Making Data Flow

The virtual machine in the fine-grained information flow tracking is the basis for realization of transparent cloud platform program level control. The information flow control access to sensitive information in the process, because the authority transfer security level and cannot read or write the non sensitive data, the coarse granularity information flow control is difficult to meet the actual demand of diversification, this paper proposes extended DIFC (Distributed Information Flow Control) model, this model avoids component of cloud platform virtual machine because of the higher level of security sensitive data through reading, it sends or modifies the defects of non sensitive data by transfering the authority, and effectively overcomes the defect that the existing information flow control method for the coarse granularity, and the shortcomings which unable to meet the actual demand, this model guarantees the tracking and control of fine-grained information flow within the virtual machine application, and it does not affect the original cloud service operation.

Virtual Domesticity

Creative Industries and the Limits of Critique from

Editorial

‘We are faced today with an entire system of communication technology which is the perfect medium to host and transfer the very programs designed to destroy the functionality of the system.’ (IBM Researcher: Sarah Gordon, 1995) Despite renewed interest in open source code, the openness of the information space is nothing new in terms of the free flow of information. The transitive and nonlinear configuration of data flow has ceaselessly facilitated the sharing of code. The openness of the info-space encourages a free distribution model, which has become central to numerous developments through the abundant supply of freeware, shareware and source code. Key moments in open source history include the release in 1998 of Netscape’s Communicator source code, a clear attempt to stimulate browser development. More recently in February 2004 the ‘partial leaking’ of Microsoft Windows 2000 and NT 4.0 source code demonstrated the often-hostile disposition of open culture and the potential threat it poses to existing corporate business models. However, the leading exponents of the open source ethic predate these events by more than a decade. As an extension of the hacker, the virus writer has managed, since the 1980s, to bend the shape of info-space beyond recognition. By freely spreading viruses, worms and hacker programs across the globe, virus writers have provided researchers with a remarkable set of digital footprints to follow. The virus has, as IBM researcher Sarah Gordon points out, exposed the info-space as a ‘perfect medium’ rife for malicious viral infection. This paper argues that viral technologies can hold info-space hostage to the uncertain undercurrents of information itself. As such, despite mercantile efforts to capture the spirit of openness, the info-space finds itself frequently in a state far-from-equilibrium. It is open to often-unmanageable viral fluctuations, which produce levels of spontaneity, uncertainty and emergent order. So while corporations look to capture the perpetual, flexible and friction-free income streams from centralised information flows, viral code acts as an anarchic, acentred Deleuzian rhizome. It thrives on the openness of info-space, producing a paradoxical counterpoint to a corporatised information society and its attempt to steer the info-machine. The Virus in the Open System Fred Cohen’s 1984 doctoral thesis on the computer virus locates three key features of openness that makes viral propagation possible (see Louw and Duffy, 1992 pp. 13-14) and predicts a condition common to everyday user experience of info-space. Firstly, the virus flourishes because of the computer’s capacity for information sharing_; transitive flows of code between nodes via discs, connected media, network links, user input and software use. In the process of information transfer the ‘witting and unwitting’ cooperation of users and computers is a necessary determinant of viral infection. Secondly, information flow must be _interpreted._ Before execution computers interpret incoming information as a series of instructions (strings of bits). However, before execution, there is no fundamental distinction between information received, and as such, information has no _meaning until it has been executed. Thus, the interpretation of information does not differentiate between a program and a virus. Thirdly, the alterability or manipulability of the information process allows the virus to modify information. For example, advanced polymorphic viruses avoid detection by using non-significant, or redundant code, to randomly encrypt and decrypt themselves. Cohen concludes that the only defence available to combat viral spread is the ‘limited transitivity of information flow’. However, a reduction in flow is contrary to the needs of the system and leads ultimately to the unacceptable limitation of sharing (Cohen, 1991). As Cohen states ‘To be perfectly secure against viral attacks, a system must protect against incoming information flow, while to be secure against leakage of information a system must protect against outgoing information flow. In order for systems to allow sharing, there must be some information flow. It is therefore the major conclusion of this paper that the goals of sharing in a general purpose multilevel security system may be in such direct opposition to the goals of viral security as to make their reconciliation and coexistence impossible.’ Cohen’s research does not simply end with the eradication of the virus via the limitation of openness, but instead leads to a contentious idea concerning the benevolent properties of viral computing and the potential legitimacy of ‘friendly contagion’. Cohen looks beyond the malevolent enemy of the open network to a benevolent solution. The viral ecosystem is an alternative to Turing-von Neumann capability. Key to this system is a benevolent virus,_ which epitomise the ethic of open culture. Drawing upon a biological analogy, benevolent viral computing _reproduces in order to accomplish its goals; the computing environment evolving_ rather than being ‘designed every step of the way’ (see Zetter, 2000). The _viral ecosystem_ demonstrates how the spread of viruses can purposely _evolve through the computational space using the shared processing power of all host machines. Information enters the host machine via infection and a translator program alerts the user. The benevolent virus_ passes through the host machine with any additional modifications made by the _infected_ _user. The End of Empirical Virus Research? Cohen claims that his research into ‘friendly contagion’ has been thwarted by network administrators and policy makers (See Levy, 1992 in Spiller, 2002) whose ‘apparent fear reaction’ to early experiments resulted in trying to solve technical problems with policy solutions. However, following a significant increase in malicious viral attacks, with estimated costs to the IT industry of $13 billion in 2001 (Pipkin, 2003 p. 41), research into legitimate viruses has not surprisingly shifted from the centre to the fringes of the computer science community (see Dibbell, 1995)._ _Current reputable and subsequently funded research tends to focus on efforts by the anti-virus community to develop computer hygiene. Nevertheless, malevolent or benevolent viral technology provides researchers with a valuable recourse. The virus draws analysis towards specific questions concerning the nature of information and the culture of openness. What follows is a delineation of a range of approaches, which endeavour to provide some answers. Virus as a Cultural Metaphor Sean Cubitt (in Dovey, 1996 pp. 31-58) positions the virus as a contradictory cultural element, lodged between the effective management of info-space and the potential for spontaneous transformation. However, distinct from Cohen’s aspectual analogy, Cubitt’s often-frivolous viral metaphor overflows with political meaning. He replaces the concept of information with a space of representation, which elevates the virus from empirical experience to a linguistic construct of reality. The invasive and contagious properties of the biological parasite are metaphorically transferred to viral technology; the computer virus is thus imbued with an alien otherness. Cubitt’s cultural discourse typically reflects humanist fears of being subjected to increasing levels of technological autonomy. The openness of info-space is determined by a managed society aiming to ‘provide the grounds for mutation’ (p. 46) necessary for profitable production. Yet the virus, as a possible consequence of that desire, becomes a potential opposition to ‘ideological formations’. Like Cohen, Cubitt concludes that the virus will always exist if the paths of sharing remain open to information flow. ‘Somehow’, Cubitt argues, ‘the net must be managed in such a way as to be both open and closed. Therefore, openness is obligatory and although, from the point of view of the administrator, it is a recipe for ‘anarchy, for chaos, for breakdown, for abjection’, the ‘closure’ of the network, despite eradicating the virus, ‘means that no benefits can accrue’ (p.55). Virus as a Bodily Extension From a virus writing perspective it is, arguably, the potential for free movement in the openness of info-space that that motivates the spread of viruses. As one writer infamously stated it is ‘the idea of making a program that would travel on its own, and go to places its creator could never go’ that inspires the spreading of viruses (see Gordon, 1993). In a defiant stand against the physical limitations of bodily movement from Eastern Europe to the US, the Bulgarian virus writer, the Dark Avenger, contended that ‘the American government can stop me from going to the US, but they can’t stop my virus’. This McLuhanesque conception of the virus, as a bodily extension (see McLuhan, 1964), is picked up on by Baudrillard in Cool Memories_ _(1990). He considers the computer virus as an ‘ultra-modern form of communication which does not distinguish, according to McLuhan, between the information itself and its carrier.’ To Baudrillard the prosperous proliferation of the virus is the result of its ability to be both the medium and the message. As such the virus is a pure form of information. The Virus as Information Like Cohen, Claude Shannon looks to the biological analogy, but argues that we have the potential to learn more about information transmission in artificial and natural systems by looking at difference rather than resemblance (see Campbell, 1982). One of the key aspects of this approach is the concept of redundancy. The theory of information argues that the patterns produced by the transmission of information are likely to travel in an entropic mode, from th

