socialfiction | psychogeography | .walk
Urban Visions in C-Lite
Wilfried Hou Bek of Socialfiction.org handed London psychogeographers a scrap of paper on a chill November afternoon in Soho Square. The paper was neatly typed with C-Lite. English instructions rehashed as code, to be retranslated back into English. As any Babelfish user will know, the applying of several translation filters can lead to one hell of an unholy mess. Good luck to us all!
The psychogeographic aim for this experiment (see here) was to view the city as a database, or switchboard. The city as computer. Pedestrians, previously tourists, hep cats, under-citizens and Sloanes, would perhaps be exposed as not only people, but also pawn-like carriers of information on an urban energy grid. Moving with minimal awareness of their environment, following predestined instructions. Exchanging money as information.
As psychogeographers, we would demote ourselves willingly to the role of pawn, to see what we could see. To know the score. We would thrust ourselves into the hands of the city by following predesignated routes on our little C-Lite scraps of paper. Wilfried was playing as a pawn also, so I guess it was no longer his game, but the city's. Skipping back. We were told to meet in the square, and to dress like psychogeographers. Saj and I approached to see what appeared to be a small, closely-knotted segment of the underbelly of London, lurking in black around a bicycle and Shabnam's hat. Back to the scraps of paper. Each contained instructions to, take, say, the 1st street on the right, then the 3rd on the left. The third instruction was dependent on which group the walker was in. Some had 1st street right, some had x street left - this was to guarantee a variation of route.
We began walking in a ragged band, and swiftly veered off into different set courses. Psychogeographers? It's like herding cats. Mind you, we were just doing what we were told. Of course, we weren't really pawns. We weren't electrical charges on a switchboard. Each person took pleasure in retranslating the C-Lite to suit their current disposition. What, when it comes down to it, is a street? Does it have to have a name? A sidewalk? A kerb, or
cobblestones? Does the definition conveniently encompass the interior of a pub? After all, it's the rocky road to ruin, and roads are streets, innit. Many of us crept into openings and interjections we never knew existed, using the rigidity of the instructions as an excuse. It's a bit like a street, guv, and I don't know what's down it. And I fancied putting myself about a bit.
We could have argued that an unthinking piece of software would have done the same. But it was human curiosity that led us down routes filled with graffiti and security guards, community housing and vans full of packing crates, no-go areas many of them, I'm sure. Saj and I found ourselves following a pattern which initially roughly traced the right-angles of a swastika but developed into crescent moons slotted into one another - make a rainbow to the right, then a larger rainbow to the left - with Soho Square always featuring, our fulcrum, seen from many angles. The shape we walked was basically like half of that made by iron filings when manipulated by a bar magnet. I wonder what shapes the other groups made? I wonder how it would look, laid out on a map? After an hour, the motley crew reconvened at the square to exchange information. Only Wilfried and Shabnam had, I think, crossed paths during the exercise. All had rewritten the code to say what they wanted it to say. Several noted the predominance of cc:tv marking their steps. Once you get off the info-express of Oxford Street, it seems, the cameras are easier to spot. I guess we couldn't have veered off the instructions too much, curious security guards nonwithstanding, or the city switchboard would have passed on an error message on a monitor somewhere.
Saj and I noticed that we were becoming a tourist-magnet - where we walked, into the shadowiest and oddest of corners, a random tourist or two would hesitate, then follow, drawn inexorably by our winter-warmth outfits and map-perusing. They probably wondered why we looked so pleased when we came to a dead end. So, the psychogeographers took on the hue of tourists. Conversely, all tourists in Soho Square looked like psychogeographers - walking with purpose, drinks in their hands, bulky artfolders under their arms. And, of course, maps.
[Footnote: Pubbing it]
London psychogeographers will probably enjoy meeting on future meets at the Princess Louise, in Holborn. It looks the part, and has been the respository of many fascinating fireplace conversations, being as it is so close to Conway Hall. With thanks to Wilfried Hou Bek for suggesting and organising the experiment.
Magda Knight
magda7000@yahoo.co.ukPictures by: Allan Liddiard