The Writer Disappears into Cyberspace

The Writer in Cyberspace:

Navigating Colliding Cultures

Between Meat Art and Machine Art

Kate McNamara April 2008

When I began writing this paper I was trying to use the old Socratic Method for a definition of Art. So I trawled back through Aristotle and Plato (who really did not like the arts at all) and then it occurred to me: what on earth am I doing? Art: It’s a big word. Anxiety, that’s easy. It’s how I feel right now. In a po-mo world, as you all know, art can mean anything, whether it be cans of tinned excrement, signed toilet seats or galleries that exhibit nothingness, well lit nothingness, but blank walls just the same. It’s in the spaces between artist and viewer that post-modernism insists that we can make our own meaning; and that meaning is the product of art.

I like Post Modernism a great deal; it’s like a huge wrecking ball that smashes into centuries of reified discourse and conflated theory. Nothing is sacred. The problem with Post-Modernism, and this makes me slightly anxious, is that it doesn’t really postulate what to do with the wreckage of the past or possibilities inherent in new work under construction.

English playwright Harold Pinter once remarked that silence is the fitting voice of our time. This is not an easy statement for me to accept from Pinter even though I love his plays. I suffer fatally from a belief in the profound power of language, whether it is written or spoken. The re-invention of power within language is, I believe, the new labour of any creative writer. So much language has been lost to newspeak, the world that Orwell predicted in 1984 (1) and that Don Watson describes in Death Sentence(2)

I believe that writers and artists today here in 21st century are investigating new cartography in an exploration of the shape, texture, practice and exposition of art across a range of contemporary forms. That we are exposing the boundaries which are now forming across the interstices where art, science, philosophy and the manifold languages of new technology are currently coalescing, merging and then casually individuating into other forms.

It will challenge its readers to re-visit and re-view the underpinning values that constitute our notion of meaning derived through cultural expression in all its manifestations. As Carl Jung once remarked, it is the artist who is condemned to be the instrument and the representative of the spirit of his age.

We live in an era where the traditional and normative perimeters that once distinguished discrete disciplines in both the domains of art and knowledge are increasingly less applicable. It is an age rich in possibilities, a potential for wild prolific growth, it will not be easily contained. And the practitioners of art, the technicians of new cultural experiences are already prowling these uneasy horizons. Part of our inheritance has always been this ability to exist and transcend the narrow confines of the status quo of our respective cultures.

Some time ago it was fashionable in the upper echelons of certain artistic milieus to categories art as a moribund and decaying corpse upon which one performs an autopsy and then conducts a public coronial inquest. This was described as new performance art. (Don’t quite know what happened to the old performance art, but anyway…)This type of attitude is an appropriation of certain aspects of post-modernism which may be interpreted as both nihilistic and anti-creative. The discourse of post-modernism is difficult and ambiguous at the best of times and it is always easier to adopt its negative aspects than to confront the depths of its possibilities as a philosophical system.

I continue to believe that art is fundamentally generative, resilient, vigorous and it can erode constructed boundaries as it feeds into experience of mortal existence .But we need to develop a rigorous critique of the many contexts in which art flourish whether in the real world or in the Ethernet of Cyberspace, because we must be clear about the nature and the function of insidious dictates imposed by the dominant elite and the imperatives of mass media cultural saturation. Art is flexible, it absorbs and it transforms.

This attribute of flexibility (or biodiversity as I have sometimes described it) has a quality of creative possibilities that are limitless. If we have the courage to pursue new ideas and new art forms.

But neither theory nor philosophy is in any way essential to making art; some artists have called art theorists parasites, vampires and worse. It does not really matter in the final analysis to a practicing artist. We are normally too busy working at the coal face to get involved in a discourse that may or may not be relevant. Art’s a dirty business and believe me, it is hard, unforgiving labour.

I want to speak today about the language arts. About speaking and writing within language forms. But first let me acquaint you with my anxiety about language, from Leaves

Words have histories, genealogies, families, friends, they become corrupt, they transcend their original etymology, they change. They are fantastically unstable and we who trade in them, as we must lacking another form of communication, we are always at their mercy. Perhaps in some almost unimaginable future when our species has translated the database of genes, cloned its own organs, manufactured all manner of hybrid species and interbred with cybertechnics we will communicate through a sophisticated set of sequenced barcodes and visual display units. There will be no virtual reality for we will all live there. Cyberspace will be conquered and we will be seeking new terrains of conquests. We will have forgotten philosophers such as Leibniz who maintained that there was an innate alphabet of human thought and the many semanticists and philosophers who argued over time about obscure propositions such as how the mind thinks in language, and what relationship this lingua mentalis had to the act of speaking. Leibniz also believed that language was the best mirror of the human mind.

