‘Aber es gibt weniger starke Worte, welche die gleiche Bedeutung haben, etwa “Veröffentlichung”. Denn beim Verrat geht es um das Lüften eines Geheimnisses, eines “Rätsels”.’

‘To divulge heißt im Englischen “ein Geheimnis verraten”. Die ganze Medienkultur is ein Verrat.’

‘”Divulgieren” bedeutet: etwas, das vorher geheim war, gemein machen. (…) Dasselbe bedeutet “publizieren”: etwas, das vorher Privat was, öffentlich machen.’

“Worum es (…) geht ist nicht so sehr, öffentlich zu verraten, daß alle Veröffentlichung ein Verrat ist. (…) Vielmehr gehr es darum aufzuzeigen, daß es wieder wie im Altertum und im Mittelalter möglich geworden ist, Informationen auszuarbeiten und sie an andere weiterzugeben, ohne sie deshalb veröffentlichen zu müssen; es ist nicht länger nötig, alphabetisch — im verratenen Geheimcode — zu schreiben, weil neue Geheimcodes zu Verfügung stehen.”

Vilém Flusser, ‘Vom Verrat’, Schriften, Band I, Lob der Oberflächlichkeit, für eine Phänomenologie der Medien, Bollmann, Mannheim, 1995. p. 83, 84, 89.

‘(…) “Phänomenologie der Kulturgeschichte”: Der Willendorfer tritt aus der ihn angehenden Welt heraus, streckt ihr die Hand entgegen, hält darin Körper fest und verändert dann die derart festgehaltenen, stillstehenden, “verstandenen” Körper: Er erzeugt das zeitlose Universum der Skulpturen. Die Leute in Lascaux treten aus diesem driedimensionalen Universum heraus, schauen es sich an, erblicken die Oberflächen der “verstandenen” Körper, stellen sich vor, wie sie die erblickten Oberflächen zueinander verhalten un verändern dann die imaginierten Flächen: Sie erzeugen das tiefenlose Universum der Bilder. Die Leute in Ungarit treten aus diesem zweidimensionalen Unversums heraus, greifen mit den Fingern in die Flächen ein, um die Bildelemente zu “begreifen” reißen sie dann heraus, um sie in Reihen zu ordnen, sie zahlbar zu machen, um sie zu erzählen, besprechen und dann verändern zu können: Sie erzeugen das flächenlose Universum der Texte. Gegenwärtig treten die Leute aus diesem eindimensionalen Unversum heraus, bestasten die Linien mit den Fingerspitzen, lösen die Begriffe aus ihren reihenfolge und spielen mit ihnen, um herauszufinden, was man aus den sich anbietenden Möglichkeiten kombinieren können: Sie erzeugen das dimensionslose Universum der Quanten.’

‘Zuerst hat der Mensch in der ihn angehenden Welt gehandelt, dann hat er geschaut, um zu handeln, dann hat er gefingert und hingehört, um zu sehen und dann handeln zu können, und gegenwärtig tastet er ab, um überhaupt etwas befingern und hören zu können, um es nachher vielleicht anschauen und behandeln zu können.’

Vilém Flusser, ‘Das Abstraktionsspiel’ in Schriften, Band I, Lob der Oberflächlichkeit, für eine Phänomenologie der Medien, Bollmann, Mannheim, 1995, p. 19.

Reading The Idea of Prose of Agamben this morning. Somehow I think reading Agamben is a good way to spend Easter: to at least have a little bit the feeling that it is Easter. As happens mostly these years, I almost forgot that Easter was near. When it (the feeling of time) goes on like this, in 2 years time I will forget when it’s Christmas. On on the other hand, I know the cycling calender by heart. I celebrate the bicycle, apparently. Which brings me to this quote from Agamben: “The horse on which the poet rides, according to an ancient exegetical tradition of the Apocalypse of St. John, is the sound and vocal element of language. (…) It is a sure indication of the symbolic tenacity of this image that in Pascoli at the beginning of this century (and, later, in both Penna and Delfini) one finds that the horse takes on the blithe shape of the bicycle.” (Giorgio Agamben, The Idea of Prose, 1995 (1985), p. 43). So, this celebration of the bicycle might then also be a celebration of the voice of language. Hmm, connect that to the pure joy of listening to Michel Wuyts talking while the peleton rides through the landscape, his words being propelled, so to say, by the spinning of the wheels. (Yes, philosophy is fun).

I do not feel ‘at home’ writing english. I miss that I cannot be subtle when I’d like to be subtle. Writing english for me means that I have to make an even greater effort at begin clear. Constructing clear sentences, constructing simple sentences.

