156.
Topology threads all spaces together, cave after cave, each as ludicrous as the next. No wonder people find their leisure as dull as their work — leisure is work. How times change…. Karl Marx: “The working-day contains the full 24 hours, with the deduction of the few hours of repose without which labor-power absolutely refuses its services again… Time for education, for intellectual development, for the fulfilling of social functions and for social intercourse, for the free-play of… bodily and mental activity, even the rest time of Sunday (and that in a country of Sabbatarians!) — moonshine!” But that moonshine has become legitimate business. The free time available for education, culture, sport, even faith, were once the hard-won fruits of labor’s struggle to free time from work. This free time gave rise to heterotopias of sport and art that at least held the intoxicating illusion of autonomy from the necessity of work. Now they become work, disguised as games, just as games become the disguise of work itself. The sporting metaphors and slogans migrate from leisure to work — and back again. They cease to be metaphors and become mere descriptions, in a language stripped of any terms other than those of competition. Almost every moment is swept into a relentless agon.
The topology metaphor is really strong here; I wonder if there is something to be uncovered in the idea of a digital loom, there is a textile quality to interwoven polygons, quilted fabrication and fabula. The persistent sense of the microcosmic in games never allows a true topography, but throws us back onto the device again and again. Meaning, we see ourselves playing on the surface of a usable plain, woven by work.
Under this schema, digital worlds then have heft, weave, warp, grain – which helps to explain some of the sensorial aspects that these older metaphors aren’t equipped to.
David Surman and I are exploring this textile quality of games in an upcoming project as a rejection of the topographical metaphor, but here – as a sense of threading – I am attracted to it again.
very interesting. what do you mean by “throws us back on the device”?
Sorry, I was a bit unclear: I guess my sense of it is that the topographical is an impulse of exploration, but we experience game worlds as a vast fabricated device. We imagine a topography for instances but are thrown back onto the tableau where we step around.
Literally for a lot of games, the map is an adjunctive zone or extra screen (press L1 to shift views), but I’m thinking more generally as a gameplayer that the topographical impulse is literally that – an im-pulse – that helps movitate and move us as we tinker, toy, slay and explore.
The microcosmic as I meant it above is the opposing impulse of play; to go and do something.
But to bring this back to the text-section (dungeon?) here (since you aren’t really talking about topos right here but elsewhere), that the labour of play works both ways and the ‘illusion of the autonomy from the necessity of work’ comes with perhaps another realisation that work has been and needs to be done to turn free time into playtime. The yet-to-be-played, or perhaps also the joy we feel at a game’s style or construction. This is all I mean by throwing back onto the device, which is the site of working I think.
two thoughts there, i think. i’ll tackle the first now and think about the second one.
yes, the topographic is about mapping space; in the topological, the map has become the territory. It is always already mapped. It’s gamelike, in that sense.
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