In 1991, Hakim Bey published a work entitled TAZ: Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, and Poetic Terrorism. The TAZ is essentially that liminal space that exists on the edges of things, the moments that allow for true creativity that occur outside of the hierarchical structures of society and information. True freedom and empowerment is found only in these moments. Though we often conceive of the Internet as a liminal space in which structural hierarchies are dissembled, Bey differentiates between "the Net" as the hierarchical structures of information flow, and the "counter-Net", which are those clandestine and rebellious practices that subvert this hierarchy (think music downloading...). The "Web", then, enables open and horizontal patterns of information flow. Together, the three comprise the system that make up the Internet. Some great questions are posed- I've excerpted my favorite bit below:
"Also I am not impressed by the sort of information and services proffered by contemporary "radical" networks. Somewhere--one is told--there exists an "information economy." Maybe so; but the info being traded over the "alternative" BBSs seems to consist entirely of chitchat and techie-talk. Is this an economy? or merely a pastime for enthusiasts? OK, PCs have created yet another "print revolution"--OK, marginal webworks are evolving--OK, I can now carry on six phone conversations at once. But what difference has this made in my ordinary life?
Frankly, I already had plenty of data to enrich my perceptions, what with books, movies, TV, theater, telephones, the U.S. Postal Service, altered states of consciousness, and so on. Do I really need a PC in order to obtain yet more such data? You offer me secret information? Well...perhaps I'm tempted--but still I demand marvelous secrets, not just unlisted telephone numbers or the trivia of cops and politicians. Most of all I want computers to provide me with information linked to real goods--"the good things in life," as the IWW Preamble puts it. And here, since I'm accusing the hackers and BBSers of irritating intellectual vagueness, I must myself descend from the baroque clouds of Theory & Critique and explain what I mean by "real goods."
Let's say that for both political and personal reasons I desire good food, better than I can obtain from Capitalism-- unpolluted food still blessed with strong and natural flavors. To complicate the game imagine that the food I crave is illegal--raw milk perhaps, or the exquisite Cuban fruit mamey, which cannot be imported fresh into the U.S. because its seed is hallucinogenic (or so I'm told). I am not a farmer. Let's pretend I'm an importer of rare perfumes and aphrodisiacs, and sharpen the play by assuming most of my stock is also illegal. Or maybe I only want to trade word processing services for organic turnips, but refuse to report the transaction to the IRS (as required by law, believe it or not). Or maybe I want to meet other humans for consensual but illegal acts of mutual pleasure (this has actually been tried, but all the hard-sex BBSs have been busted--and what use is an underground with lousy security?). In short, assume that I'm fed up with mere information, the ghost in the machine. According to you, computers should already be quite capable of facilitating my desires for food, drugs, sex, tax evasion. So what's the matter? Why isn't it happening?
The TAZ has occurred, is occurring, and will occur with or
without the computer. But for the TAZ to reach its full
potential it must become less a matter of spontaneous
combustion and more a matter of "islands in the Net." The
Net, or rather the counter-Net, assumes the promise of an
integral aspect of the TAZ, an addition that will multiply
its potential, a "quantum jump" (odd how this expression has
come to mean a big leap) in complexity and significance.
The TAZ must now exist within a world of pure space, the
world of the senses. Liminal, even evanescent, the TAZ must
combine information and desire in order to fulfill its
adventure (its "happening"
, in order to fill itself to the
borders of its destiny, to saturate itself with its own
becoming.
Last week, I blazed a testy tirade objecting to what I saw as the haughty condescension of one of my favorite psytrance party promoters (here I am referring to all-night electronic music dance parties of the post-hippie variety). The bulletin I replied to proclaimed that the vast majority of psytrance made in 2007 was crap, with the exception being, of course, the EPs they themselves released. There were also claims to the very depths of the "underground"- coming from people seeking to capitalize on selling the notion (and all the apparel, albums, and $20 tickets that come with it). While the scene is indeed "underground," no scene ever remains there once money and "quality control" become the mantras of those throwing the parties.
Pointing the way to quality music is one thing, and indeed these cats rightly earn the title of "experts" of this particular genre of music. However, when said "experts" begin to propagate exclusivity and ridicule the efforts of well-meaning, passionate new producers of the very content we rely on experts to help us discover, they take on the form of the lowly critic. "To define is to kill, to suggest is to create," wrote French poet Stephane Mallarme. To define a genre through criticism does little other than highlight pretension and shatter the confidence of the artists who, particularly in this field, create out of love and thrive off of support by others.
I would know; I’m friends with more than a few such musicians and producers. The critics destroy an unconfident new artist; what keeps any anyone going is inspiration, in its myriad forms. The energized dancing of the partygoers, the feeling of synergetic zen, the comment of a fan on MySpace, the spark of appreciation in the eyes of a hard-to-please friend. To say, “that, there, that was excellent!” in the midst of a frenzied crescendo will propel one to seek that moment again and again. My high school English teacher is my greatest hero, as she lauded me with such praise and support of my writing ("that, there, that was good!" that I began to write furiously, fueled by the twin fires of confidence and passion.
By all means, I fully support relying on experts' opinions to guide us toward quality music, but we are all our own best critics. We would certainly do well to experience, appreciate, and share what we know to be good; better still to spot what could be good and suggest how it could be improved; and finally to simply make what you like to hear yourself, if you’re so picky!
I’ll leave you with the wise words of my favorite poet, e.e. cummings: “I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing, then teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.”
A few things I've learned throughout these past few years spent primarily sucked into the ether of the Internet:
1. Attempting to write a thesis on online social networking can be extremely difficult when one's primary method of procrastination is perusing MySpace and Facebook. At the same time, how convenient! Inspiration abounds!
2. Distance from said ether is vital for perspective: technological determinism, glorification of technology, addiction, and screen-phobia are all very tangible threats to mental clarity.
3. At the end of the day, the extent to which my creative production outweighed my consumption of craptastic information is directly correlated to my sense of inner peace.
4. There is no replacement for human connection, with the notable exception of good television.