Open Source, Anarchy, and the Utopian Impulse

Community without Flesh

Chatting in the Neighbourhood

Love Machines

The security of software-intensive systems is frequently attacked. High fines or loss in reputation are potential consequences of not maintaining confidentiality, which is an important security objective. Detecting confidentiality issues in early software designs enables cost-efficient fixes. A Data Flow Diagram (DFD) is a modeling notation, which focuses on essential, functional aspects of such early software designs. Existing confidentiality analyses on DFDs support either information flow control or access control, which are the most common confidentiality mechanisms. Combining both mechanisms can be beneficial but existing DFD analyses do not support this. This lack of expressiveness requires designers to switch modeling languages to consider both mechanisms, which can lead to inconsistencies. In this article, we present an extended DFD syntax that supports modeling both, information flow and access control, in the same language. This improves expressiveness compared to related work and avoids inconsistencies. We define the semantics of extended DFDs by clauses in first-order logic. A logic program made of these clauses enables the automated detection of confidentiality violations by querying it. We evaluate the expressiveness of the syntax in a case study. We attempt to model nine information flow cases and six access control cases. We successfully modeled fourteen out of these fifteen cases, which indicates good expressiveness. We evaluate the reusability of models when switching confidentiality mechanisms by comparing the cases that share the same system design, which are three pairs of cases. We successfully show improved reusability compared to the state of the art. We evaluated the accuracy of confidentiality analyses by executing them for the fourteen cases that we could model. We experienced good accuracy.

