© By Gaylene Barnes, Otago University, 1997.
NB: The terms Cyberspace, Virtual Reality, and Virtual Worlds, etc. within this essay refer to the Internet, Multimedia applications and all other computer based interactive manipulations of electronic data, within which humans have some sort of direct engagement.
Space has to be conceptualised in order to be experienced and understood, our ‘sites’ are informed by the predisposed character of our ‘sight’.1
Cyberspace is an alternate geography that needs to be seen, witnessed, and experienced in order to exist. The flaneur is a suitable metaphoric vehicle for the ‘witnessing’ of this space because ‘the flaneur moves through space and among the people with a viscosity that both enables and priviledges vision.’2 Being a product of modernity, he was a spectator of modern life in the urban sprawl; now a product of post-modernity, the cyborg-flaneur is an adrogynous spectator of virtual spaces. A person’s whose aim is to disappear in the spaces of the city – ‘a prince who is everywhere in possession of his incognito’3 – is the person who has the best view of the basic nature of cyberspace, a space where anonymonity is maintained by a process of vaporisation upon departure. The flaneur is also an ‘image of movement through the social space of modernity’4 – an explorer who finds their identity among the realisations of the city. The cyber-flaneur’s exploration of virtual spaces is acheived through their natural propensity for movement; they wander anonymously within the boundaries of virtual space, developing a virtual identity while connected.
Debord’s concept of dérive provides an applicable methodolgy relevant to the cyber-flâneur within cyberspace. Dérive is the practice of a drifting stroll which is not purposeful, but which follows whatever fascinating cues found within the space. In a dérive people ‘let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the terrain and the attractions they find there’ – it is a ‘technique of transient passage through varied ambiences.’5 The cyber-flaneur begins their journey without a spatial sense of cyberspace, gaining orientation in the space as they go forth and acquire a mental map of relevant ‘sites’. This essay attempts to understand how the cyber-flaneur gains spatial cognition in the non-space of virtual worlds by analysing various modes of being in cyberspace.
Mapping in Cyberspace
Cyberspace exists only as a cognitive map. The bewildering amount of data that exists in electronic space on storage devices constitutes a labyrinth that requires ‘the inner map we make for ourselves, plus the layout of the software’6 in order to navigate our way through the information wilderness. Spatial cognition in such a non-space is built through exploration, and not observation. There are no limits to the exploration in cyberspace, as it has no fixed boundaries in time or space. The cyber-flaneur instead creates their own spatial and temporal boundaries through a cognitive mapping of points of orientation. The identification of escape routes is the most primitive form of orientation in such an open system.7 In order to be oriented, one must know how to leave. ‘Man’s feeling about being properly oriented in space runs deep. Such knowledge is ultimately linked to survival and sanity. To be disoriented in space is to be psychotic.’8
Fortunately virtual space offers such an exit point, albeit only one, which is found at the point of entry. All journeys in cyberspace lead deeper into the labyrinthine web of links, further away from the exit point – as one shifts in temporal space further away from the point of entry. Exiting this world is finding your way back to the place where you started. Thus a mental map of cyberspace is merely a temporal recollection of where one has been; it does not offer any guidance as to where one is going, because that space is yet to exist.
Attempts have been made to infer people’s internal representations of spatial environments (such as the city) to analyze the ‘internalized reflection and reconstruction of space in thought’9 – in order to understand human spatial cognition. The more familiar a person is with their surroundings, the more likely they are to have internal representations that are spatial (survey-maps with buildings, landmarks and districts) rather than sequential (route-maps: tracing locomotion using roads and rivers as organizing principles).10 But at whatever level a persons internal representation of an environment may be, all people create a mental model of the space they inhabit due to a controlling drive to ‘organize the environmental impressions into meaningful patterns.’11 Tracing ‘routes’ is an important step in the development of spatial cognition that is impossible on the Web. The complexity and fluidity of virtual spaces such as the Internet make route-mapping a difficult operation, because it is a construction of endless hyperlinks that rarely physically relate to the ‘route’ along actual fiber-optic connecting-lines. The cyber-flaneur is left to flounder through the landmarks (sites) of the Web without a proper sequential orientation (and in danger of becoming psychotic).
