Category: Group A

Being dysfunctional is normally defined as deviating from the norm, acting unusual to normal standards, or behaving in an abnormal way. It can also be defined as not working in its regular fashion. Humans like to describe things as dysfunctional if it does not fit their societal social standards of what is normal. But truly, who are we to define what is normal or not? Is being normal what the majority of people are doing? Or is it just what we are used to seeing? The two games, Game, Game, Game, and Again Game by Jason Nelson and Perfect World by Ansh Patel are the perfect examples of being dysfunctional.

Before I even began playing Game, Game, Game, and Again Game, the home page already screamed dysfunctional. It was not exactly aesthetically pleasing. The typed information and instructions seemed normal, but then there are drawn arrows in different colors all over the home page. It is quite distracting and makes it a little difficult to understand what is going on. Nonetheless, I finally got through the instructions and started to play the game. Initially, the game looks as if it was designed by a 5-year-old in an art class. The drawing looks like it was all filled in the crayons and the graphics are pretty distracting. There is also a voice that says “Come on and meet your maker” each time you hit an obstacle in the game. Additionally, whenever you hit an obstacle, more words, graphics, and distractions appear on the screen. All in all, it seems very dysfunctional, but I was able to reach the end of the game and pass all 13 levels. In the end, it is very strange. It displays a video of a candle lighting up a potato and discussing the “true meaning of life”. Also, it tells me the real end of the game is life. This game confused me a lot and seemed far from normal. This is why I would describe it as being ludic form of dysfunctional.

Moreover, I would say that the Perfect World is much less dysfunctional in comparison to Game, Game, Game, and Again Game.  I would even go as far as to say that the Perfect World had a similar meaning to Game, Game, Game, and Again Game. In the Perfect World, I noticed that the further you attempted to go (physically or mentally), the game became more and more distorted. This is similar to Game, Game, Game, and Again Game, because whenever you would try to progress, impossible obstacles were there and more and more distractions appeared on the screen. However, the Perfect World is much more aesthetically pleasing then Game, Game, Game, and Again Game. Perfect World seems to be more experimentally dysfunctional because it seems to have a clear meaning on its nonsense and random distortions. It seems that the deeper you try to uncover your true self, the game becomes completely distorted. When I attempted to separate the body from the mind, the words became illegible. I feel as if these games were telling us that the farther we try to uncover life, the more dysfunctional everything else becomes.

The dysfunctionality of Game, Game, Game, and Again Game is interesting because for most intents and purposes the game is functional. At its core, it follows the general structure of a platformer- a game in which a player controls a character and must jump between platforms to reach an endpoint and pass a variety of different levels. The Mario franchise is a notable example of a platformer. It has all the mechanics of a typical platformer: A 2D player character, albeit this one is a bit abstract; enemies that kill you and force you to restart the level; teleportation mechanics; and even a score at the top. There are even collectibles, reminiscent of coins or other gatherable items, although here touching one displays text. Top it off with 13 different levels, and it has all the makings of a solid game. However, despite the functionality of the game itself, I think you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who would describe it as such. 

The dysfunctionality, rather, comes from the presentation of the game. The player is inundated with a variety of overlapping and overwritten text, messy graphics, and a cacophony of sounds. The game clearly plays with ludic dysfunctionality, demonstrating an overwhelming extreme of the platformer genre. However, this is not the only form of dysfunctionality at work. One of the things this game was reminiscent of, for me at least, was a manifesto by some overzealous radical. Each level had its own distinct theme and broadly focuses on “belief systems from consumerism to monotheism” (Game, Game, Game, and Game Again about section). This, then, lends the game to fall under the definition of political dysfunctionality. However, the player is so overwhelmed that it is very difficult to read or even focus on the text that appears. Making it largely ineffective in this sense.

While I do believe that both of these dysfunctionalities are at work here, I don’t think the game takes itself too seriously. If you make it to the end of the game, the author has a little note thanking you for playing, but he expresses surprise that you played long enough to finish it. The point of the game, I would argue, then, is not to actually incite any kind of political change or call attention to the platformer genre, but to rather provide an experience. 

Dysfunctionality is no pleasant experience. As a student I, like many others, work tirelessly to avoid dysfunction — we carry planners and complete assignments to perfection striving to look as fully functioning as possible. Thus, we have painstakingly mastered the art of form never mirroring content. What I mean by this is no matter how dysfunctional our brains are on the inside (content), we rarely let it show on the outside (form).