To analyse critically contemporary communications and network technologies, and to understand how they become more (or less!) political, we need to learn about the forms of attachment, the kinds of 'stickiness', and the 'velcro effects' which block or negate as well as enable contemporary infrastructural politics. In the following tableau, the heuristic fiction comes from psychotherapy (Orbach, 2000). Imagine the cultural/new media/critical researcher as the analyst. The forms of attachment to be analysed include the analyst's own as she/he comes into relation with changing infrastructural regimes. Her or his reflections are italicised. Articulation The clients are a male couple, a community-minded activist artist-hacker, Pete, and a corporate IT strategist, Roger. They come to the consultation. It starts off badly. Pete shouts at Roger, who sits quietly beside him. Pete's clothes are loose and dark, he wears funky fluorescent trainers and his laptop backpack is geek-cool. Roger is in suit and tie, neat haircut, closely shaven, a slim aluminium briefcase leans against his pinstriped trouser leg. A few minutes into the session, it looks like Pete might come to blows with Roger. Interceding, the therapist asks them to say what brought them there. Pete and Roger begin to talk about the dilemma that had precipitated the anger and distress. Pete appeals for affirmation of how he has been wronged. But as Roger talks, the dominant feeling shifts to confusion. They are certainly in trouble as a couple, but clearly neither is about to relinquish this relationship. When cultural researchers of technology open the door to a new problem, they do not occupy a separate critical space in which knowledge about objects, practices, relations, processes, or figures come to be represented. Rather, only through 'articulation,' as Donna Haraway suggests, can they add another link, another twist in the knotted linkages which constitute the domain in question (Haraway, 1997, 63). What link(s) would we want to add to the contemporary contests over network infrastructure, where the central issue is figured as access to bandwidth and ubiquitous connectivity? Revolution and convolution Before the dotcom crash, Pete and Roger's relationship had been blissful and imaginative. Together, through the years of virtual reality and the browser wars, they had agreed on and implemented protocols, cut code, designed new applications and increased connectivity. Imagining full-blown virtuality had been a shared project; they were making a world together. The arrival of online shopping, email spamming, music swapping, massive on-line gaming and even open source software had not damaged it. Although they had come from different backgrounds and upbringings, they needed each other. For Roger, Pete had represented an urban sub-cultural well-spring of invention in contemporary technological cultures. Despite his corporate confidence and affluence, Roger knew that kudos on the street underpinned commercial success. From Roger, Pete trusted he would gain access to infrastructure and technical capacity that was the basis of a shared domain of communication. Their relationship before the dotcom crash had worked well because there had been no question about their desirability to each other. There had been conflicts, but both loved their work and found it meaningful. Already we see attachment to infrastructure becoming convoluted. The infrastructural-political lies neither outside or inside technology itself. What appears as a technological revolution – the arrival of the Internet – can be a convolution in relation to collective life. The affective energy attached to communication infrastructure can be seen as the 'historical and political reality of the mass and of crowds in movement' (Balibar, 1998, 16). We could say, as Gatens & Lloyd (1999) put it, that '[r]elations of communication of affect between human individuals are ... subsidiary to the relations of communication between the affects themselves' (66). From this standpoint, the relation between the couple refracts different affects meshing with each other. Hence, we need to understand the fears and hopes, desires and mourning associated with technological media differently. Attachment to technology After the dotcom crash of early 2001, things became more difficult. Their relationship met an extremely simple dilemma: low or high network bandwidth (Lovink, 2003, 370). Pete loved technical limitations like narrow bandwidth. They stimulated artistic, political, economic and collective creativity. He was fond of the Unix command line, shell scripts, cutting code in Python or Perl, ascii art, and hand-coded html. Roger, by contrast, saw technical limitations, especially those of bandwidth, ruining the Internet. Slow or unreliable access to the net thwarted its development into a truly mass popular entertainment medium. Only high bandwidth and mobility could rescue it. He thought Pete was part of the problem. Pete represented over-attachment to the platform. Pete's love of the intricacies of code, his insistence on tinkering, making-do, recycling, sharing and re-appropriating was all very well but it was an obstacle to popularity. In his more idealistic moments, Roger even thought that Pete's truculent defiance of the popular Internet and his attempts to save the masses from being duped only 'obscured the real social significance of their pleasures' (Walkerdine, 1999, 192-3). Strong technological attachments are no accident for two reasons. Firstly, the political is underpinned by collective affects or an awareness of bodies in relation (Gatens & Lloyd, 1999, 77). Secondly, 'human affairs (praxis) and the management-production of things (technç),' (Stengers, 2000, 163) are integrated in our politics. When politics integrates human affairs and technical things, collective affects concerning infrastructure arise. In contemporary politics, utopian and dystopian fantasies and visions of 'the good life' figure through communication infrastructure. Infrastructures are integral to how cultural forms of life render and inhabit their worlds. Thus, politics increasingly concerns technoscapes (Appadurai, 1996). Dilemmas of technical capacity By the end of 2002, contact between them was perfunctory. Pete was active in community networking projects in East London and 'Pico Peering' (http://picopeer.net/wiki/). In conjunction with a local housing association, he installing a wireless backbone for community access. The projects of the late 1990s - virtual spaces for artists, on-line communities, direct action hacktivism, collaborating on open source projects - seemed less important, although he did still work on them. Connection to a vibrant, ethnically complicated and crowded inner city seemed more interesting than either the relative abstraction of code or the predictability of commercial Internet. 'Carving out mobile space is good', Pete often said, 'but reclaiming public space is better' (Gerritzen & Lovink, 2002, 93). Roger, meanwhile, had embraced broadband connectivity, not caring that it mostly seemed to be used for pornography and music downloads. It was fast, popular, and becoming the norm in Europe and USA (Warwick, 2003). Like others, he thought 'never enough Internet capacity can be provided to the velocity-hungry on-line masses' (Lovink, 2003, 370). The dilemma of bandwidth forks from a deeper ambivalence about technical capacities and their role in futurity. On the one hand, technical capacity promises to overcome existing limitations. On the other hand, limitations only become relevant when they function as sites of differentiation or problematic zones open to diverse technical and non-technical solutions. All kinds of contestation, production, representation, identification and regulation cluster around these sites. The problem for cultural analysts of technology is articulating how certain sites of differentiation attract significations, technical innovations, objects/gadgets, infrastructures, regulatory apparatus, commercial-legal conflicts, feelings and concerns. The work of articulation involves disembedding these sites and extracting the relations of communication between affects that flow through them. Connectivity and collectivity Roger is having an affair. He met Erica at a wireless LAN trade exhibition held in the Olympia Exhibition Hall during late May 2003 (http://www.wlanevent.com/home/default.asp). Hewlett Packard-Compaq, Toshiba and Fujitsui had stands, some of the telcos and network operators were there too. Lining the back alleys, generic hardware and software manufacturers displayed their gadgets and ran their software demos on laptops. 'Directors' and 'sales executives' eagerly explained their products and handed out their sometimes less-than-glossy information sheets. At the centre, Intel occupied a large glass-walled stand lavishly kitted out with plasma screens on the walls, free laptops and wi-fi hotspots, pseudo-Japanese rock garden, comfortable seating in 'breakout cubicles' and well-groomed product managers and sales managers. Their Centrino™ wireless ready processors and corporate wifi solutions were featured in TV advertisements playing on large plasma screens. These advertisements dazzled Roger. They showed a broadband world without cables, without complicated configuration tasks, and without the clutter and hassle of wire infrastructures. They meant freedom from points of attachment, network connections, dongles and plugs. Like many others, he thought to himself 'wireless networking is the best thing to happen to the Internet since the browser' (Boutin, 2003). He met Erica when he went to ask if he could have an Intel showbag full of promotional material. With Erica, a telecommunicatio

Drawing on lessons from computing and theories of strange loops, this paper attempts to redefine the notion of agency within the context of cultural production, as a starting point toward solving the agency-structure dilemma in social and cultural theory.