James Hillman postulates in his erudite and compelling work The Blue Fire that language signifies our relationship to the Divine that Man is half angel because he can speak…the more we distrust speech…the sooner the archetypal barbarian will stride into the communication ruins of a culture that refused eloquence as a mirror of the soul. These odd ideas continue to obsess me: the structure of language, the sounds that vibrate in the larynx; where words were first born, who shaped them, chose them, invested meaning or are they actually a secret organic life form? Why do some words have a carapace and others are soft to the touch? What happens to a word when we forget it? It is one of my jobs to think like this, it is part of the territory of writing. I never sleep unless a dictionary is by my bed and I know of no cure for what can only be described as a compulsive-obsessive disorder.

Occasionally I construct a whimsical future in which language has become practically obsolete but for odd groups of antiquarians who gather together on Saturdays and read to each other from hard copy books. They will be rather quaint people with the faint air of elitism that now characterizes clubs devoted to Chess, Croquet or the propagation of African Violets. These eccentric individuals will attempt to lovingly recreate a past made romantic with hindsight. Hard copy books will be so rare that they will be forced to use gloves to touch them but the smell of knowledge, of arcane secrets encoded within a primitive society will be well nigh irresistible. They will debate interesting peccadillos such as concepts of grammar and vocabulary but in what language they will conduct these discussions I cannot imagine. Perhaps they will speak in tongues. Language will have changed its perimeters entirely and the origins of words will be lost in the anagrams, the meaningless buzz words, the abbreviations we now use.(3)

Anxiety: it’s another big word. Let me attempt to define what I mean by meat art as opposed to machine art, or to put it in a less brutal way: the dichotomy between the real and the Hyperreal that Baudrillard described, the depthless screen that now dominates our collective unconscious and conscious culture through concrete example.

Art in real time: may I introduce a colleague and actor BJK will perform for you a work I wrote some time ago entitled:

Dialogue with Bach’s Cello Concerto in G Major

O dark-brown, velvet wings of music, your feathered notes gather in my heart like the prelude to a storm. Were you, too, God-born in Hades, craving light and air, carving skin back to bone, muscle, nerve, screaming, soaring across skin and ears, trembling with memory, the ache of sound and perfection. The viscera of dreams drawn from the arch and fall of the daemonic bow.

You sang through trees once, heard the ancient beat of the gnarled heart, the smooth-rough surface of tree-skin, warm bark, transgenic; we communicate you and I; me with my tangled roots and hair furled through branches in the green-grey gloaming; I was leaf-blood, photosynthetic, reaching for light and the thin rain of spring; reaching for strung notes in the canopy beyond the sky, beyond the stars as Venus sets beyond the mountains and evening drops like a carapace. In that place of Dryads and ancient spirits, you were shaped and orchestrated from aged wood.

In the warm bowl of your music I become, again, the original primitive, protogenetrix of a thousand years, my genes will span the planet like lei lines, splitting and arcing and re-configuring in the surging of music as we dance under fat moons and stars that curl on the edges of the cosmos; we will feed on leaf mould and magic as the echo of each note vibrates in the viscous marrow of our bones, in the hush of blood, on the lips of the last lover; night shining in his eyes, the warm-wet flesh of endless conduits of communion; windows of lace and lust, champagne and cognac while in the whorl of eardrums the music traces the shell-shaped spiral of melody and tears. Beneath all the wasted tumescence of lovers’ words, music roamed, searching and unsatisfied.

Sound lingers on my skin, like salt slick from sea foam and then you leave but only for a moment, silence, the Concerto waits for the beginning of the world, for the beginning of a breath, in the stasis before the beat of a heart, it gathers itself inward. Tidal pull, the flesh of old moons as the music curls and circles, leaving me empty with longing, speechless, husked like a seed pod and then grows as luscious as a sea-anemone and the opalescent gleam of squid, as endless as the ocean coiled, one note flowing through another, flooding the holes that are torn in succulent, restless nights and in a thousand bruised tears or stars hung like crystals, strung beads amidst the bones of the white ghost gum. Reverberating through the tomb of Orpheus, pulsing and unfulfilled amidst shades and spirits and the majestic presence of Persephone, unable to yield to life or the living song of breath. (4)

What we have n just now experienced can never be repeated; it existed in this space for this time and somewhere between you, the audience and BKJ, together with Bach’s incredible concerto and my words: we were all engaged in a dialectical exchange of energy. It is truly holistic: the observer changes the observed; and vice versa and a fundamental, yet incremental amount of energy is exchanged in what could be described as the poetic equivalent of a function of Quantum physics.