That being said, I found A Perfect World by Ansh Patel most intriguing due to its desire for form to mirror content. One example of the content we are given in the piece is of the disconnect between the narrator’s “body” and “mind.” Therefore, because the interface, or “readability,” of the work performs what Ryan calls “experimental dysfunctionality”, which makes it difficult for the reader to distinguish between what they are seeing and reading and what is happening or not happening, the dysfunctional workings between mind and body in the story is mirrored though the text’s linguistic and aesthetic confusion. Additionally, the reader of A Perfect World experiences similar psychiatric dysfunction of the narrator via the way the piece limits the readers understanding of what is actually happening and the seeming lack of control over the outcome. While we get to pick which way to go, those decisions do not necessarily match what happens. For example, at one page our options are: “Continue silencing the mind” or “Separate yourself from the body.” Both options lead to an end of the game. The game itself ends, like the life of the narrator.

A Perfect World is a rather dark game and shouldn’t be read lightly, but in looking closely at it, it reveals a potential relationship between mental health and dysfunction as bodily dysfunction that can be played out through experimental forms of literature.

The idea of dysfunctionality is really interesting to me because the artist is intentionally making his or her work really messy and confusing to either create some sort of “aesthetic” or to prove a point. It’s funny to me to think that they are purposely putting in mistakes or errors to get their work to turn out the way they want it. It also makes me think if whether or not they are meticulous with what mistakes or errors they put in their work or if they just somewhat throw a bunch of stuff in there and see how it turns out. For example, in game, game, and again game, there’s just a bunch of scribbles and a bunch of noise like everything is one big mess. But did he think about how he wanted each level to look like or did he just turn his mind off and draw everywhere. It seems lazy like that one level called “some confusing hell made of messy lines” or something like that where it was just a bunch of lines. But I feel like everything has a lot of thought into it.

I personally kind of liked game, game, and again game because it was super weird and just kind of looked really cool to me. It also was really confusing and I did not really understand it but it seemed like I wasn’t supposed to understand it so in a way I feel like I was looking at the work somewhat as it was intended. I think that everything is super messy and hard to understand so it serves as the opposite of most art that is really neat and perfect.

Out of all of the themes in digital literature we’ve discussed, the idea of the dysfunctional was probably the least relatable and most uncomfortable for me. As a perfectionist, I am often obsessed with aesthetically pleasing, complete, functional things. If I see something broken, missing, or askew, I feel the need to correct it. Therefore, exploring works like “Game, Game, Game, and Again Game” and “Perfect World” where images are blurry, text is ‘glitchy’ and misaligned, and scribbles fill the screen is difficult to enjoy.

One reason for my perfectionism in a digital space is the result of what I have learned in classes like web design and game development. Centering text/images, using aesthetically pleasing color palettes, and managing clutter are universal tenets of web designers and game developers. Any sort of misalignment or mistake at the pixel level is noticed, critiqued negatively, and considered ‘bad practice.’ Digital education has shaped my preconceptions to block out works like “Game, Game, Game, and Again Game.”

Playing “Game, Game, Game, and Again Game” immediately reminded me of another example of the dysfunctional: noise music. Noise music is a niche genre of “music” that attempts to transform everyday sounds into “music.” The reason I put music in quotation marks is because noise music pushes the limits of what society considers music. To some listeners, including myself, noise music sounds like meaningless commotion, while others find it relatable and expressive. The reason I connected noise music to “Game, Game, Game, and Again Game” is because of their shared chaotic and seemingly disorganized nature.

To tie it all together, Dr. Sample poses a question at the end of his video that resonated with me: “is it possible that dysfunction, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder?” “Game, Game, Game, and Again Game” and noise music have very small, specialized fanbases. In the eyes of these fans, these works are quite ‘functional’ and appealing, but as I have said, I am not the biggest fan. This subjectivity allows for all types of digital works to thrive and find unique audiences all around the world.

My definition of the sublime has been a flawless splendor or greatness that can manifest itself in both physical objects and intangible ideas. David Nye’s article “American Technological Sublime” and Dr. Sample’s videos clarified this definition for me; the sublime is a space or experience that overstimulates or overwhelms the subject. One aspect of the sublime, just like the eerie and the uncanny, is that sublime is subjective. My sublime could vary drastically from someone’s from a different background or culture with different interests and fears. Along the same thread, Nye argues that preconceptions or expectations of the sublime can dampen its overwhelming effect on the subject. There are two types of the sublime that Dr. Sample mentions: the natural sublime and technological sublime. My interests intersect perfectly with these two types of the sublime. as I enjoy outdoor activities like hiking, biking, and fishing as well as computer science and biotechnology.