But such route-maps are less helpful in developing an understanding of space anyway, because they miss the act of passing by – ‘the operation of walking, wandering, or “window shopping”‘ as de Certeau puts it.12 As the cyber-flaneur engages in dérive within a virtuality, they themselves give ‘shape to spaces’; ‘they are not localized; it is rather they that spatialize.’13 The superior spatial/survey map that is conceived through such ‘spatialization’ is formed by an exploration of a virtual world’s ‘landmarks,’ where the pathways that join them are seen as insignificant. Although the resulting ‘survey-map’ is often just as unhelpful in providing an orientation as the route-map because of the volatility of the space. Sites and favored landmarks often change their location or even cease to exist. But this fact only further supports the requirement that the cyber-flaneur continuously re-spatialise a cognitive map upon each separate journey within cyberspace.
First, if it is true that a spatial order organizes an ensemble of possibilities (e.g., by a place in which one can move) and interdictions (e.g., by a wall that prevents one going any further), then the walker actualizes some of these possibilities. In that way, he makes them exist as well as emerge. But he also moves them about and he invents others, since the crossing, drifting away, or improvisation of walking privilege transform or abandon spatial elements.14
Cyberspace travelling is essentially an experience in manipulating spatial organizations, ‘a labyrinthine reality which produces an “anthropological”, poetic and mythic experience of space.’15 The effect of successive encounters and occasions constantly alter the mental map of cyberspace, and direct the route of one’s travel uncontrollably. Cyberspace is indeed only a ‘practiced place’ where a dependable map is in fact impossible to construct.
Travelling in Cyberspace
Just as the flâneur enjoyed the fluidity of the stroll in the city – an unconfined ‘pedestrian’ movement where he can anonymously embrace the glittering spectacles of modern life without necessarily having to participate in them – so too does cyberspace offer to the cyber-flaneur an unrestricted flânerie. Or at least it offers the appearance of freedom of movement, as wandering the freeways of electronic information involves a mobile subjectivity where a displacement from one non-space to another non-space constitutes an imaginary flânerie. Spatial experiences within the panorama and the freeway provide a representation of non-space mobility applicable to travel in cyberspace.
The concept of virtual travel to another reality was first experienced by the nineteenth-century visitor to Panorama paintings. They were 360-degree cylindrical paintings, incorporating real objects and sound effects, that were viewed by an observer in the center. Battle scenes, the countryside, mountain views, and 360-degree scenes of cities from a high vantagepoint were the most popular panoramas. This “circumambient scenery” filled more than the 180 degrees of the observer’s horizontal field of view – supplying the necessary factor for full realistic visual cognition. These static environments created a virtual travel where one could be transported to an artificial “elsewhere” by providing an absolute presence of another reality. But this virtual spatial and temporal mobility was dependent on the physical immobility of spectators – therefore introducing into human spatial cognition what Friedberg calls ‘the notion of confined place combined with the notion of journey.’16
Travelling the freeway also provides an example of this mobile subjectivity. It is a paradoxical mobility that oscillates between feelings of stasis and motion. The driver sits immobile behind a sheet of glass, experiencing a disengagement from the mise-en-scene of the world in motion beyond the pane. The driver is also quite aware of the private and static world within the automobile, within which the world elsewhere beyond the glass is conceived of as a theatre of derealized space.17 The limited physical ‘actual’ mobility of the driver corresponds with the limited actions of the cyber-flaneur, who need only enact a few small movements of arm and wrist in order to be transported to a spatial elsewhere beyond the glass.
In nonspace, the body in motion is no longer a kinesthetic key to reality, for at the wheel of the automobile … [or at the keyboard of a desktop computer], engaged in small motor movements which have become highly skilled or automatic, it explores space as an inert mass, technically or electronically empowered with virtual or actual speed.18
An electronic flânerie turns space into ‘their virtual replacements, “conduits” that supplant the need for physical mobility.’19 These ‘conduits’ in cyberspace are not places but vectors, which one passes through without even knowing. While freeway travel provides the stimulus of the spectacle of space in motion ‘in-between’ the departure and arrival at ‘dwelling-places’, the actual experience of travel between locations on the Internet is fraught with a nothingness, where one must endure the presence of the site of the departure until the abstract data journey along the conduits is complete. But just as the magnitude on the freeway is measured in minutes, rather than miles, the amount of travel within the Internet is also measured in time, rather than kilobytes. The passing of time is the only way of identifying movement within this space of dislocated hyperlinks between locations. The act of walking/driving about on the Internet between one non-space to another non-space constitutes an erratic flânerie – a series of landed bounces without the experience of duration’s spent in the air.
