Part I: Background: Linear Prosody[1]
Dimensions of Inequality Among Syllables
- Prosody in the English language proceeds from the axiom that
not all syllables are created equal; many effects in prosody derive from
the time-plot of these inequalities along various dimensions. The most
well known of these is the familiar stress-degree, but I will quickly
review others.
Pitch-Degrees
- The usual approach to pitch in prosody is to consider it a
"curve": the intonation curve. However, there is a manner of recitation at
work in many American communities, most notably in a style of reading in
the black community, in which tight-knit patterns of time of various
pitches are articulated, in much the same way that stress occurs in more
traditional prosodies. This is a very rich prosody that deserves to be
studied in its own right. A predominantly pitch-degree prosody will have
very different characteristics than a predominantly stress-degree prosody.
Pitch is a purely acoustical property, as opposed to stress, which is a
linguistic property that is quite difficult to define acoustically. Thus a
pitch-degree prosody is much closer to music (in the literal sense of the
term); a pitch-degree prosody is freer to use an absolute musical sense of
time, whereas a stress-degree prosody is more likely to be based on
"linguistic time," which works differently (see footnote 8 below). Not all phonemes carry pitch; a
pitch-degree prosody may thus change the sound structure balance for how
phonemes relate to one another. Where both pitch degree and stress-degree
prosodies occur simultaneously, incredibly subtle effects are possible.
Vowel Position Degrees
- In explaining the meaning of the term "Tone Leading
Vowels" as it pertained to the prosody of Ezra Pound, Robert Duncan
explained the term as meaning two things: (1) Where a diphthong (a glide
between one "pure vowel" and another) occurs, the leading pure vowel of
the glide plays a special role. (2) A sound is reinforced when you hear it
again, but can also be reinforced when you don't hear it again. A
similar concept to this second point is the idea that vowels form clusters
according to the position of the mouth when they are articulated; the
tight-knit pattern in time that delineates which of these clusters is
active can form a prosody, much like the stress-degree or pitch-degree
prosody.
Stress-Degrees: Classical Prosody
- The most familiar basis for metrics in English is the
tight-knit pattern in time formed by stress-degrees. Stress has been
extensively studied in linguistics (see for example Chomsky
and Halle). Before introducing an alternate methodology for how
metrical studies of contemporary poetry might be conducted, I will review
briefly the traditional account of how the stress-degree metric is
supposed to operate. This account has become a significant obstacle in
pursuing prosody of contemporary poetry, so it would be well to understand
it before considering a different approach. Classical prosody starts with
an a priori inventory of templates of stress-degree patterns
(e.g. iamb, trochee, anapest, etc.). "Scanning" is the process of matching
these templates to the poem; where repeated instances of a single template
match, end-to-end, the line or poem is said to "scan." It is important to
note that the word "foot" is profoundly ambiguous in this process, having
at least the following two meanings: (1) We speak of a foot as meaning one
of the templates. In this usage, "foot" is an abstract concept which
exists in advance of any particular poem. (2) We may refer to the actual
syllables in a poem matched by a template as being a foot. In this usage,
"foot" is a part of a living, breathing poem--and as such is a unit of
rhythm intermediate between the syllable and the metric line. Much of the
poetics that has been influential since the fifties and sixties has
focused away from the a priori (Olson, Ginsberg) and many
contemporary poets are uncomfortable with the idea of a template-based
metrics. Most poets and many theorists have turned away from the study of
metrics, rather than explore the second usage of "foot" in which the unit
of metrics is not thought to exist prior to the poem, but is rather part
of the poem itself, intermediate between the syllable and the metric line.
- Thus I turn now to consider this concept of
an intermediate unit of meter, one that de-emphasizes the a
priori and does not use any concept of template. To avoid confusion,
I will abandon the use of the word "foot" and instead use the term
"measure."
