You have no idea how psychologically difficult it was. I sometimes consoled him, hugging him, telling him it was going to be ok; everything was going to be all right. I have so much admiration and love for my father. He sacrificed his career, everything a man could wish for, in order to follow his inner guidance, the wind of change and transformation that took form in his dreams. Above all, he had the courage to turn the page, to completely change his life in order to get to know himself better, to better understand the Source Code and to transmit it to us today.
Now, with this revolution of Knowledge for the science of our conscience, the great changes he undertook take on their full meaning. Surpassing all of the previous research into the meaning of dreams, Kaya opens the path to our autonomy of conscience; he helps us understand the multi-dimensions, the metaphysics that we all have within ourselves. He may have been ridiculed and denigrated as a man, but this whole path was all worthwhile to help people all over the world who are on a spiritual path today, seeking to make sense of their lives; therapists, psychiatrists, psychologists and doctors now use The Source Code to help patients better understand how their conscience works.
The pun is commonly dismissed as the lowest form of wit, and punsters are often unpopular for their obsessive wordplay. But such attitudes are relatively recent developments.
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It both revolutionized language and played a pivotal role in making the modern world possible. Skillfully weaving together stories and evidence from history, brain science, pop culture, literature, anthropology, and humor, The Pun Also Rises is an authoritative yet playful exploration of a practice that is common, in one form or another, to virtually every language on earth. At once entertaining and educational, this engaging book answers fundamental questions: Just what is a pun, and why do people make them?
How did punning impact the development of human language, and how did that drive creativity and progress? And why, after centuries of decline, does the pun still matter? Account Options Sign in. Facebook, in just a few years, has become one of the central tools people use to communicate with each other in everyday life. However, the perceived freedom of action on the site and the actual processes that are permitted in Facebook's set up don't always match up: This book identifies the interrelations between user text actions and the software environment framing them.
It takes a critical perspective on Facebook and develops a model that grants methodological access to complex interlaced practices incorporating media, text and literacies. It shows Facebook users employing idiosyncratic and Facebook-specific literacy practices, and gives weight to the larger hypothesis of the software service as an ideological setting designed to calculate and standardize human behaviour. This is cutting edge work and of huge importance to modern fields of discourse analysis and computer-mediated communication.
Flowing text, Original pages. Web, Tablet, Phone, eReader. It syncs automatically with your account and allows you to read online or offline wherever you are. Please follow the detailed Help center instructions to transfer the files to supported eReaders. The Pun Also Rises: A former word pun champion's funny, erudite, and provocative exploration of puns, the people who make them, and this derided wordplay's remarkable impact on history.
This new edition extends the scope of the first edition by providing additional material on formalization in a very accessible manner. We have also become accustomed to getting stuff for free: Without a subsidy system like the one that underpins journalism in Scandinavia, the anglophone nations have taken a typically laissez-faire approach: The newspaper industry has endured a dismal period of contraction, retrenchment and economic rationalisation. Serious newspapers have shrunk from broadsheet to tabloid; experienced journalists are laid off at the same time as programmers and information architects are hired to facilitate the relentless process of digitisation.
The shift from page to screen is not simply a question of format: A newspaper only needs to be produced once a day; a website must be updated constantly to remain relevant and to compete for the flickering attention of online readers, who are free to switch from one publication to another on a whim. These changes to media are centrifugal: It is striking, however, that for media that did not exist prior to the internet — digital-native media, we might call them, such as social networks — the tendency has been towards centralisation.
Not everyone has an account on Facebook, but enough of us do that not having one has become inconvenient. The transformation of how we communicate with each other has been extraordinary in its suddenness. Now, we stay in touch passively via a stream of updates and photos that the system guesses, based on an aggregate of behaviour: It is worth interrogating that last point a little, because with social media the devil is in the details.
In fact, the details are the source of its multi-billion-dollar value. The exact algorithm by which our Facebook stream is determined is, of course, a closely guarded trade secret. But we know the basic elements from which it is constructed: This function, this automatic curation of a personalised news feed, is made to appear natural, but it is, in fact, an extraordinary feat of engineering that harnesses a vast body of data in order to provide a highly individuated and customised — yet entirely automated — experience.
The ways that Facebook allows us to interact with each other are likewise designed to appear similar to real-world interactions.
The True Colours of Facebook , describes in painstaking detail the ways in which the acts that Facebook allows us to perform appear to be natural extensions of offline social interactions, but are in fact translated by Facebook into a specific set of predefined speech acts that may or may not correspond to what we intend, and are often broadcast to a much broader and more diffuse audience than we realise. She does not realise that in doing this, she is broadcasting this change of status to her entire network, not all of whom are aware of her recent bereavement.
One male acquaintance takes note and attempts a flirtation, with predictably embarrassing results. Indeed, it is a uniquely powerful one, able to set the terms of what kinds of utterances can be made and who gets to read them. This channelling of activity is not unique to Facebook. This amplification effect provides a platform of unparalleled scope for discourse that strikes a popular chord. But it is certainly true that Facebook is a far from neutral platform that does shape the kinds of conversations which take place within it. The presence of people from many different areas of our lives tends to push us into an artificially coherent presentation of self that used to be necessary only on those rare occasions when people from all aspects of life were present, such as at weddings or funerals.