Mobilised in Cyberspace
Engaging with cyberspace is a form of virtual travel, where an immobile spectator enjoys virtual mobility to ‘elsewhere’s’ in the non-space of electronic information (sites). Although the cyber-flaneur is physically immobile, their gaze is “mobilized” by an illusion of spatial and temporal mobility – a perception of virtual locomotion in time within an alternative geography.20 Television and cinema offer a ‘perceptual displacement’ similar to that provided by the panorama and freeways, except that it defers external reality by providing a ‘controlled, commodified, and pleasurable substitution.’21 These are worlds where space is not experienced as a whole continuous form, but worlds of non-space which are ‘dynamized’ and ‘segmented’ while still managing to engage the viewer in a virtual transportation.
Walter Benjamin privileges film as the agent of a temporal rupture in the spatial materials of modernity. Film burst apart the ‘prison-world’ of nineteenth century architectural space ‘so that now, in the midst of its far-flung ruins and debris, we calmly and adventurously go travelling.’22 Benjamin attributed the new formations of the subject through film, such as the close-up, for this revolution in spatial cognition. The changing eyelines and movements of the camera’s point-of view, combined with the changes of scale along the z-axis of spatial depth engage the viewer in a conversation of ‘various degrees of nearness.’23 Television, in particular, with its ability to condense multiple worlds into one visual field contributed to the acceptance of engaging in various ‘elsewheres’ simultaneously. While the technology of the VCR allowed the viewer to recreate the spectacle through its ability to fast forward/reverse, slow motion – always able to replay, repeat and return. These technologies enabled the viewer to be in control of the time and space of their virtual transportation to an elsewhere. The spectator need not be lost in an absorptive experience.
Virtual transport in cyberspace allows for an even greater sense of control, due to the reconceptualizing of the spectator. ‘In a marked epistemological shift in the experiential position, an externally driven subjectivity is replaced by a more self-generated subjectivity.’24
Assimilated in Cyberspace
The histories of both cinema and television technology have been marked by attempts to expand the “reality” of the spectating experience … but both cinematic and televisual spectatorship relied on the relative immobility of the viewer – the spectator in the position of looking into a separate “window on the world ” Virtual reality technologies attempt to expand the “reality effect” to more exacting extremes by switching the viewer from a passive position to a more interactive one, from an observer separate from the apparatus to a participant.25
The fictitiousness of these virtual environments means that such a travel is actually ‘imaginary’, yet they are also entirely ‘real’ in terms of their immersive potential. Margaret Morse has termed this enigma the fiction effect, which involves an individual closing off the reality of here and now in order to sink into another world.26 And Michael Heim has noted that ‘our capacity to immerse ourselves in a symbolic element has developed to where we hardly even notice the disappearing act.’27 The extent to which these other worlds of symbolic space attempt to recreate reality by employing high-tech immersive techniques, such as fully immersive virtual reality, will effect the cyber-flaneur borders of believable reality. One may still be mobilised within an elsewhere while still maintaining it as separate from ‘reality’. But the cognitive distance from an immersive ‘elsewhere’ is reduced by the extent the user sensually participates in the virtual environment.
The more interactive the virtual world is, the more immersive it appears. ‘Interaction affects perception. Without interaction our view of the world is predetermined by someone or something else – we are limited to a particular path through the world and a particular perspective.’28 The more that this world resembles reality affects the assimilated participation of the user – the real world becomes a metaphor for virtual space. The spatial and temporal limitations of reality seem to define the structure of many virtual applications. Although virtual worlds can offer significantly different perspectives, developers tend to limit the space in order to provide an environment based on reality where a user’s re-orientation is less wrought with anxiety.
Consuming in Cyberspace
The arcades of the nineteenth-century were also sites where virtual travel was experienced. They were actually the breeding ground for the aimless roaming flaneur, who were the ‘passionate spectators’29 of the urban landscape in the nineteenth century. The flaneur found that the shop window ‘was the proscenium for visual intoxication, the site of seduction for consumer desire.’30 The arcades were sites of spectacles, majestic buildings, promenades and fashions that excited the insatiable appetite the flaneur had for urban life in the capital cities. They were so arrested by the spectacle of consumption within the arcades, that their gaze was mobilized beyond the world at their feet – instead they traveled in virtual style within the spectacle of their desires.