If I find out that you have bought a $90 red light sabre, Tara, well there's going to be trouble. -- Kevin Brabazon A few Saturdays ago, my 71-year old father tried to convince me of imminent responsibilities. As I am considering the purchase of a house, there are mortgages, bank fees and years of misery to endure. Unfortunately, I am not an effective Big Picture Person. The lure of the light sabre is almost too great. For 30 year old Generation Xers like myself, it is more than a cultural object. It is a textual anchor, and a necessary component to any future history of the present. Revelling in the aura of the Australian release for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, this paper investigates popular memory, an undertheorised affiliation between popular culture and cultural studies.1 The excitement encircling the Star Wars prequel has been justified in terms of 'hype' or marketing. Such judgements frame the men and women cuing for tickets, talking Yodas and light sabres as fools or duped souls who need to get out more. My analysis explores why Star Wars has generated this enthusiasm, and how cultural studies can mobilise this passionate commitment to consider notions of popularity, preservation and ephemerality. We'll always have Tattooine. Star Wars has been a primary popular cultural social formation for a generation. The stories of Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Darth Vader, Yoda, C-3PO and R2D2 offer an alternative narrative for the late 1970s and 1980s. It was a comfort to have the Royal Shakespearian tones of Alec Guinness confirming that the Force would be with us, through economic rationalism, unemployment, Pauline Hanson and Madonna discovering yoga. The Star Wars Trilogy, encompassing A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, was released between 1977 and 1983. These films have rarely slipped from public attention, being periodically 'brought back' through new cinematic and video releases. The currency of Star Wars is matched with the other great popular cultural formations of the post-war period: the James Bond series and Star Trek. One reason for the continued success of these programmes is that other writers, film makers and producers cannot leave these texts alone. Bond survives not only through Pierce Brosnan's good looks, but the 'Hey Baby' antics of Austin Powers. Star Trek, through four distinct series, has become an industry that will last longer than Voyager's passage back from the Delta Quadrant. Star Wars, perhaps even more effectively than the other popular cultural heavyweights, has enmeshed itself into other filmic and televisual programming. Films like Spaceballs and television quizzes on Good News Week keep the knowledge system and language current and pertinent.2 Like Umberto Eco realised of Casablanca, Star Wars is "a living example of living textuality" (199). Both films are popular because of imperfections and intertextual archetypes, forming a filmic quilt of sensations and affectivities. Viewers are aware that "the cliches are talking among themselves" (Eco 209). As these cinematic texts move through time, the depth and commitment of these (con)textual dialogues are repeated and reinscribed. To hold on to a memory is to isolate a moment or an image and encircle it with meaning. Each day we experience millions of texts: some are remembered, but most are lost. Some popular cultural texts move from ephemera to popular memory to history. In moving beyond individual reminiscences -- the personal experiences of our lifetime -- we enter the sphere of popular culture. Collective or popular memory is a group or community experience of a textualised reality. For example, during the Second World War, there were many private experiences, but certain moments arch beyond the individual. Songs by Vera Lynn are fully textualised experiences that become the fodder for collective memory. Similarly, Star Wars provides a sense-making mechanism for the 1980s. Like all popular culture, these texts allow myriad readership strategies, but there is collective recognition of relevance and importance. Popular memory is such an important site because it provides us, as cultural critics, with a map of emotionally resonant sites of the past, moments that are linked with specific subjectivities and a commonality of expression. While Star Wars, like all popular cultural formations, has a wide audience, there are specific readings that are pertinent for particular groups. To unify a generation around cultural texts is an act of collective memory. As Harris has suggested, "sometimes, youth does interesting things with its legacy and creatively adapts its problematic into seemingly autonomous cultural forms" (79). Generation X refers to an age cohort born between the mid-1960s and the mid-1970s. Finally cultural studies theorists have found a Grail subculture. Being depthless, ambivalent, sexually repressed and social failures, Xers are a cultural studies dream come true. They were the children of the media revolution. Star Wars is integral to this textualised database. A fan on the night of the first screening corrected a journalist: "we aren't Generation X, we are the Star Wars generation" (Brendon, in Miller 9). An infatuation and reflexivity with the media is the single framework of knowledge in which Xers operate. This shared understanding is the basis for comedy, and particularly revealed (in