It’s funny that this year has been secretly about versions. a.Version, of course, but also versions of self, past scholarship, re-version, con-version, transgression. Saving the game in a different save slot so you can go back to it later. It’s funny, of course, how things that seemed to be abstract objects from your past life come bubbling up into your actual, present life, isn’t it? That we hear echoes constantly of the things that we once did?

I have been considering for a while how the person I used to be became the person I am now, how more than most people I think Ibarong experience a lack of continuity in personal identity, how surprising it is that sometimes old me seeps into the things I say and do now.

I was struggling for a while to come up with a paper topic for this class, and the vagaries of digital life had me digging through the archives of my writing for class (and isn’t this why a.Version is a great idea?) and I stumbled upon the paper I wrote for Judith Becker’s class (about music, ritual, and trance in a variety of cultures) almost three years ago about music and psychedelia and secular ecstatic experiences — their causes and relationship to mental stability. It occurred to me that I had a paper here that could be expanded, added to, that maybe making an archive of my writing about psychedelic religious and aesthetic experience might yield a passable book or dissertation, or something — well, you get the idea.

And also, I hadn’t thought of this paper very much at all. I had thought of the books I read for it in passing at the beginning of the semester because of something someone had said in my present class about psychedelia. I have been working through Julian Jaynes’s book The Origins of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind and it seems really self-evident that Dr. Becker’s research fits into this picture, and that there’s a really great connection here that Jaynes couldn’t have explored.

How odd, I think, that versions and these sorts of past histories should be so important now. (Also, upon further reflection, I think that Dr. Becker was the first person who had me thinking about Orientalism in the academy — she said something to me, in passing, about how she is annoyed at her discipline being called ethnomusicology. Also something about how it’s very hard for musicologists to study Balinese gamelan ritual and dance because of the overwhelming number of Aussie tourists who inundate the islands? — and how that has become a great important thing in my life too.) I think ultimately this has something to do with why I like folk music.

Maybe lately I’ve been feeling a bit like I’ve been hitting my head against a wall, but things are giving a little bit here and there. The furious networking I’ve been doing outside of the department this semester is starting to congeal into something tangible and interesting — the other grads were really receptive to the idea of a Transgender Day of Remembrance event — and I’ve been tapping the shoulders of possible allies all over the place. I’ve started having good conversations with faculty in my department and in Visual Studies who actually want to engage. I’m beginning to be challenged in good ways.

I still sort of feel like I’m trying to have a conversation in a crowded room. It’s a feeling of grinding my gears, yelling over the jukebox at the bar, going home excited for the future but unfulfilled, and going on wild goose chases for collaborators and critics. It’s like going to a party and meeting someone really fascinating but not being able to talk to them because there’s 300 other people milling around, being noisy and nosy. Maybe this is why I like the internet (and textual healing).

But I’m building up steam. Something great is going to happen here in the next 12 months. I hope it involves a Public School, playful interventions, and chickens.

Last night was great. I spoke with a number of people further about giant Red Light, Green Light, which is rapidly evolving into something way bigger and more epic than maybe I had initially planned, but that’s what grad school is for, I think. Stephanie has promised to find me a book about the design and construction of UB’s North Campus (as a structure of control, as a way to prevent student organizing) and Mark thinks I should undertake an architectural study of the campus to create a comprehensive overview of why an intervention like a SMS-enabled game of Red Light, Green Light should get us thinking.

And I think a lot. I think about the alienation of working at a commuter school, working in a building with white halls and walls and light grey floors, where even though we are an art department and neighbor another art department, public displays of aesthetics are kept to a minimum, tightly constrained, kept in their place. Even posters for department events (nice ones) get taken down if they’re not in their designated spot. (Paintings that might interfere with the overall aesthetic or ethical concerns of building use are strictly forbidden: take the example of a painting of a young woman vomiting that was turned around by building staff when dance parents came to visit.) I honestly find North Campus soul-crushing. I find CFA completely contrary to any sense of community space, of aesthetic development, of play.

I don’t think we have to take this sitting down. Giant Red Light, Green Light is evolving into a critical performance practice. Instead of trying to reach the goal (me on my humble laptop, planted somewhere previously disclosed) in the fastest time possible, players will instead have to form the largest groups possible and, within a half-hour, reach the goal. In order to win, players must organize. They must talk to people on campus they’ve never spoken to before. They need to challenge the campus protocols that say — keep your head down, do your work, don’t bother anyone else, go home in the evening.