Cyberspace not only mobilizes the flaneur’s gaze within an elsewhere by providing the means of virtual travel, but also by intoxifying the gaze with an endless succession of spectacles. The user is thereby ensnared within the virtual space merely by the force of their desire for spectacle. Just as the window-displays of the arcade flaunt the commodity ‘to the casual passer-by in a tantalizingly incomplete manner’,31 so do virtual worlds embellish the spectacle with an iconic stature that amounts to fetishism.
Fetishistic desire does not require that the object have tactile and sensual qualities, non-tangible illusions such as virtual scenes have just as much power to become fetishes. This is because the image of an object is in fact savored more than the actual thing itself – the context within which the object is made to have meaning assumes an importance to the consumer that is usually completely removed from the context of their own reality. Commodities are therefore consumed based on an illusion within the consumer’s mind. Guys Debord in The Society of the Spectacle states that, ‘The real consumer becomes a consumer of illusions. The commodity is this factually real illusion, and the spectacle is its general manifestation.’32
This is the principle of commodity fetishism, the domination of society by “intangible as well as tangible things,” which reaches its absolute fulfillment in the spectacle, where the tangible world is replaced by a selection of images which exist above it, and which simultaneously impose themselves as the tangible par excellence.33
The act of window shopping through the intangible electronic malls of the Internet fulfils an aesthetic need more than a tangible one. The phantasmagoria of the arcades is directly transferred to the imagined virtual space, creating a flaneur, who will consume cyberspace – absorbing it as fervently as they are absorbed by it. Travelling in cyberspace is in fact a ‘commodity-experience,’34 an experience purchased by the cyber-flaneur, an elite who can afford the leisure and money to attend.
The shopping mall – and its apparatical extension, the shopping mall cinema – offers a safe transit into other spaces, other times, other imaginaries. These “elsewheres” are available to the consumer in a theatrical space where psychic transubstantiation is possible through purchase.35
Scopic Power in Cyberspace
Cyberspace can offer an omnipotent voyeurism comparable to the scopic power offered to the guards within the Panopticon prison. The Panopticon prison was invented by Jeremy Bentham in 1791 for the purpose of establishing scopic control over its criminal inhabitants.36 The panopticon building was a twelve sided polygon, made with a skeleton of iron and an external skin of glass, where the surveiller in a central observation post had supreme visibility over all the activities of the inhabitants, yet himself remained unseen. This unseen panopticon guard is synonymous with the voyeur of cyberspace in that they are both in a position of omnipotent voyeurism. The cyber-traveler is also unseen by the ‘inhabitants’ (sound, graphics, text, etc.) of virtual space, while the immobile ‘inhabitants’ are confined to the spatial matrix of the prison of cyberspace – where they are under the totalizing eye of the cyber-traveler.
When one enters the realm of cyberspace, it is without the body and therefore out of the grasp of the rules of physicality. The cyber-traveler is no longer clasped within the spatial boundaries of matter, they are effectively ‘lifted up’ leaving behind the mass of endless walls and labyrinths below. Michel de Certeau explains how this elevation transfigures the traveler into a ‘solar Eye’ who may look down like a god, by using as an example the voyeur at the summit of the World Trade Center in New York. He claims: ‘It puts him at a distance. It transforms the bewitching world by which one was “possessed” into a text that lies before one’s eyes.’37 The cyber-traveler possesses complete scopic power over the texts of cyberspace, where they may create and view perspectives on the world beyond those constrained within the laws of vision established during the Renaissance, i.e. 3-point perspective. One may experience walking through a wall or a floor; one’s travelling viewpoint need not be constructed at approximately 1.5 metres from the foundation they appear to stand on. This lust to be a ‘viewpoint’ is the result of a an ‘exaltation of a scopic and gnostic drive’38 – the same scopic drive which haunts users of cyberspace productions ‘ by materializing today the utopia that yesterday was only painted.’39
Watched in Cyberspace
Cyberspace is akin to the Panopticon prison not only in the way that the cyber-flaneur is synonymous with the surveiller, but also in the way that the cyber-flaneur is synonymous with the Panopticon inhabitants. It was claimed that the Panopticon architecture could change the subjectivity of the inmate, as [he] was always under the imagined and permanent gaze of the jailer. Foucault argued that ‘the major effect of the Panopticon [was] to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power’.40 The architecture of the panopticon forced inmates to internalize the sense of their surveillance, thus imagined scrutiny became as effective as the actual surveillance by the prison guards.