And all of our collective experience was a real time experience.

Spoken languages in theatrical forms is alive it changes form with patterns of syntax, stress, melodies of space and phrasing; it moves through emptiness and delivers something else to birth. It can slay dragons this stuff. You cannot pin one word of it down forever; as you would mutilate a butterfly in the palette of a collector. The word dies there before it is given breath. And this experience, the one you just shared, cannot exist in cyberspace, on screen, in film or even on the printed page. It is the distillation of ephemeral experience. Existing only in its time.

All truly great orators know this, they read their audience with something like an emotional Geiger counter before they roll out those sonorous cadences, those rhythmic patterns underneath repetition and thus they beguile us to their point of view.

But to return to my angst about writing in cyberspace. I should have realised a long time ago that my fascination/repulsion complex about the impact of new technologies on all forms of cultural product would need to find another manifestation in my life. As both a writer and a teacher I have an obsession with language and literature that tends to border on the extreme.

Some four years ago I wrote a course entitled Literature on the Internet which rapidly became a vast, sprawling and complicated set of paradoxical arenas that encompassed not only an investigation into new and traditional texts and genres but ultimately required a re-examination of the nature and function of language itself. The sheer magnitude of available material is overwhelming. However, it was the ability of this seething morass of conundrums to mutate, inexplicably disappear or be reshaped in another text that proved to be truly debilitating.

One cannot work in cyberspace without a high tolerance for the ephemeral and knowledge that one is doomed to an encounter with Fatal Error 404. It appears to be an implicit assumption in many facets of this medium that process is far more important than finished product. Part of this may well be the product of the rapidity with which ideas, genres, software programs and systems proliferate and then become superseded. Nonetheless, there appears to be a definitive code of practice that specialises in a lack of closure or resolution and places an almost fetishised value on the unfinished. This is perhaps best exemplified by Ted Nelson’s famous law regarding the technology and practice which specifies that

… everything must change every six weeks (5)

The most extraordinary artistic example of this law remains William Gibson’s legendary poem, Agrippa: A Book of the Dead which had been deliberately designed with the intent to

Permanently erase itself as it scrolls across a computer screen, endowing writing with the fragility of memory. (6)

Given these parameters I had a need to start my exploration from a reasonably safe harbor. Therefore I began threading a path through the electronic maze by utilizing the resources available essentially as research tools. But even this facile and cowardly approach yielded surprising and often unpredictable results. Once we have ready access to authors’ sites, interviews, message boards, critical forums and interactive capacities they are far closer to interfacing with the origins of text and creative processes than other forms of literary encounters. Equally my students in this course had little time for the mythology of new media as a free and democratic cyberculture that guarantees access and equity to all. Their recognition of the power of e-commerce as a driving force in this culture was almost reflexive.

In the second part of the course I had decided that it was essential to study emerging literary genres that could have been spawned only on-line. This genre is generally described as hypertext and includes sub-categories such as soft and/or kinetic poetry, e-lit, ezines and other hybrid art-form areas that are language inclusive. To understand what hypertext is one must seek its origins in form and content in the philosophical waters of Post-Modernism. Critical thinking in this area abounds with astonishing phrases such as incubating in the docuverse or non-linear multivocality. To the uninitiated such language is both disturbing and impressive. It was therefore with some trepidation that I introduced my students to the works of philosophers such as Roland Barthes (the reader is the author of the text), Jacques Derrida (the author never knew what they were writing about in the first place) and Baudrillard (intertextuality: art as a misch masch of anything). Not surprisingly chaos was unleashed in our theoretical sessions and passions ran hot over the nature and validity of our inherited ideas of what constitutes literary merit.

In desperation, I returned to the works of the Ancient Greeks and we had lengthy discussions about Aristotle’s theory of unity in literature (or more specifically, theatre). The abiding idea that a good story, regardless of its cultural origin, requires an exposition, catharsis and denouement became a literary and philosophical battleground. While some students ardently embraced the idea that literary merit can be found anywhere, even as labelling on canned pet food, there was also a subtle acknowledgment that perhaps literary merit required something more. Aristotle’s ideas were resurrected; an emerging critical appraisal of the deceptive surface of Post-Modernism began to arise. We all returned to cyberspace with new critical perceptions.