Bonding Strength
- Another dimension of inequality among syllables (really of
syllable boundaries) is "bonding strength": the degree of attraction of a
syllable to the one ahead of it or behind it. Bonding strength may be
defined as the extent to which an artificially injected pause at a
particular syllable boundary seems natural or not when compared to the way
the poet would typically recite the line. Syllable boundaries will differ
in their degree of bonding strength; by collecting together into a single
unit those syllables where the bonding strength is high, one obtains a
"measure." It cannot be emphasized strongly enough that the assessment of
where the measure boundaries are located must take place with respect to a
particular recitation--presumably the poet's. A printed text of
the poem on the page may not give sufficient information without a sound
recording. In this methodology, scanning consists of identifying where the
measure boundaries are, where the rhythmic line boundaries are (a rhythmic
line is a cluster of measures connected by somewhat higher bonding
strength, just as a measure is a cluster of syllables connected by the
highest degree of bonding strength), and then attempting to discern
whether there may (or may not) be any regularity to how measures are
constructed. Thus rather than speaking of a poem as being "written in" a
meter, meaning a conscious a priori choice of template, one
examines the poem empirically to determine whether there simply happens to be
some regularity to the way the measures are constructed.
The "Standard Measure"
- This methodology need not be restricted to poetry: any
recitation can be scanned. The statement is often made that English is
iambic. Using the method sketched above to determine measure boundaries, we
can reformulate the tendency of English toward the iambic, without exempting
the many counterexamples. Measure boundaries in English prose tend to be
constructed as follows: (1) a measure has only one major stress; (2) the
measure tends to end on a major stress, but: (3) if there are unstressed
syllables following the major stress out to the end of a major grammatical
unit, those unstressed syllables will also be incorporated into the
measure. Measures constructed in this way may be called "standard
measures." Of course not all measure boundaries in poetry will be standard
measure boundaries: Robert Creeley, for instance, is well known for having
many non-standard measure boundaries in his poems. Interestingly, when
Creeley's poems are actually scanned, the results show that while there
may be non-standard measure boundaries at the end of the rhythmic
line, many lines contain two measures, and in these lines the
internal measure boundary is a standard one: the celebrated Creeley
line-break really is a line-break and not a measure break. The
non-standard measure boundaries are very easy to hear, but the internal
standard measure boundaries are much more subtle. Of course if they were
missing, we would certainly hear the result as a flat, lifelessly too
regular, much less interesting rhythm. The structure of Creeley's lines
may be described as an "offset structure": the sound structure of
the line endings is clearly articulated, but the grammatical structure
proceeds from the middle of one line to the middle of the next. The offset
structure is an extremely venerable structure in prosody, going back at
least to Anglo-Saxon times.
Part II: Non-linear Prosody
Bonding Strength is Spatial
- I have described bonding strength as the attraction of a
syllable to the syllable ahead of it or behind it. Although prosody is
normally interpreted as how the sound structure works in time,
clearly the concept "adjacent" is a spatial concept; thus bonding
strength may also be interpreted as a spatial concept, and as such can
work in any topology, including a non-linear one. Where above I defined
bonding strength as the tendency of a syllable boundary to resist
injection of an artificial pause (a time concept), we could as easily have
described it as the tendency of a syllable boundary to resist
injection of space. It should be noted that in one dimension, space and
time are nearly the same thing; however, in the more complex topologies of
non-linear writing, as we shall see, space and time operate very
differently.
A Review of Hypertext Structure Terminology
- I have introduced a framework for structuring hypertext
activity elsewhere and will review it only briefly here. By hypertext I
mean a text that contains embedded interactive operations when considered
from the reader's point of view: the text contains interactive
devices that trigger activities. The most familiar of these is
the hypertext link, but many other types are
possible.[2] For instance, my work often
contains devices called "simultaneities," in which groups of words are
layered on top of one another; by moving the mouse among no-click hot
spots, the different layers are revealed. Research hypertext software has been
built based on both set models and relation models, and spatial hypertexts
have been constructed using such concepts as piles and lists. In all of
these cases, the hypertext is operated by performing activities; these
activities consist of such actions as following a link, opening up a pile
or simultaneity, etc. I have called these small-scale activities "acteme"
(Rosenberg, "Structure"). In the node-link model of hypertext, the acteme of
following a link may be described as "disjunctive," from the logical term
disjunction, meaning "or." A disjunctive acteme presents a reader in a
given position in the hypertext with a choice: she may follow link A
or link B or link C. Other forms of acteme may be
described as "conjunctive." A conjunctive acteme such as a
simultaneity with layers A, B, and C consists of A and B
and C.[3] A given hypertext can
use both kinds of actemes together and a hypertext poem could even blur
the distinction between them.
- In most cases, the text in a hypertext appears in units
called "lexia," a term of analysis George Landow borrows from Roland
Barthes to apply to hypertext. In a typical node-link hypertext, the lexia
is the unit of text at either end of a link; often (though not
inevitably) the lexia has an internal structure which is simply linear.