The kind of self that can be presented in these circumstances tends to be inoffensive, tamed, bland, dumbed-down and utterly inauthentic. Contrary to individualism, singularity is not competitive, exchangeable or standardized. Another effect of the use of social media is a mental state that is both engaged and disengaged. Subjectively, we feel like we are participating in something with our friends and acquaintances.
Objectively, we are listlessly scrolling and clicking. But more often they have a deadening effect. They provide only a surrogate for agency that dissipates the potential for real political engagement in the ineffectual gestures of a simulacrum self. It would be a mistake, however, to view such activities as meaningless. They certainly do have meaning, but not the meaning their participants intend. Everything on Facebook has a meaning, in aggregate: This is, perhaps, the reason that Facebook does not offer a feature whose absence puzzles so many new users: At its core, Facebook is not a social platform.
It is a solution to a very specific engineering problem: How to turn raw affect into structured taxa, elusive qualities into measurable quantities, analogue into digital. In the conversion of emotion into numbers, all that matters is that the person has a strong feeling about something, as opposed to not caring about it at all.
It does not matter what that feeling is. And its customers are its advertisers, not its users. It is sometimes said that Facebook users, rather than being customers, are commodities, for sale to advertisers.
There is some truth in this. But it does not tell the whole story. From where does Facebook get its value — currently estimated at well in excess of a hundred billion dollars? His classic example, which he uses to introduce the concept in Capital, is the difference in price between a coat and the cloth that was used to create it. The reason that the coat is worth more than its weight in cloth is that someone cut, sewed and hemmed that cloth into a coat.
With the digital industry, however, there are no raw materials to take into account, just data. But whose labour is generating the value? Facebook has a small workforce for a corporation of its value: Can its enormous value derive from the brilliance of its programmers, data architects, network engineers, and so on? Or does the fact that the system is largely automated mean that Facebook runs more like a factory, in which robots have largely replaced workers? Is it the software that generates the value? What makes Facebook valuable is the size of its user-base.
No matter how sophisticated the data-mining algorithm, it is of no use without data to be mined. So Facebook makes a lot of money from our messages and idle clicks. Our end of the bargain is that we get to use its services for free. Social media is the tip of the iceberg: This means that the economy is poised to concentrate an enormous amount of power and wealth in the hands of whoever owns the biggest and most sophisticated servers.
It is an enormous, networked set of servers around the world, all of which need to be kept in very specific conditions: His sceptical response is to ask: Some benefits flow to the general public, but the owners of the biggest servers are by far the biggest beneficiaries.
A Critical Hypertext Analysis of Social Media: The True Colours of Facebook
He approaches the problem as a technical one, an engineering flaw: When a file is copied over the network, its link to its author is severed. The fact that the original is retained gives the illusion that no one is harmed by this copying. The greedy behaviour of large film studios and major record labels may make them seem like deserving targets for the supposedly subversive practise of file sharing via BitTorrent.
The value of the original recording is rapidly diminished by the proliferation of copies. Lanier applies this same logic to the finance industry. By allowing the risk associated with a mortgage to be copied multiple times and used to generate enormous sums of money, the value of the original mortgage is ultimately diminished. It is socialised risk and private profit. This sounds, on the surface, like a socialist critique of capitalism.
A Critical Hypertext Analysis Of Social Media The True Colours Of Facebook Volker Eisenlauer
But he explicitly disavows any such radical critique. According to Lanier, that road leads inevitably to the oppression of Soviet-style top-down control. What he wants, he insists, is to save capitalism from its own excesses: His solution — as might be expected from a programmer — is a technical one.
The role for government is the provision of an identity service, by which every chunk of information — photos, recipes, blog posts, videos, snippets of programming code, even the kind of behavioural data currently harvested for free by the big social media companies — would be linked to the identity of its owner, who would then be able to set a price for its use. Even complex media combinations would retain links to the creators of each of its component parts.
In two speculative and rather whimsical interludes, Lanier contrasts a dystopian future, putatively based on the direction in which we currently seem to be heading, with the future he suggests as a more economically healthy alternative. In the dystopian future, a man is sitting on the beach, sick and thirsty.
A Critical Hypertext Analysis of Social Media
But the man does not have a job, because so much is automated, and he cannot afford to buy a drink of water. The robots present the man with a choice between dying of thirst and spending his last credits at the nearby casino. He records a video of his sandcastle and uploads it to the internet; it rapidly accumulates many views around the world. When the man leaves the beach, he has earned enough money from the popularity of his sandcastle to enjoy a large meal.
The naivety here is quite shocking. A world in which people derive an income from videos of sandcastles would not be full of creative innocence that just happens to be remunerated. The race would be on to build the biggest, most sensational sandcastle, preferably with a soundtrack by Skrillex and half-naked, surgically-enhanced female bodies gyrating in the background.
Only the showiest and most vulgar would profit. The whole activity of making sandcastles would be polluted and debased. Profitable play does not make profit-seeking into fun; it turns erstwhile innocent fun into a scramble for money. This is already the case, to some degree, in the egoistic pursuit of internet fame: How much worse would it be if our media were directly monetised? The potential vulgarisation of sandcastle-building aside, Lanier insists that his model of micro-payments would be good for everyone:
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