I am still trying to come up with an appropriate reward for winning. Thoughts?

So, I sent the email today. No complaints so far. Josephine was kind enough to help me with it, others too. I hate having to commit to a thing like this, sometimes, because of the way it twists up my stomach just to click “send.” I shouldn’t be so anxious but I think it’s hard not to be, with the politics and the drama. I have a lot of anxiety-inducing emails to write and send this week. Here is a list: email the graduate students about Transgender Day of Remembrance; email the union about insurance coverage; email Eileen Myles about a.Version. Maybe I shouldn’t be so anxious because some of these things are wholly out of my control (i.e., insurance and my hopeless awkwardness). Anxiety is only useful when you have some level of control over the situation, so you can use it to temper your reactions.

One of the best things for anxiety is the bicycle. I put new pedals on it last night and this evening I took the long way home, no bus, just me and ten solid miles of riding. I feel stronger just going the distance. Negotiating the road here requires the a different kind of balance, confidence and aggression than Ann Arbor’s roads did. I got honked at a lot today. Maybe it is because I am still getting used to cleats. Often the bike is better than a therapist I think. I worry that in the winter I won’t be able to ride as much and I’ll get a little madder. A guy on the bus this morning said the bike was beautiful. It really is. Especially with the new pedals, tearing down neighborhood streets in North Buffalo. I took a long hot shower and boiled some pasta and ate it.

My class listened to my lecture today, I think. I saw a lot more leaning forward in chairs than I am used to. Some people asked some good questions. I think I told a good joke or two. I got lost in a riff about the nuances of my stance on equality. I wish I had recorded it, or maybe hastily jotted down some notes at least. I made a Powerpoint presentation for it, that was pretty odd. But it worked okay I think. Some people took notes. I was flattered. I don’t count myself as an expert on Edward Said or Orientalism or postcolonialism but I think they’re thinking about it more, thinking about the subtle things I had hoped they would start thinking about it. Today was a breakthrough day. I feel like a competent teacher.

The loneliness of Ann Arbor was child’s play compared to being lonely here. There I knew I could jump on my bike and less than five minutes away was a house full of people who were certainly home and I could sit on the porch and we would talk about things and have a beer. Here, it’s not so certain. I forgot what it means to be isolated, alien. I guess what’s scary about it is that if you put a flame in a vacuum it dies.

Today I think I am feeling a little less insecure. I went to brunch at Josephine and Dave’s and helped their four year old daughter Lucy carve a pirate jack-o-lantern. Everyone was impressed with my pumpkin-carving skills. It turns out I am a multifaceted person. I realized while we were eating that nobody knew about my busted wrist. It has been covered in an Ace bandage for a few days now because of some mysterious flare-up that requires me to give it more support. Biking hurts, typing hurts, and I’ve lost a little grip strength. This is more than unfortunate. I don’t want to take it to a doctor again but if this keeps up what choice do I really have? (Your input is appreciated.)

Sometimes you forget that you used to do other stuff. Like ride horses, and then fall off them. Or have a budding career as a professional musician (until that fateful day). Or that you have more than one good reason to hate doctors (besides having to out yourself to an unsympathetic resident in the E.R.).

Today I was riding my bike home from Josephine and Dave’s and enjoying fall in Delaware Park and how I smelled like pumpkin guts and thinking about how peculiar it is that the things I have done so far in my life have led me here. That I am now friends with the people I am friends with. That we are colleagues or something. Or that I have a “career,” or whatever. That the old stuff drops off into some fuzzy past thing as new stuff is added to the sharper edges of the current part. I have a hard time thinking things happen for a reason but also I’m here to do a job, but that job isn’t necessarily all in my job description.

Josephine told me I made her nervous, too, and would like to talk about it more. She thinks maybe it has something to do with second-wave feminism and have I really got male privilege after all? But she says she doesn’t think it’s all that. I find it hard to believe it’d be all that.

Othello is trying to chew on the corner of The Importance of Being Iceland.

Tonight the wonderful Eileen Myles appeared at Just Buffalo. I went, with a number of friends, and was summarily blown away. I think what I’m starting to realize now is that Eileen really put my head back on my shoulders again, and gave me a little slap around even. I realized on the car ride home that she’s the first person I’ve encountered at this point, in Buffalo, who’s talked about the issues that have been giving me such trouble my whole life. Amplified by coming here, where I am more or less on my own for the first time. I haven’t even fully articulated yet what those issues are, but to hear her read and talk was like a slap in the face. The good kind.