As we will see, particularly in the context of poetry, the concept of
lexia is extremely problematic.
- As the reader navigates a hypertext, activities will
(hopefully) cohere together into units called "episodes." For a node-link
hypertext, the episode will tend to be all or part of a path. It must be
noted that not all activities will necessarily resolve into an episode.
Some activities might be performed by accident, as when a reader pulls
down a menu of
link names and chooses the wrong one unintentionally. A reader may backtrack, having decided that
performing an activity got nowhere. (Backtracking is complex; it may or
may not revoke membership of an acteme in the episode.) Thus, episode is not the same
thing as history. At a certain point the reader may not have constructed
an episode at all, and might indeed be best described as foraging for an
episode. The episode is an emergent concept; it emerges
retroactively. Ideally, the structure of episodes emerges through
the use of a "gathering interface." Unfortunately, available gathering
interfaces are still quite primitive: they construct something more akin
to the bookmarks of a web browser than a full picture of hypertext
activity.
Prosody Within the Lexia
- In many cases--perhaps most cases--the lexia is structured
linearly. Under these conditions, within-lexia prosody includes
traditional linear prosody. Not much need be said here; indeed one would
be hard put to make the case that there is any difference between
within-lexia prosody for a linearly structured lexia and the prosody of
the printed page. However, there is no reason at all to suppose the lexia
must be linear (on the linearity of lexia see Moulthrop; Rosenberg,
"Navigating"). In this section I move to consider within-lexia prosody for a
non-linearly structured lexia.
- Consider Figure 1, which shows a single screen from a
simultaneity taken from one of my works (Rosenberg,
Diffractions). This screen can be read in at least two
different ways: (1) It can be read polylinearly so that the words with the
same font are read as a linear skein, beginning with the word that is
capitalized. (2) Alternatively, the graphically clustered fragments of
these phrases can be read in snatches as the eye wanders about the surface
of the screen picking up groups of words and associating them in whatever
way seems to work. Even a simple polylinear reading poses difficult
questions for the concept of lexia: is the lexia the entire screen, or one
of the skeins? A computer-oriented view of the lexia would tend to regard
the lexia as whatever is visible on the screen when there is no input to
the computer, when the mouse is not moved, and no key is pressed. In this
case the entire screen should count as one lexia. But what happens, in
terms of prosody, as the eye moves from one phrase to another? Is this
time which "doesn't count"--a kind of time out, in which there is no
prosody?[4] If indeed the time between
phrases doesn't count, we may describe the time units within the skeins as
disengaged from one another. Or perhaps the prosody of the individual
skein, together with the layout of the screen, helps determine when the
next phrase begins, in which case the time between skeins definitely is
part of the prosody.[5] A lexia with this
type of polylinear structure is inherently ambiguous concerning the
prosody of what happens between phrases. Still another possibility is
simply to say the time relationship between phrases is in the reader's
hands completely. Of course something will happen when the poet recites
such a lexia: a choice will in fact be made. In this case, the poet may
experience a contradiction between her desire to present the work in a
context where oral experience is expected and her desire to leave open as
many options as possible for the reader.
|
|
Figure
1.
|
- These issues become even more difficult if we use method
2 to read this screen. What is the prosodic relationship between these
clusters of words, read by a kind of "visual wandering"? In this case linearity
is so seriously fragmented that the reader may have an impression of the
words disengaging from time altogether, such that prosody relationships
become entirely spatial.
Prosody Through the Episode
- There is no reason to assume that prosody should be
confined within the lexia. In this section I explore issues of prosody
within the episode as a whole that go beyond the boundaries of the lexia.
