Crazy little thing called book (and movies, and music, and...)
Background Illustrations provided by: http://edison.rutgers.edu/

A book produced by typesetting may look very similar to one generated by a computerized program, but the technological processes involved in this transformation are not neutral. Different technologies of text production suggest different models of signification; changes in signification are linked with shifts in consumption; shifting patterns of consumption initiate new experiences of embodiment; and embodied experience interacts with codes of representation to generate new kinds of textual worlds. In fact, each category-production, signification, consumption, bodily experience, and representation-is in constant feedback and feedforward loops with the others. By
  • N. Katherine Hayles. How We Became Posthuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics, Literature, and Informatics. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1999, 28.

Reblogged from awesomepeoplereading  188 notes

awesomepeoplereading:

Morrissey reads.

Special thinks to jesciexvx

Remember, that reader’s wanted link under the title is the brand spankin’ new submission button. Submission: it’s not just an underrated second tier Sex Pistols track anymore! Keep the readers coming.

fuckyeahmoz:

Morrissey joined his friend Howard Devoto and his band Luxuria on stage on 13 March 1988 at the Town & Country and read from “Within A Budding Grove”, the second volume of the Proust series “In Search Of Lost Time” (“À la recherche du temps perdu”). His bit lasted slightly less than a minute and preceded the band’s performance of their song “Mlle”.

Those few steps from the landing to Albertine’s door, those few steps which no one now could prevent my taking, I took with delight, with prudence, as though plunged into a new and strange element, as if in going forward I had been gently displacing the liquid stream of happiness, and at the same time with a strange feeling of absolute power, and of entering at length into an inheritance which had belonged to me from all time. Marcel Proust - A L’Ombre des Jeunes Filles en Fleurs