in. Tick Tick Tick
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