I am still unraveling what that means.

I am afraid that my isolation has gotten the better of me. I miss a community of trans friends I could bounce ideas around with, be honest with, and stand behind.

I am drafting an email to the DMS graduate students about a Transgender Day of Remembrance event. Because the TDoR event on this campus is sponsored by an institutional organization. And because we should all care about each other.

And, I’m tired of the anxious closet.

I told Olivier I think I make some faculty members very anxious. I’ve been having this discussion with a number of people and maybe the anxiety is because they are not sure how to address me, and thus not sure how to address themselves to me, that maybe they see in me an identity-politics powder keg. Why am I lying about these things? Why am I omitting something I’ve fought so hard for? Why am I not clawing out toeholds again, here, so I can be okay?

I think Eileen Myles shook me out of this three-month slumber. By saying the things she said, or just existing maybe. Or making me anxious too.

I feel fierce but isolated. I feel supported, but alone. I am at the top of my fucking game and nobody knows it but me.

Maybe one of the more interesting experiences for me getting inside of the Graduate Student Association mechanisms is the fact that I have resigned myself to playing the system from the inside rather than changing it. I don’t think the system as it stands is exactly the most effective or most just way of taking care of business, but I have other fish to fry. Changing the culture of GSA to something more amenable to innovation is something I’m not interested in taking on at this point — as it stands I’ve been made to feel like a bit of an upstart anyway. I don’t mind that role, I just don’t want to go around bashing people’s heads because I’ve been assigned the role.

In any case, I’ve been thinking about the possible critique of the way we’re beginning to change our department GSA. We’ve begun steering people towards collaboration — or at least sharing — with GSA as a vehicle for projects, as opposed to having people propose things scattershot. It turns out that it’s easier to get funding for your projects if you’re willing to coordinate your efforts and avoid proposing a bunch of projects all at once — while all our projects are pretty cool and definitely deserving of funding, I think the broader GSA organization has reservations about allocating too much money to one department at a time.

Yet encouraging people to work with a self-imposed organizational structure seems a little contradictory to the idea that we want everyone to be doing as much stuff as often as possible as they can manage. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to add a little order to the chaos — at least this way we can keep track of each other, share information, support each others’ efforts, and at the very least bounce ideas around. I don’t like being in charge of bureaucracy, but it’s better than the alternative. (I don’t even know if the alternative would get us anywhere.)

If I come up with anything better, I’ll let you know: I abhor bureaucratic systems as much as anyone, for what it’s worth. I’m frustrated with being forced to play the system as opposed to change it, but I would rather work on my projects and support someone in changing it than I am in truly spearheading an effort for change. Lazy? Maybe. Self-centered? Definitely. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

This is a big-deal idea I’ve been developing for some time, and I kind of want to air it out, probably because I’m lecturing on future forecasting games tomorrow in class. I’ve been thinking a lot about the issue of praxis for the information age in activism and education, and what the logical outgrowth of a Frierian model would look like, were it to be adapted to the internet. I don’t think you can get better than alternate reality games, and I have a couple reasons why. I don’t think I’m going to delve too deeply into this at the moment, but this might evolve into a more serious paper at some point. For now I just want to sketch my thesis and show where I see the parallels that I want to draw out. (What I’m saying is, grant me some simplifications here, this is, after all, a blog.)

If we understand the Frierian pedagogical model to entail participatory education that encourages learners to draw parallels to their own experience, and values the experience of the individual, it seems to me that ARG is a great outgrowth of that kind of ethic in the area of gaming and play. I think that the focus on the real life of the player — and especially in recent models of ARG for social engagement — is key. Instead of making up a fantasy life from scratch, the player must deal with the advantages and limitations that are encountered in daily living. This forces the player to consider hir personal experience, and its potential as a tool for storytelling and modeling the world. That’s sort of radical in and of itself.

Using an ARG model to raise awareness about a social issue explicitly asks the player to engage in the social issue from their own experience, and also forces the player into encountering others’ personal experiences surrounding that social issue. This is valuable and humanizing. Also, the collaboration between people of varying perspectives and experiences engendered by this kind of play is very much like the kind of collaboration encouraged by radical pedagogical models that emphasize conversation and self-exploration in a group setting.