Although few theorists would care to define hypertext as a specific genre one could describe it as a literary form that is limited only by an ever expanding technological horizon. It can exist only in a multi-media format and there are almost infinite numbers of ways in which text can be viewed/read dependent on the abundance of links. It is characterized by its non-sequential and non-linear narrative structure. In certain hypertexts it may be impossible to rechart a first reading of a poem or narrative due to its programming features. Poetic text is normally constructed through the use of lexias, and meaning can be dramatically changed by the readers’ choice of link to a different part of the overall construction. The medium itself and the use of colour, moving images, language blocks, animation and sound all mediate the way in which we understand and interpret meaning.

This concurs with Barthes original vision of the infinity of language and of an ideal text in which

the networks are many and interact without any one of them able to surpass the rest; this text is a galaxy…it has no beginning, it is reversible…the codes it mobilizes extend as far as the eye can reach, they are interminable. (7)

For myself, personally, I admit that I still rather like words that stay in the same place, on the same page and in a hard copy text. There is, I suspect, a significant difference between the imaginary world that the reader enters, and essentially constructs, when reading a traditional hard copy literature, and the experience of reading literary text on screen. It would be interesting to study what level of cognitive functions are involved in both processes.

For example, when I first read Keats’ Ode to a Grecian Urn, the experience was so powerful that it is imprinted in my memory complete with a range of tactile and almost sensual associative memories and experiences. I remember the colour of the day, the place I was sitting, the emotional world I was then living in. Perhaps more importantly I constructed a mental image of the figures on the Urn that are completely individual to me. My mental construction of the world within that poem, including visuals is unique to my associations and my experiences. The visual image of the young woman poised on the edge of womanhood, that still unravished bride of quietness, contributed to my understanding of and empathy with the poem. Interestingly when I read the poem again despite the passing of years and experience, my reading of it is still partly textured by that first reading.

It is difficult to imagine therefore what my reaction would actually be if I read the same poem on screen for the first time. Nevertheless, I shall attempt it. One can imagine a beautiful site dedicated to Keats’ work which features Ode to a Grecian Urn printed in a particularly charming Victorian style of font, overlaid on a picture of the original urn that inspired Keats. There is no need for the reader to construct an image, it is already prefabricated and is more likely to be an authentic replication of Keats’ vision than any individual imaginative perception. This image functions to effectively co-opt interpretation on a number of levels. It pre-empts all other visual speculations and colours all levels of meaning, preventing the reader from a spontaneous act of imaginative construction.

The difference in mediating meaning appears at first to be deceptively small, but the level at which the imagination operates in making total worlds out of any reading experience is cognitively complex. Nor is it a simple task to distinguish between what the brain actually does in the process of making meaning, and the power of the function of association. This ability of the mind to associate is not clearly understood. However, it is demonstrable that the role of one’s life experiences, and the function of memory and the subconscious, work to colour and shape our final understanding and appreciation of any written text. (8) This reaction to on-line text and its hard copy equivalent may all be a product of incipient recidivism on my part, but I remain convinced that there is a qualitative difference between these two reading experiences.

Despite these reservations, I have conceded to a growing critical fascination with the concepts and ideas that underlie the construction and architecture of new genres that are specific to the culture of the Internet. I have also conceded, somewhat fractiously, to the idea that serious hypertext has as much to commend it, in terms of literary merit, as other significant forms of literature. One has only to spend sufficient time in Robert Kendall’s word circuits site to conclude that the new genre is not to be dismissed or relegated to the obscure and too difficult category. (9) Kendall’s strength in using the medium lies partly in his discretion. His choice of interactive elements is meaningful, rather than gratuitous, and his choice of media components functions to create a holistic construct within which the poetry is powerfully and delicately placed. Unlike many other writers, Kendall views the new genre as beautiful because

it satisfies strong artistic needs…Electronically endowing poetry with a graphical quality entices the reader to discover the poem’s least accessible places. This may help poetry regain some of its long lost popularity. (10)

It was in the third facet of this unit, however, that my students and I parted philosophical company. It is not possible to study the cultural products of new media without undertaking a serious examination of the function of language.