I encounter these types of sublime frequently; in particular, I am drawn to moments where the vastness or sheer magnitude is highlighted. One moment of the natural sublime has been on a cruise ship, staring at the seemingly infinite ocean. In that time, it was difficult to understand the magnitude of the space in which I was. A moment of the technological sublime was working with a computer algorithm to scan through a DNA sequence with millions of bases. Any time I work with ‘big data’ as it is called, I am astounded at just how comprehensive the computational tools have to be in order to analyze it. These examples aren’t just sublime, but they also provoke feelings of intimidation and even dread.

Finally, I would like to comment on John Simon’s work Every Icon, an excellent example of the technological sublime. Each “icon” is created through a systematic, procedural process, characteristic of digital works. This work reminded me of combinatory, randomly generated works; by nature, Every Icon is very calculated and determined, but the idea of seemingly endless combinations is typical of combinatory literature.

Thinking about the sublime is interesting to me because I can recall many moments in my life that were sublime, where my mind just felt lost and taken aback in a way. The two types of sublime are mathematical and dynamic. Mathematical sublime describes when we encounter or think about something so great in size that we can not wrap our minds around it. We are in awe of how large something is. Dynamic sublime describes those situations where we encounter something dangerous or life-threatening, but we know that we are okay. The idea of the sublime is cool to me because I feel like all my life I’ve had sublime encounters. For example, ever since I was a kid I’ve tried to wrap my head around the size of space. I still can not wrap my head around it and how it just does not end. However, the concept of time always freaked me out as a kid because I could not and still can not wrap my head around the concept of time and how it will continue forever. It still freaks me out how it is never-ending. I’m not sure if the concept of time falls under mathematical sublime, but it seems related to it and it freaks me out in the same way. With the dynamic sublime, I always get those feelings when I’m on a tall building and I look down to see the ground. The fall is obviously deadly but I am safe behind a railing or a window. However, I still get a little spooked. There’s a lot of beauty with the sublime though because something so big in size that can create some feelings of uneasiness, is almost like a wonder to the world, like we will never truly understand it. And there’s not a lot of things that can create those sublime qualities.

In his article, “American Technological Sublime,” David E. Nye discusses the history of the American sublime. One of his more notable points is Kant’s distinction between two kinds of sublime. Nye explains that the mathematical sublime is “the encounter with extreme magnitude or vastness,” and the dynamic sublime is “the contemplation of scenes that arouse terror… seen by a subject who is safe from immediate danger” (Nye, 7). The dynamic sublime would thus include natural disasters such as tempests or volcanic eruptions. The mathematical sublime, however, has more versatility. Nye uses the example of a mountain range or the Grand Canyon. More notable for us is the mathematical sublime paired with technology. It is this type of sublime that makes Every Icon and Sea and Spar Between subliminal works. 

These two works become sublime because of their seemingly infinite possibilities. Every Icon can generate every possible black and white image within a 32×32 grid. Sea and Spar Between takes fragments from Moby Dick and poems by Emily Dickinson and combines them into generated stanzas. The authors, Nick Montfort and Stephanie Strickland, explain that the work has approximately 225 trillion different stanzas. However, it seems that their value as an artistic work comes from their ties to the sublime. Essentially, they are great because they are vast and that vastness is incomprehensible. Does the content itself actually matter? Every Icon will inevitably make interesting images, but mostly it appears as a random pattern of black squares. Similarly, the stanzas in Sea and Spar Between are created the same way as combinatory poetics, with no authorial intention. 

These technological forms of the mathematical sublime are contrasted with natural occurrences. The Grand Canyon is still beautiful even when separated from its sublime qualities. Nye discusses at length that because of expectations, often the feeling of sublime is not fully realized until spending a fair amount of time with the object/scene. People still visit natural wonders without feeling the sublime; however, I would argue that there is little to keep the viewer engaged with Every Icon and Sea and Spar Between for more than a couple minutes. The content is not enough. Should the content itself have artistic value or is the sublimation of the number of outcomes enough for the work to be deemed important on its own?

Sublimity has many meanings and can be applicable to an array of topics. The American sublime focuses on the beauty and excellence of topics such as fine arts, philosophy, and literature, as discussed in David E. Nye’s work, “The Sublime” from American Technological Sublime. Nye touches on how sublimity has an intense sense of awakening, a “healthy shock”.  I feel as if a sublime moment allows one to think outside of the norm and truly challenge one’s way of life in all aspects. Throughout this reading, the sublime actually takes on different roles for different situations. I believe that the sublime can be looked at through different viewpoints during the existing pandemic of COVID-19.