"Text" occurs in many places in a hypertext besides the obvious text in
the lexia. There is also text in the devices of the hypertext mechanism
itself. For instance, many hypertext systems allow the user to bring up a
menu of possible outgoing links. Such a menu is inarguably textual. But
what role does such a menu play in prosody?[6] One approach is to consider the menu of link names as
a text object in its own right. Hypertext poet Deena Larsen constructs
poems from assembled link names. This approach, while interesting, simply
reconstitutes the menu of link names as a different form of lexia, though
one that has a complex structural relationship to the lexia from which it
was popped up. Another approach is to consider a link name as a "prosody
channel" connecting the text at either end of the link. It is typical in
hypertext to assume that the reader will choose a link based on semantic
or logical criteria, but in poetry there is no reason to assume prosody is
any less valid as a means of choosing a link. To use the terminology we've
been using throughout: bonding strength can operate through the
link; bonding strength may even be the basis for choosing a link in the
first place. It makes sense to speak of a "two-dimensional" prosody in
assessing the relationship of prosody within the lexia to prosody through
the link. Indeed, if the lexia is spatial, one may speak of a
three-dimensional prosody. One point worth noting here is that the
concept of bonding strength--the attraction of two text elements across a
real or imagined boundary--sounds quite symmetrical, whereas most
hypertext links are one-directional.[7]
But the directionality of the hypertext link is not really different from
the directionality of time in conventional prosody. It may be true that
considering bonding strength through the link reverses the direction of
attention compared to the direction of the link, but we do the same for
the direction of time in assessing linear prosody.
- At its most conservative, a hypertext treats the lexia as
a full-fledged document in its own right; the interactive devices, such as
links, may be seen merely as devices for visiting traditional documents. A
more radical approach treats the episode as a virtual document. In this
approach the text's center of gravity, as it were, is no longer within the
lexia, but in what emerges through the use of interactive devices. At its
most extreme, meaning--and syntax--are more properly a function of the
episode than the lexia (Rosenberg, "Structure"). What are the implications
for prosody if the episode is treated as a virtual document? This is
related to a second question: What is the structure of the episode? One
answer to this second question is that the episode is structured linearly
by time. If we accept this idea, then prosody within the episode seems
little different from prosody within the lexia, except that the reader has
chosen the interactions. In the disjunctive case the reader has chosen
which route to follow in operating a given acteme, and in the conjunctive
case the reader has chosen the order of visiting various elements. In
both cases, the reader controls how much time she spends in any given
place in the hypertext. The sense that many alternatives are possible at a
given hinge point in the prosody may create the sense of that spot as a
slot into which different continuations can be plugged; this very
multiplicity may create a sense that some combination of some or all of
the continuations is what in fact actually connects to the hinge point,
which would subvert the concept of disjunctive hypertext.
- But is the episode necessarily linear? I have argued
elsewhere that the structure of the episode is what we make of it given
the gathering interface that is available (Rosenberg, "Structure"). Alas,
in most commercially available hypertext software, there is either no
gathering interface at all, or it is at best extremely primitive. A
gathering interface is in effect a hypertext the reader constructs of
gatherings from the hypertext being read. This interface may use spatial
or conjunctive methods, even if the hypertext being read uses a pure
node-link model. (For an example of a commercial gathering interface
operating on the World Wide Web, see Bernstein.)
How Does Time Run in a Non-linear Poem?
- Much of this paper has been concerned with a spatial
approach to prosody. Yet one can hardly leave time out of the picture.
The study of hypertextual time is still in its infancy. Lusebrink has
produced a taxonomy of time types based on narration; Calvi and Walker
present a hypertextual treatment of analepsis and prolepsis. These
discussions, while useful, don't provide much insight for prosody. It is
important to note at the outset that there are multiple concepts of time
operating at once. At the most obvious level is what may be described as
"usage-time," a temporality that functions like an unedited recording of
what the reader actually does. In fact, such a concept of time can be
misleading even in the case of very linear text. Many authors have studied
"isochrony," the tendency of stressed syllables to form
a regular musical beat. Even when stressed syllables do not fall
according to a regular beat, the stresses themselves may so heavily
influence our perception of time that our sense of time may be said to be
based on linguistic features like stress rather than on the purely
acoustical features that would be captured by a tape recorder. Thus the
stresses become our measure of time, even when their acoustical
correlates do not seem to be evenly spaced.[8] Do interactive devices become the measure of time in
an interactive poem? As hypertext is extended further into the fine
structure of language, this may happen. Does usage-time include all the
unintentional paths taken, as when one accidentally releases the mouse, or
over-shoots a scroll bar?