Similar to the way that the panopticon prisoners continuously felt that they were objects of ‘imagined’ scrutiny, the cyber-flaneur knows that they are also objects of a continuous scrutiny. Internet surveillers can easily gauge who visits what site, from where, and how many times – usually for marketing purposes – to analyse the sites most visited, by whom, and for how long, etc. The Foucauldian metaphor of the Panopticon is often used ‘to draw an image of a society totally dominated by networks of electronic surveillance.’41 We live it would seem within a surveillance society, a society desperate to know our habits and haunts. This inverts the scopic power achieved by an absent body and a totalizing eye by creating an internalised sense of powerlessness. Cyber-flaneur’s know that they may be watched and counted – never sure whether they are under surveillance at any given time of travel. Cyberspace as synonymous with Foucault’s panopticon tower ‘has assumed … [a] calculating power that transforms from an external reality to an internalised phantasmagoria – the ideology of modernity – ‘a vision”.42 Just as the sense of continuous scrutiny is internalized by the cyber-flaneur, so is the scopic power – which is in fact only imaginary visual omnipotence – a ‘vision’ of power. Virtual environments actually have a limited scope where possible movement within the space is preordained and restricted by its developers. The scopic power the flaneur has is actually just as subjective as the imagined surveillance felt within the cyberspace panopticon.
Trapped in Cyberspace
The spectator is therefore confined by their own subjectivity within virtual space, just as much as criminals are confined within the Panopticon prison – the only difference being that the Panopticon prison is a measurable incarceration, while cyberspace is infinitely endless -without measure. William Gibson in his novel Neuromancer (1984) coined the term ‘cyberspace,’ he later referred to it as ‘an infinite cage.’43 Micheal Heim noted in relation to Gibson’s conjecture:
We can travel endlessly in cyberspace, without limits, for cyberspace is electronic, and electronically we can represent not only the actual physical universe but also possible and imagined worlds. But to a finite incarnate being, such an infinity constitutes a cage, a confinement to a nonphysical secondary realm.44
Cyberspace, in the form of the Internet, is a prison in that it is a captivity without boundaries. Like the rhizome weed of Deleuze and Guattari, it has neither beginning nor end; it is reducible to neither the One nor the multiple. ‘The rhizome is an acentered, nonhierarchical, nonsignifying system without a General and without an organizing memory or central automaton, defined solely by a circulation of states.’45 The internet no longer has an origin that one can name; it is only a collection of connections that confines the cyber-flaneur to an endless journey in a non-spatial matrix.
Boundaries serve not only to confine – they also provide the security of a spatial fastening to the tangible. Only within the cognizant spatial borders of our lives can we exercise any freedom of movement. Even the most apprehensive border of our life – Death – provides a place from which to define our lives. Don Delillo remarks on the importance of the boundary of death within his novel White Noise:
Isn’t death the boundary we need? Doesn’t it give a precious texture to life, a sense of definition? You have to ask yourself whether anything you do in this life would have beauty and meaning without the knowledge you carry of a final line, a border or limit.46
Infinite movement in cyberspace constitutes a confinement because the movement is absent of the spatial boundaries which define the experience of movement. One is effectively ‘lost in movement’ in a cryptic space, where connections lead only to more connections in a never-ending mirror of non-space. This is because movement does not in itself define space – as to move is to actually ‘lack a place’. ‘It is the indefinite process of being absent and in search of a proper.’47 A search that will continue endlessly as cyberspace does not possess a proper – being constructed entirely of dreamed-of places and ‘nowheres’.
As stated in the beginning, the cognitive geography of cyberspace is composed of either: Spatial cognition (after an experience of virtual bounded ‘places’) and Sequential cognition (after experience of the connections/links between boundaries). Experience within the prison of infinite space may prove that cyberspace is not entirely mappable, but neither are these ‘third spaces’ entirely unmappable, as a cognitive geography is spatialised through the processes of mobilisation. In conclusion, the cognitive map of spatial order hereby constructed within this cyberspace has been actualized by your ‘walking’, your attendance within.