The new languages that this media has engendered may be categorized into technical, technical vernacular and metaphorical, and not one of these rather loose categories could be described as a discrete entity. The technical jargon used by technicians and programmers share disturbing characteristics. Primarily, they use language as a set of deliberate constructions that function to exclude. In this they remain consistent with the privileged languages of medicine, science and law. In the case of the technical vernacular I am, of course, referring to the amazing proliferation of technical languages, a world of: werkzeuz debugger in django (one of my favourites) or planetubuntu widjets, dojos, ajax, dijit URL, AOL and any number of equally mysterious terms. But I am also referring to a far more interesting vernacular that is evolving as I write.

All of my students had spent serious real time in chatrooms, Myspace, Facebook Flickr, Youtube, they visit second life, hangout in crack sites and are appeared endlessly involved in an exchange of cyberspace communications. They live in Web two land now and being of difficult cast of mind I decided I would track both them and their new dialects down. Like hunting a rabbit in Wonderland.

The issue that still has many outraged is my suggestion that they were not using language to communicate in these fabulous pleasure domes at all. Rather they are using different dialects of Globish and much of what they use is not language based at all. It is code.

Meaning. I based some this outrageous assertion on the extensive work of the linguist, Noam Chomsky and his exhaustive study of grammar, the function of context in speech and writing, his work in lexicology and his particular interest in the role of oral tradition and vernacular as a shaping force in human self-perception across cultures,

An early linguistic precondition for a definition of language is that it must be able to be spoken, otherwise it remains a code. Most musicians can read a musical score but no one has ever been able to speak it. Personally, I have never been able to even decode a knitting pattern, let alone master the ancient art of knitting. Like Chomsky, I believe that there is a significant difference between language and communication and equally a difference between knowledge and information

Perhaps this fascination with the sub-human is reflected in our current obsession with the technological machine, the symbiotic relationship that we fantasise about in relation to cyborgs, robots and other reductionist perceptions of humanity. In the genre of science fiction there is a growing level of metaphorical exploration that posits humans as meat and the machine as clean, logical and intellectually sophisticated far beyond our simple meat dreams. (11)

But to return to the distinction between code/communication and language, the problem is best described by Nadine Gordimer in an essay entitled The Unkillable Word in which she describes human evolution in terms of

Man became man not by the use of tools, but by the use of words…Language has now been degraded into communication, as if it were nothing more than the human variety of an exchange between bees, whales or computers. (12)

Finally there is the linguistic complexity of a more formal and metaphorical language that is evolving to meet the needs of our existence and activities in cyberspace. We speak confidently of inhabiting this space as if it were a physical reality and not a conjunction of cables and satellites. In this world people meet, chat, cohabit in chatrooms, indulge in cybersex, travel extensively and stop at roadside businesses. It is a world in which gender is mutable and fabrication and fantasy are acceptable mediums for defining on-line identity. With the assistance of certain CD ROM programs one can form relationships with avatars, shamans and deep magicians as if they were concrete entities. The language we use here has become far more powerful than a set of mere descriptors. George P. Landow has described our collective experience here as a fascination with the new media screen as a

Simulation of a depthless surface which allows for no play between metaphor and the world it represents. (13)

As a theorist his work reflects much of Baudrillard’s early pioneering work in the philosophy of new media, for it was Baudrillard who first formulated the distinction between the hyperreal and the real, and the way in which this distinction was becoming blurred and indistinct. He remarked in an early essay that

The Internet is encompassing the globe. But it does more than just network the globe…it creates a metaphorical world in which we conduct our lives.


It is precisely within this metaphorical world that we can locate the fragmentation of the boundaries between once discrete bodies of knowledge. It is in this world that new concepts of literacy, literary merit and complex ideas about the nature and function of language are emerging and challenging views that were once held as sacrosanct. It is more than possible that students and teachers may navigate new pathways towards knowledge and empowerment. But in order to undertake this navigation, one must embrace the spirit of the explorers who preceded us, and be prepared to have the intellectual courage to re-evaluate old maps and to foster the passion and dedication required to design new maps. (15)

Let me conclude with a poem: Nijinski (16)

I am Nijinski, I am the one who dies when he is not loved.

Ice has carved my bones out of light. I dance. I am black-hearted, I am implacable. My blood aches to dance.

I am only a shrine in which the Universe dances.

I thought I was alive, they said I was insane. I did not want to live and death came. I did not live long.

I am the dancer in the heart. I had not peace, peace will it never come?

Ease, the flow of muscle, tissue bone. An end, o an end to love and mourning. Death dances me.