- A second concept of time is "gather-time": the time one
spends constructing and reading the results in a gathering interface. As I
have mentioned, most often the only gathering interface at hand is the
reader's memory. Gather-time may start and stop: when a reader is foraging
for an episode one may speak of gather-time as having stopped. This is no
different really from the concept that the syllable-time of the poem is
not running during the time it takes to find one's place in the poem on
the page when momentarily interrupted. In a spatial gathering interface,
is gather-time running while one changes the spatial relationship of
gathered elements? Some type of time is running of course. As one
manipulates gathered phrases on a screen one exists in a relationship to
them that has temporal dimension. But how does that relationship map onto
syllables? Is the time spent moving a phrase mapped onto all the
syllables at once? Can usage-time work in this same way, given the right
interface? Clearly it is possible to arrange words using graphical methods
so that the eye associates all of the words together as a single object
all at once, even though there may be an underlying linear structure. How
does time work for such an object? There is an initial exposure time,
which is arguably linear, but what about time spent contemplating the word
object as a whole? What kind of time is that? Is it suspended time? Is it
autonomous time, in which the word object becomes in effect an object with
its own temporality, not necessarily reconcilable with the concept of time
of other objects present, much in the way two people present in the same event
may not be able precisely to reconcile their individual concepts of
time? Perhaps time can seem to proceed like a kind of loop, where words,
having been initially examined, are treated as though they keep on
playing.
- Conjunctive structures bring their own set of questions to
the issue of how time works. A conjunctive structure consists of all of
its components resolved into a single whole. What is the time relationship
among these components? It makes sense--at least metaphorically--to think
of the usage-time for each component as being "equivalenced" with
that of the other components. In the structures I call simultaneities,
groups of words are placed in the same space, physically
and logically--on top of one another. Usage history will clearly
reveal the order in which the elements in the simultaneity were
encountered (an order which is under some control by the user). These are
different units of time; they aren't literally simultaneous, in the sense
of simultaneous voices, but the term "simultaneity" is meant to convey the
idea that these units of time are meant to be treated as equivalent. This
concept of equivalenced time as experienced by a single user is admittedly
an abstraction. Equivalenced time is a correlate of the concept of
autonomous word objects--words endowed with behavior--which are
so eminently possible with the use of software.
- At the opposite extreme from equivalenced time are units
that are completely disengaged in time, units whose time relationship to
one another is completely null. Juxtaposition--bringing together elements
with no structural relation between them--may be thought of as the null
structure, or "structural zero," and may be considered as the most
elemental maneuver at the heart of abstraction (Rosenberg, "Openings").
Clearly juxtaposition has been an important element in all of the arts for
many decades. What is the null structure in the dimension(s) of time? In a
hypertext, separate episodes may be time-disengaged even though the
usage-time for one episode may have a clear relationship to the usage-time
of another. Consider two memories, each of an incident whose time and date
one cannot place, and in fact whose relative time and date one
cannot place. Does it really matter in which order the memories were
recalled? The true time relationship of the memories is that they are
unresolved with respect to time.
- In a hypertext, time itself may become spatialized. This
may occur in any number of ways. In a multimedia piece, an interactive
device may permit playing a sound or movie. Such an object will have its
own timeline; it is common for interactive time-based media devices to
represent this timeline on the screen as a control, that the user can
directly manipulate. But there is not likely to be such a timeline for the
hypertext as a whole; rather the timeline for the particular media object
is--in its entirety--anchored at a particular location in the hypertext.
One may speak of the entire timeline as being spatialized at a particular
location. Even for text, where there is no formal player object, the
entirety of the text object may be anchored at a specific location. There
is an important point here: for linear text, travel through the text is
accomplished by reading in a linear fashion--though to be sure there are
many other ways of navigating in a printed text and most acts of reading
involve a mixture of linear travel along the word stream, and directly
accessing various parts of the text, whether through bookmarks, tables of
contents, indices, footnotes, or the like. In a hypertext, even given a
linear lexia, this linearity is not likely to be used for travel. Instead,
the specific interactive devices are likely to be used for travel, leaving
the lexia as an anchored spot which "doesn't go anywhere." Thus to the
extent there is a linear lexia, it is an anchored linearity.