© By Gaylene Barnes, Otago University, 1997.
1. Jenks, Chris (1995) ‘Watching Your Step: The History and Practice of the Flaneur’ in Visual Culture ed. Chris Jenks, Routledge, London, pp. 144.
2. Ibid., p.146
3. Charles Baudelaire ‘The Painter of Modern Life’ ed. J. Mayne, London, 1964, p. 9.
4. Jenks, p.148
5. Guys Debord, quoted in Jenks, p.154
6. Heim, Michael (1991) ‘The Metaphysics of Virtual Reality’ in Virtual Reality: Theory, Promise and Practice eds. Sandra Helsel and Judith Paris Roth, Meckler, Westport, p. 31.
7. Ittelson, William H. (1976) ‘Environmental Perception and Contemporary Perceptual Theory’ in Environmental Pschology: People and their Physical Settings Proshansky, Ittelson, Rivlin (eds.) Holt Rinehart and Winston, New York, p. 152.
8. Hall, Edward T. (1976) ‘The Anthropology of Space: An Organizing Model’ in Environmental Pschology: People and their Physical Settings Proshansky, Ittelson, Rivlin (eds.) Holt Rinehart and Winston, New York, p.159.
9. Hart, Roger A. and Moore, Gary T. (1976) ‘Extracts from The Development of Spatial Cognition: A Review’ in Environmental Psychology: People and their Physical Settings Proshansky, Ittelson, Rivlin (eds.) Holt Rinehart and Winston, New York, pp 259.
10. Ibid., p.279
11. Lynch, Kevin and Rivkin, Malcolm ‘A Walk Around the Block’ in Environmental Psychology: People and their Physical Settings Proshansky, Ittelson, Rivlin (eds.) Holt Rinehart and Winston, New York, p. 373.
12. de Certeau, Michael (1984) ‘The Practice of Everyday Life’, trans. Steven F. Rendall, Berekeley, University of California Press, p. 97.
14. de Certeau, p. 98.
15. Donald, James (1995) ‘The City, The Cinema: Modern Spaces’ in Visual Culture ed. Chris Jenks, Routledge, London, p. 78.
16. Friedberg, Anne (1993) ‘Window Shopping: Cinema and the Postmodern’ University of California Press, Los Angeles, p. 29.
17. Morse, Margaret (?) ‘An Ontology of Everyday Distraction: the Freeway, the Mall and Television’ in Logics of Television ed. D. Mellencamp, pp. 203-4.
18. Ibid, p. 204.
19. Friedberg, p. 110.
20. Friedberg, p. 30
21. Friedberg, p. 122.
22. Benjamin, Walter ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’ (1935). p. 236.
23. Morse, p. 207.
24. Friedberg, p. 110.
25. Friedberg, p. 144
26. Morse, p. 193.
27. Heim, p.27
28. Travis, David , Watson, Toby and Atyeo, Mike (1994) ‘Human Psychology in Virtual Environments’ in Interacting with Virtual Environments ed. Lindsay MacDonald and John Vince, John Wiley and Sons Ltd. p. 55.
29. Baudelaire, The Painter of Modern Life’, p. 9.
30. Friedberg, p. 65.
31. Ferguson, Harvie (1992) “Watching the world go round: Atrium culture and the psychology of shopping” in Lifestyle Shopping: The Subject of Consumption, ed. Rob Shields, Routledge, London, p. 29.
32. Debord, Guy (1967) La Société du Spectacle Editions, Buchet-Chastel, Paris. p. 47.
33. Debord, p. 36.
34. Friedberg, p. 115.
35. Friedberg, p. 121-122
36. Friedberg, p. 17
37. de Certeau, p. 92.
38. de Certeau, p. 92.
40. Foucault, Michel (1977) ‘The Order of Things’ p. 201.
41. Barry, Andrew (1995) ‘Reporting and Visualising’ in Visual Culture ed. Chris Jenks, Routledge, London, p. 45.
42. Jenks, p. 149.
43. Gibson, William (1988) Mona Lisa Overdrive Bantam Books, New York, p. 49.
44. Heim, p. 80.
45. Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Felix (1987) A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, p. 21.
46. Don Delillo (1984) White Noise Pan books, London. p. 228.
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