Notes Abstract This essay surveys the development and current state of electronic literature, from the popularity of hypertext fiction in the 's to the present, focusing primarily on hypertext fiction, network fiction, interactive fiction, locative narratives, installation pieces, "codework," generative art and the Flash poem. It also discusses the central critical issues raised by electronic literature, pointing out that there is significant overlap with the print tradition. At the same time, the essay argues that the practices, texts, procedures, and processual nature of electronic literature require new critical models and new ways of playing and interpreting the works. Because this essay is the first systematic attempt to survey and summarize the fast-changing field of electronic literature, artists, designers, writers, critics, and other stakeholders may find it useful as an overview, with emphasis on recent creative and critical works.
I think I could write an interesting memoir of significant walks I have taken with others, in which intimacy was not only experienced but set fondly into the landscape of memory. When I was a child, I used to walk with my Uncle Tom on his farm, across fields and up and down hills. We talked of many thing, some informative and some completely outrageous, and quite a Poems of seduction essay very tall stories emerged on those bucolic walks.
Whatever the content of the talking, those conversations remain important memories for me of my attachment to my family, to a remarkable personality, and to nature. My God is the God of Walkers. If you walk hard enough, you probably don't need any other god.
We get it rough enough at home, in towns and cities.
Sears "One step at a time is good walking. How often have I had this longing for an infinite walk - of going unimpeded, until the movement of my body as I walk fell into the flight of streets under my feet - until I in my body and the world in its skin of earth were blended into a single act of knowing.
Most Americans don't even walk that. If I have a destination, a plan - an objective - I've lost the ability to find serendipity. I've become too focused, too single-minded.
I am on a quest, not a ramble. I search for the Holy Grail of particularity, and miss the chalice freely offered, filled full to overflowing.
Trevelyan "In the evening, I walked alone down to the Lake by the side of Crow Park after sunset and saw the solemn coloring of night draw on, the last gleam of sunshine fading away on the hilltops, the seep serene of the asters, and the long shadows of the mountains thrown across them, till they nearly touched the hithermost shore.
At distance hear the murmur of many waterfalls not audible in the day-time. Wished for the moon, but she was dark to me and silent, hid in her vacant interlunar cave.
The pattern of the walk is to come true, is to be recognized, discovered. Ammons, A Poem is a Walk "I haven't got any special religion this morning. But just as it demeans life to live alongside a great river you can no longer swim in or drink from, to be crowded into safer areas and hours takes much of the gloss off walking -- one sport you shouldn't have to reserve a time and a court for.
Then we can all discover who our neighbors are. Pounded by the ground below and the weight of you and your pack above, your feet receive harsher treatment than any other part of your body.
Today walking alone, I meet it everywhere I step. It is the same as me, yet I am not it. Only if you understand it in this way Will you merge with the way things are. Thomas Moore has it, "to steal a few hours from night, my love;" but, with leave be it spoken, to walk steadily and with a purpose.
The wandering man knows of certain ancients, far gone in years, who have staved off infirmities and dissolution by earnest walking,--hale fellows close upon eighty and ninety, but brisk as boys.
My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips. It was spitting snow and blowing, and within two days of being May But as if to assert the triumph of climate over weather, one ancient willow managed a few gray pussy willows, soft and barely visible against the snow-blurred gray background.
To draw or haul a load, as oxen. To travel, especially by ox wagon; to go from place to place; to migrate. The act of trekking; a drawing or a traveling; a journey; a migration. To migrate, journey, travel. But it goes upward, forward, toward the sun. Walking Meditation Trek, Trekking: Walking slows us down.Not just brilliant, not just sensual, Moira Egan's "Cleave" is the rare art through which words express something seemingly inexpressable.
Beyond mere categories, beyond mere emotions, she captures experience itself, by turns glorious, bland, and miserable. Letter from a Region in My Mind From “Whatever white people do not know about Negroes reveals, precisely and inexorably, what they do not know about themselves.”.
A biographical essay on Paul Bowles' life as a composer, writer, translator and traveler by Allen Hibbard. Paul Bowles left the United States in and lived 52 years as an expatriate in Tangier, Morocco, where Paul Bowles wrote novels, short stories and travel articles, in addition to doing translations of Moroccan writers and storytellers.
Cousin Kate and The Seduction. I am going to compare the two poems, ‘Cousin Kate’ and ‘The Seduction’. In both poems, the main characters are female and single. Comparison of the Presentation of Seduction in the Poems To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell and The Willing Mistress by Aphra Behn Both Marvell and Behn wrote during the .
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