I do not mind writing ‘international english’. I am not ashamed that my english isn’t perfect, or is clearly the english of a Dutchman. The english I use is the english as lingua franca. A communication language. (And just as I can more easily understand the french spoken or written by Africans than the french of Le Monde, so I image my english is easier to understand by non-native english speakers).

I do use english because it will make the stuff I write available to people in my environment. Not all of them read dutch.

I do use english because I will report on my research in english, because it’s the lingua franca of the research community, and not all the people who might (or are) interested in my research do read dutch.

I do admit that I’d rather stick to dutch. I write more easily in dutch. I have the feeling I can be more subtle. I do know better when a sentence is clear and when a sentence is unclear or unnecessarily complex. I can also more easily just ‘type on’ — something I enjoy doing — let the thoughts go from my brain straight into the fingertips so to say. I can also construct complex sentences when that might be necessary, or better.

But then: I also love to mix languages. One thing I do not understand about contemporary literature is why the condition of using multiple languages (meertaligheid) isn’t represented much better in literature. Quite a large part of the population is using multiple languages all the time. Be it because they are amongst people from different countries most of the time (me, on the Jan van Eyck, me with an Irish girlfriend), or because they are born in between two languages (say Dutch and Berber), or prefer speaking a dialect. (Anyway, it would of course limit the possible readership of a book…)

I will use both english and dutch here. I’m using WordPress, so why not use the possibilities. I will tag every post either as ‘en’ — for english — or ‘nl’ — for a post in dutch. I will also tag some posts as ‘de’, for german, and who knows I’ll get to use ‘fr’ for french, or even ‘it’ for italian… Though those categories will only pertain to quotations.

I know I have readers who do not read english. I do know that I also have readers who prefer that I use dutch. Hence I will write in dutch too.

Generally I will use english for all posts concerning my research, for subjects indirectly connected to the research, and for stuff which concern english-written sources anyway.

I will use dutch for more personal stuff, posts on cycling, and for subjects related to the Netherlands and Belgium.

Let’s see how it’ll work out.

How software softly ‘tells’ you how to write. It doesn’t impose, oh no, it just suggests… why wouldn’t you write like this, that’ll be best… don’t you think?

I do not like those suggestions.

That’s why I already have a love-hate relationship with WordPress.

‘Write Post’ suggests, softly, that I write short posts. Like of about 12 lines. The major part of the screen of my 12”-powerbook is taken by the rest of the interface (which is clear enough, no reason for severe criticism). The box for writing is 12 lines long. Of course I can write as much as I want. Of course I can change whatever I’d like to change. But that’s not the point. How many people actually change the default? And besides that: one needs room for the other elements of the interface as well.

The point is how the software (and how it is presented) programs a certain kind of writing. Short posts. Categorized. And writing a short post means that you’re trying to be concise and clear. The act of categorizing installs database-thinking. Consciously or unconsciously, maybe even secretly you are writing for an interlinked and searchable database.

Of course, that is what you are doing anyway. At least, seen from the perspective of a machine. In case you are using bloggingsoftware like WordPress, you are filling a MySQL-database with categorized data. But also if you’re doing everything by hand, old-skool, you are filling the database of the search engines.

But there is a difference (is there?) When writing old-skool in BBedit, using simple HTML, you are constructing a sequence. You are in a flux of time, writing is keeping track of time, it just goes on and on, one post comes after the other.

When using WordPress, or a similar package, your posts may be, by default, presented in a chronological way, yet when writing and categorizing the post, there is much more of a database-feeling. You store your thoughts and notes away, putting them in boxes. Feels more like filing (note: with one ‘l’).

Maybe this is a good analogy. Using WordPress is more like writing notes on filing cards and putting the cards in a box. That is a very specific way (and genre) of writing. Writing, to state that again, is for me more like a flux.

The fact that I first click ‘write post’, then write, then — inside the same interface first choose some categories and then click ‘save’ or ‘publish’, helps the feeling of ‘filing’.

What I like about blogging, (or what I used to like about blogging?) is that it stresses writing as an ongoing activity, the flux.

That does not go very well together with filling filing cards, tagging them in multiple ways, and storing them in boxes.

Anyway, in a sense this also comes down to the by now classic ‘trope’ that computer-writing (hypertext et cetera), is spatial. (Does it?)

Personal note 1: Using filing cards — as a research method — never worked out for me. I have my notebook, I have multiple text-documents in folders on my harddisk, all drafts and rough texts and quotations and copies of webpages. A ‘mess’, one that works for me.

Personal note 2: for me writing has always been an act of keeping up with time. I see it as something that flows. Hence rhythm is very important for me — in writing and reading. I can endlessly listen to jazz, freejazz, free improvisation…