The sublime experience can be defined by two different forms, the mathematical sublime and the dynamic sublime. Nye defines the mathematical sublime as “the encounter with extreme magnitude or vastness” and the dynamic sublime as “the contemplation of scenes that arouse terror”. These two forms can easily be applied to the current circumstances of the pandemic and our state of life for the time being. I believe that the dynamic sublime initially began thinking back to the initial hearing of the Coronavirus reaching the United States. Even at this point, I do not believe it terrified everyone yet. As Davidson Students, our dynamic sublime is the email we all received from President Carol Quillen on Thursday, March 12th, 2020. This day still haunts us and probably will more so haunt the seniors for a long time. In this dynamic sublime, each senior has to confront the harsh reality that there is no more regular graduation commencement ceremony, there is no last frolics, no beach week, no more months with the best friends they have made in their life, and not even an acceptable “goodbye”. It is almost unreal. Worst of all this dynamic sublime continues to hang over there head and are constantly reminded each zoom class session.

Furthermore, the mathematical sublime is mostly just hopeful thinking. In this case, the mathematical sublime is the possibility that this will all be over in April, graduation will continue, and life will go back to some kind of normal pretty soon. The mathematical sublime is seeing all of us back on campus again, no more social distancing, and having a proper goodbye. In this mathematical sublime, “the mind is able to conceive something larger and more powerful than the senses can grasp”. It may sound somewhat pessimistic but the mathematical sublime here is not looking like it would turn out this way. It is sad to even have to look at it in this light. On the other hand, our mathematical sublime can just be imagining the day when this is all over and how great like will be no matter the circumstances. We can enjoy the truly sublime of the nature around us, enjoying the company we keep and appreciating life in a much better light. When this is over, we will experience a truly sublime, a “healthy shock”.

What does the sublime, or the absence of sublimity, mean during a quarantine? As of late, following the onset of the global pandemic that is COVID-19, many Americans are choosing, hopefully, to stay within their households cooped up avoiding nature and avoiding exploration in fear of (what feels like) a bio war-zone outside. Or rather, they fear the impending doom feeling associated with what seems like an inevitable contraction of this virus. Now that I am unable to seek out the sublime in my everyday life, I have come to realize on a more personal level how capturing the sublimity of nature in the “primary form” of experience is vastly more significant than the “secondary form” of rhetoric than I previously thought as “many English writers on the sublime agreed” before me (Nye 2). Indeed, experiencing the primary sublime is an American privilege taken for granted until we are locked within the confines of our homes reading old National Geographic copies in attempts to recreate the feeling of utter astonishment when viewing nature first hand. As Dr. Sample mentioned in his YouTube video regarding Kant’s dynamic sublime, we are even unable to experience the short, electric spurt of fear caused by an enveloping spring thunderstorm because we are within the safety of our households for who knows how long. Something cannot be truly sublime without a little fear.

Additionally, due to the confinement engendered by this pandemic, not even the technologically sublime fills the void created by the absence of experiencing primary sublimity; the senses are stunted. While playing Sea and Spar Between by Nick Montfort and Stephanie Strickland, even with the enormous number of the fish in the sea, 225 trillion, and therefore the enormous number of potential poems created by words from only two works of literature, it was clear to me that it does not pass the Longinus sublime test that Nye draws out: a work “cannot be an example of true sublimity—certainly not unless it can outlive a single hearing. For a piece is only truly great if it can stand up to repeated examination” (Nye, quoting Longinus, 3). Sea and Spar lost its intensity after one view. Therefore, I argue that human beings, as figments of nature, are inherently programmed to connect with the physical manifestations of nature’s majesty, and while we create computer programs that seek to simulate that exact majesty found within nature, our simulations fail to compare to the emotional response that occurs when viewing an indescribable landscape.

This idea that no experience compares to that of the primary, visceral experience of observing the sublime in the flesh is reaffirmed by what I am calling the resulting insignificance of trying to articulate or capture the ultimate experience and its effect on the viewer. For example, I am thinking specifically about my time in the Grand Canyon, or any other sublime geography such as amongst the Tetons or under a perfect sunset, and I try to capture the sublimity of the scene with a photo or with a description, and it never turns out as good as the real thing. Thus, I believe when trying to make artificial the connection between one natural being (us) to another natural being (forces of nature) the resulting product is necessarily insignificant. It is insignificant because that connection is so personal it cannot be replicated or reproduced. Indeed, it is simply “not only visual but also visceral” (Nye 12).