In —7 she led the development of the concept of transliteracy , "the ability to read, write and interact across a range of platforms, tools and media from signing and orality through handwriting, print, TV, radio and film, to digital social networks".
edravilpo.ga In she coined the term technobiophilia which she defined as 'the innate tendency to focus on life and lifelike processes as they appear in technology'. It is extrapolated from the notion of a biophilia hypothesis. Her most recent book is Technobiophilia: nature and cyberspace.
She has published extensively in both print and online, and has initiated numerous online writing projects. She left De Montfort University in From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. This biography of a living person needs additional citations for verification.
Please help by adding reliable sources. Contentious material about living persons that is unsourced or poorly sourced must be removed immediately , especially if potentially libelous or harmful. Leicestershire , England. First Monday! Technobiophilia: nature and cyberspace. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Has the internet created new people? But even if the net itself were destroyed, what pathways might it leave behind? How has it changed us, even in the short time since we began to share its infinite space?
Could there even evolve a post-internet internet? What would it be like?
Now that we are wired, what can unwire us? Every node, every cable, every hub, every packet, is permeated with fragments of the animus of this planet. The internet is indeed alive. It is alive with all of us. Augmented Reality Robotics. Mario Kart in a real vehicle with VR! Infographic: The Future of Virtual Reality.
The world was very different then! Or was it? Technology is both a danger and an opportunity with respect to the imagination. It is a danger in so far as it can be the death of imagination through its literalisation. It is an opportunity in so far as it can be an awakening to how the events of the world have an imaginal depth, and how the life of the imagination inscribes itself within the events of the world. Robert D. I look out of my bedroom window at one a.
And yet even within that range there is a huge variation in the intensity of the light. Thus, as the moon bleeds whiteness across the grass, so all pale things acquire a moonbeam-powered glare.
And areas which in daylight would have colour now possess only no-colour — a flat absence seeming more like smoke than like solid. White paving stones meander, embedded, across the dark lawn. They curve like a wagging tail all the way to the end of the garden, each one a single step as I mentally follow the trail. Perspective shrinks the bleached stone discs to nothing while the night hides everything else and next door, a white-painted wall is blinded by moonlight. On another occasion, sitting at my writing table in the dark and very late, I work on a text lit only by a cluster of small lanterns swinging to the vibration of my hand moving across the paper.
This stillness in the night can be like the stillness of online. It is the charm of midnight, the intimacy of the unconscious, to sit here knowing how many sleeping things are close by yet hidden from my view and to be aware that such quiet does not signal solitude, as it might in the daytime, but means simply that this part of the world is in suspension.
The language we have given our computers mirrors the language of slumber — hibernate, sleep, suspend. That must be the nearest a computer comes to dreaming. While you sleep at night, your computer reads signals from deep space and looks for alien life forms. That sounds pretty much like dreaming to me.
I love sleep. I love to be in bed. For me, at least, I know it is not so for everyone bed is the place where your body is safe and your mind can wander. When I was a child I was happy to be sent upstairs early as punishment for something or other.
I would pull the blankets over my head and imagine long scenarios. I wish I could remember them now, but although the stories are forgotten the sense of being under the covers is as potent as ever. Bed is my private den, the place where I can lie and dream without interruption. Is being online like being asleep? Or is it like the hypnogogic moment between the states of sleeping and waking when we are conscious of people near us but they seem so very far away, their words muffled and unprocessable.
To share the sheets with someone else is quite different of course. Then it becomes a collaborative experience, one which whilst enjoyable is really very qualitatively different from being in bed alone. I often find that sitting at my computer can be almost like being asleep. An equally hypnogogic experience, it can feel just the same as laying in bed.
My body is comfortable and my mind can easily stray, a flaneur of my own imagination. What is it like to really sleep online? I would love to be able to do this. If I log on and then walk into the other room away from the machine, am I still logged on just because the machine is connected to the web?
So, until I can have a direct link through to my brain, until perhaps I am able to actually dream online, I cannot ever sleep online. But what about the machines which measure REM sleep? Surely when they are online, the whole brain is linked into the network — whatever network that is. The performance artist Stelarc created a project called Stimbod where his body was wired up to a computer which choreographed his movements according to the directions given by remote participants via the internet. It would surely be just another step to feed those directions from a machine which received its data from a REM reader.
So, picture this: electrodes are attached to me as I sleep and they transmit REM data onto the internet. This data is then interpreted by a program which can read it and use it to power something else — to play music, or colour a screen, or even to speak. That way, I would be literally sleeping online because although I would be asleep I would also be simultaneously inputting data. Perhaps at these times I could be delving into the more remote parts of the internet. Some people call this entering the Deep Web, just as if it were a Deep Consciousness.
The net is full of spiders and webcrawlers, perpetually creeping from one link to the next and uncovering complex and often long lost pathways. But sites which are unconnected to the main thoroughfares are often harder to find. So, to anyone out there who is planning to experiment with this, allow me to volunteer. I permit you to connect my sleeping brain to those deep search engines which delve further than the more commonplace systems, and through them I will enter the dreamtime of the web.
I imagine the machine dozing through the dark in a corner of the room, bathing me in a soothing digital glow, winking and glittering through the long nights while I surf on broad azure ribbons of hot light streaming through the air.