I have been mad and yet I understand the truth and in that I stand alone: pure, beautiful, beautiful, incorruptible.

I burn and yet I can still dance.

To me, the earth is one single state.

It is God, the fire in the head, in the heart. My pulse is like an earthquake. I dance the stars, my body is the wind.

I know an infinite range of intricate torment.

I will not scream, I will not scream.

I am Nijinski: I know who moves behind my eyes, the self from whom no secret hides.

I am the child conceived by trees, foretold in the hissing leaves of song, under the moon in the valley of desire. Ah the liquid glance of trees.

I am the child of the dryad. Tell me then if I am not mad.

I cannot dance this pain, I have a heart full of tears.

I will not cry.

And I yearn for the dance of trees, the wind calling me into the grove. So much light, so green, so light.

I live in a great darkness.

Mankind makes merry and God mourns, he weeps, he is in agony. I have nothing and I want nothing. They say I am a magician, I am not. I am God in a body.

I cannot dance this pain.

It is a song that will not sing, I cannot give it movement, colour, voice.

I am Nijinski.

I am the one who dies when he is not loved.

I am love.

I am mad.

I dance.

I am ice, once I was fire. I am not calm, I am like a storm, storm. I am electric. I am an artist who loves all shapes. All are beauty. Beauty is harmony, the breath of God. I like hunchbacks. I like freaks. I am one.

I can dance like a hunchback, feel the twisted muscle,

the throb of the hump, the beast clawing to regain me.
I am a creature of hunted nights. A winged hawk in a cage, a creature in a forgotten zoo. People stare at me and cry.

They do not know that even in these cages I am feeling beauty.

I cannot be silent

I must speak

and when I speak

they will deny me.

They will put me in an asylum.


I will speak with the insane.

I will dance them.

They will know me.

I am God’s problem.

I am his fool.

Kate McNamara

April 2008


1. Orwell, George, 1955, 1984 Penguin, London

2. Watson, Don, 2002 Death Sentence, Random House, Australia

3. McNamara,Kate 1999, Leaves, Canberra Aberrant Genotype Press,

4. op.cit McNamara, p 122

5. McNamara, Kate(2008)Convocation of Archo Anthropology

6. quoted in The Digital Dialectic ed.,2000 Peter Lunenfield,

MIT Press, New York .

7 Writing for the New Millennium (on-line)

8 Roland Barthes and the Writerly Text (on-line)

9. Steven Pinker, 1999 How the Mind Works, MIT Press, New York

For a particularly interesting discussion on the construction of visual

images see Chapter 4, The Mind’s Eye

10. For example Kendall’s poem Dispossession in

hhtp://www. (on-line)

11. The Birth of Electronic Literature (on-line)

12. Chomsky’s works are far too numerous to cite. One could begin with:

Noam Chomsky Rules and Representations, 1980, CUP, New York

13. James Hillman, 1996 The Blue Fire, New York, Harper Press

See his essay on Language and the Poetic Basis of the Mind

14. Here I am referring specifically to the works of William Gibson and

J.G. Ballard.

15. Please see Nadine Gordimer, 1988, in The Essential Gesture: writing, politics and places. Penguin, New York for further discussion on language and creativity

16. McNamara, Kate op cit pp33-34

Other Sources

Convergence of Critical Thinking, George P. Landow (on-line)


Baudrillard in Cyberspace: Internet, Virtuality and Post-Modernity



Bibliography and selected readings

Barthes, Roland Ways of Seeing and Roland Barthes and the Writerly Text (on-line)

Baudrillard, Jean The Ecstasy of Communication, Semiote(x)New York, 1988 and Baudrillard in Cyberspace: Internet, Virtuality and Post-Modernity (on-line)

Chomsky, Noam. Rules and Representations, 1980, CUP, New York

Deleuze, Gilles Cinema1: The Movement Image 1986 University of Minnesota, USA

Gibson, William Neuromancer 1986 Harper Collins USA

Gordimer, Nadine (1998) The Essential Gesture: Writing, Politics and Places, Penguin, New York

Hillman, James1996 The Blue Fire, New York, Harper Press

Keats, John

Landow, George Convergence of Critical Thinking, George P. Landow (on-line)

McNamara, Kate 1999, Leaves, Canberra Aberrant Genotype Press and http://kate,

Pinker, Stephen, 1999, How the Mind Works, MIT Press, New York

Orwell, George, 1955, 1984 Penguin, London

Watson, Don2002 Death Sentence, Random House, Australia

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