Multiuser Time
- Throughout this whole discussion I have taken a
perspective that would be called in computer jargon "single-user." We tend
to view "a reading" as a single reader reading a work which has a single
(even if collective) author. In the computer world, multiuser games are
quite common and I feel certain that we will see an increasing number of
multiuser literary works in the future. Multiuser time involves stretches
of time that are not necessarily resolvable from one user to another. The
events of prosody are typically passages over particular points in a
poem--syllables or line breaks, etc. Where there are multiple readers in
the same textual space at the same time, it may not be possible to
construct any form of synchronization that would resolve the various
users' interactions with the text over time. In this sense, the concept
of disengaged time is not metaphorical, but a literal description of what
takes place.[9]
- The questions that hypertext raises for prosody have only
begun to be asked. As I've tried to show, much of our understanding of
prosody has concerned the way sound events cluster when
encountered in a linear sequence, and thus prosody will have to be
re-thought in the context of hypertext. The central questions will
include: how are we to understand prosody when clustering occurs in space
instead of time? How do sound events relate
across disengaged units of time? What happens to these time
disengagements when the poet recites--and how indeed is a poet to perform
a hypertext work?
jr@amanue.com
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Notes
1. This section is a revised
version of the first part of my "Notes Toward a Non-Linear Prosody of
Space" (1995). A version of this paper was presented at the
Assembling Alternatives conference at the University of New
Hampshire in September, 1996. My thanks to Romana Huk for that
opportunity.
2. The advent of the World Wide
Web has benefited hypertext immeasurably, by vastly increasing exposure of
hypertext to a truly mass audience; however it is regrettable that the
limited forms of hypertext activity currently available in HTML limit
understanding of the variety of hypertext activities that are possible.
Some of these limitations can be overcome by extensive use of richer Web
languages such as JavaScript and Java.
3. At its most extreme, hypertext
structure may be used to represent the structure of syntax itself. In this
case one clearly has conjunctive structure: a sentence consists of
all of its parts; e.g. if we describe a sentence as consisting of
a noun phrase and a verb phrase, the noun and verb phrases are
hardly alternatives.
4. Gerard Manley Hopkins defined an
outrider as a syllable that "doesn't count" in the prosody. I must confess
to not understanding the idea of a syllable that doesn't count. The idea
of an emptiness that doesn't count is easier to understand, but that, too,
seems problematic.
5. In "A Note on the Methods Used
in Composing the 22 Light Poems," Jackson Mac Low instructs: "The empty
spaces in 'Asymmetries' are notations for silences lasting at least as
long as it would take the reader to say the words printed directly above
or below them." A similar approach might leave a silence between units
equal to the length of the last measure encountered, or the last rhythmic
line. A directive "leave whatever silence between units seems natural"
might tend to resolve to one of these possibilities.
6. A more troublesome issue is
text imposed by the computer system itself, such as the words visible on a
menu bar. Is such text like the invisible stage hands of the Japanese
theater--there but you don't see it? And what about text visible from
another window? Should this be treated the way John Cage treated ambient
sound?
7. Ted Nelson, who coined the term
"hypertext," has consistently advocated that all links should be
bidirectional.
8. On a similar note, permit a
personal anecdote. In the early seventies I made several pieces on
magnetic tape using simultaneous overlays of my own voice. For one of
these pieces I realized I could control these overlays very precisely by
building up each fragment through making a tape loop of what was already
laid down, making a tape loop of the voice to be added, then by
controlling the offset of these tape loops I could get the desired effect.
In one case the composition scheme called for a simultaneous
attack (to use the electronic music term) of all of the voices.
On one pass round the loop I felt I had nailed it exactly. But for some
reason I decided to analyze the result at slow speed. Doing this it became
clear that the attacks--in acoustical terms--were not simultaneous at
all. What did line up simultaneously were the stressed syllables in each
voice. I heard the attacks as being simultaneous--retroactive
from the vantage point of having heard the stressed syllables.
Linguistically the words sounded like they all started at the same time,
even though acoustically this was not the case.
9. It is known that the brain is a
massively parallel system. A simple act of seeing involves substantial
processing by each retina, even before the signals reach the brain. Is it
possible that even for a single reader, the "single-user" model may not be
correct? Is the brain itself perhaps "multiuser"? This is the question
posed by Daniel Dennett who devised a theory of consciousness based on the
concept of a parallel "gang of demons." In technical computer usage, a
"daemon" is an asynchronous process--typically invisible to the user--that
performs a particular type of work periodically or on request in the
background. In most multiuser systems there is typically a daemon for
delivering electronic mail. Another type of daemon responds to requests to
view World Wide Web pages, and so on. Dennett suggests that there are
centers in the brain that act as "time disengaged actors" even for a
single mind. Whether or not this model of brain function prevails,
hypertext is already beginning to render tangible this concept of multiple
temporalities of reading and thinking.
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