Another parallel I couldn’t help notice was that group problem-solving in both ARG and conversation-based radical pedagogical models leads to a sense in the player/learner that they have somehow stumbled on this information themselves. There is a sense of agency that arises from discovery instead of traditional, blunt presentation. In fact, at least as far as social engagement goes, many people don’t trust a straightforward presentation of information. (For good reason!) On the other hand, given clues and encouragement to think critically, people more often than not discover the important point — and their sense of ownership and discovery is key to creating the feeling that the information is important and impacts the player/learner personally.

All this is a great point of departure for the next steps in social engagement — actual organizing and acting. I think that the communities fostered by ARG-style play are enormously powerful for a number of reasons, the least of which is that they are more or less self-organizing, collectively driven, and have a sense of ownership over the information that they at this point possess. Give a community like this the right tools and information, and you have an empowered, organized citizenry. What I like best about it is the part where game play can empower agents who are part of a collective agent. As with radical pedagogical models, individuals are given knowledge and tools to do more.

The next question, of course, is what to do with this idea.

I’ve been following the UC occupation at least a little bit, because I think that it’s only a matter of time before these issues crop up here, too. I think that the public university system is one of the best things that there is — it’s served me well so far, and I am skeptical about the restrictions that an institution’s leadership can place on the institution if it isn’t run by the public. It makes me sad that people we elect to take care of our public resources feel that it’s their prerogative to essentially privatize them. I can see why they might think it’s the right thing to do, but I think the problems that many people point to about our public universities won’t be ameliorated through privatization. While government-run institutions are often bloated, costly and ungainly, privately-held institutions frequently ignore the public good for private profit and quell dissent against their leadership. That’s not to say that the main problems of the one don’t occur in the other. And I also think that a lively public education system is part of what makes a democracy work.

I have a lot of things to say about this matter that really need more time and energy on my part; and I need to think more about them in order to write coherently about them at this point. I think the public university system is ripe for reform, not privatization. I think that it’s obvious the current structures are not working — many students feel alienated by the very structures that should liberate them. I worry that this conversation will fall into the same traps and pitfalls as the so-called health care debate (so-called in the sense that it scarcely resembles a debate). And, I worry that in large part the model of occupation ➝ escalation as received is so old as to be ineffectual. (But I also worry that the alternatives are too ephemeral to make a difference.)

Really, though, it’s hard not to get behind some people who really like J.U.S.T.I.C.E.

or, recovering at home.

On the car ride down from Montreal, Jordan talked a little about what he saw as the three main reasons people join a hackerspace. They are: learning, sharing resources, and community. I pointed out that these are good reasons for most people, but they’re needs that are fulfilled for me by DMS. Jordan paused and said, “then I’d argue that you already belong to a hackerspace, it’s just not called that.”

I don’t know. The one aspect that seems to exclude DMS from being considered a hackerspace is its obvious exclusivity. While there are exclusive hackerspaces, like NYC Resistor, which is invite-only, they don’t discriminate on the basis of technical ability. People who are interested in learning, sharing, and making are welcome in hackerspaces everywhere, whereas here, one must first prove one’s worth as a media maker before being accepted into the community.

That said, I don’t think that hackerspaces are as diametrically opposed to the academy as at first they might seem — or as some of their proponents might make them seem. I think that they are a venue for learning and education that falls outside the traditional boundaries of structured education, but who’s to say that all academic activity falls within those traditional boundaries?

One of the things that excites me the most about having visited a number of hackerspaces over the weekend was that their group teaching, group learning ethic resonated very strongly with me. Currently I’m working with some other graduate students from a variety of departments in putting together a reading and workshopping group for radical pedagogy, as well as an experimental academic journal. I’ve decided that I belong in the academy, but I also want to reform the academy. From a theoretical standpoint, I know what I want to see. I’m beginning to figure out what I want to see from a practical standpoint.

There are a few possible starting points I’ve been considering — one is adapting intergroup relations-style training and dialogue for the diversification and enrichment of hackerspaces; another is the development of open skill shares between people who are part of the University community and people who aren’t. The first leads to truly diverse groups at hackerspaces, an elevated critical consciousness, and perhaps an increased sense of social purpose. The second means that knowledge bases are never off limits due to any one person’s affiliations, as well as integrated community involvement between the University and its environs.

I guess the real question is where to start? There are points of contact already between DMS and the art/tech community in greater Buffalo, and there need to be better points of contact between hackerspaces and DMS. Maybe IGAP is a good vehicle for this. What do you think?

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