Australia) in programmes like The Panel and Good News Week. Television themes, lines of film dialogue and contemporary news broadcasts are the basis of the game show. The aesthetics of life transforms television into a real. Or, put another way, "individual lives may be fragmented and confused but McDonald's is universal" (Hopkins 17). A group of textual readers share a literacy, a new way of reading the word and world of texts. Nostalgia is a weapon. The 1990s has been a decade of revivals: from Abba to skateboards, an era of retro reinscription has challenged linear theories of history and popular culture. As Timothy Carter reveals, "we all loved the Star Wars movies when we were younger, and so we naturally look forward to a continuation of those films" (9). The 1980s has often been portrayed as a bad time, of Thatcher and Reagan, cold war brinkmanship, youth unemployment and HIV. For those who were children and (amorphously phrased) 'young adults' of this era, the popular memory is of fluorescent fingerless gloves, Ray Bans, 'Choose Life' t-shirts and bubble skirts. It was an era of styling mousse, big hair, the Wham tan, Kylie and Jason and Rick Astley's dancing. Star Wars action figures gave the films a tangibility, holding the future of the rebellion in our hands (literally). These memories clumsily slop into the cup of the present. The problem with 'youth' is that it is semiotically too rich: the expression is understood, but not explained, by discourses as varied as the educational system, family structures, leisure industries and legal, medical and psychological institutions. It is a term of saturation, where normality is taught, and deviance is monitored. All cultural studies theorists carry the baggage of the Birmingham Centre into any history of youth culture. The taken-for-granted 'youth as resistance' mantra, embodied in Resistance through Rituals and Subculture: The Meaning of Style, transformed young people into the ventriloquist's puppet of cultural studies. The strings of the dancing, smoking, swearing and drinking puppet took many years to cut. The feminist blade of Angela McRobbie did some damage to the fraying filaments, as did Dick Hebdige's reflexive corrections in Hiding in the Light. However, the publications, promotion and pedagogy of Gen X ended the theoretical charade. Gen X, the media sophisticates, played with popular culture, rather than 'proper politics.' In Coupland's Generation X, Claire, one of the main characters believed that "Either our lives become stories, or there's just no way to get through them." ... We know that this is why the three of us left our lives behind us and came to the desert -- to tell stories and to make our own lives worthwhile tales in the process. (8) Television and film are part of this story telling process. This intense connection generated an ironic and reflexive literacy in the media. Television became the basis for personal pleasures and local resistances, resulting in a disciplined mobilisation of popular cultural surfaces. Even better than the real thing. As the youngest of Generation Xers are now in their late twenties, they have moved from McJobs to careers. Robert Kizlik, a teacher trainer at an American community college expressed horror as the lack of 'commonsensical knowledge' from his new students. He conducted a survey for teachers training in the social sciences, assessing their grasp of history. There was one hundred percent recognition of such names as Madonna, Mike Tyson, and Sharon Stone, but they hardly qualify as important social studies content ... . I wondered silently just what it is that these students are going to teach when they become employed ... . The deeper question is not that we have so many high school graduates and third and fourth year college students who are devoid of basic information about American history and culture, but rather, how, in the first place, these students came to have the expectations that they could become teachers. (n. pag.) Kizlik's fear is that the students, regardless of their enthusiasm, had poor recognition of knowledge he deemed significant and worthy. His teaching task, to convince students of the need for non-popular cultural knowledges, has resulted in his course being termed 'boring' or 'hard'. He has been unable to reconcile the convoluted connections between personal stories and televisual n

Introduction This essay is very much an anxious response to an earlier article, "Controlling Gameplay", that I wrote for M/C about gameplay: the immersive, visceral experience of playing computer and video games. I argued that gameplay concerns the event status of playing computer and video games, and that as such it exceeds the symbolic content of games. Now, I continue to be troubled by the implications of this assertion -- does it not give up too much ground gained by the understanding that social practices such as gaming are socially constructed? Does it not return us to all of the problems associated with claims of access to an essential, authentic experience? In short, it becomes very difficult to contest or question such claims. The term gameplay may well function to depoliticise computer gaming; at least if the domain of the properly sociopolitical is understood as the symbolic field! -- and perhaps we shouldn't concede this point too quickly. In the previous article did I almost against myself end up fetishising the technological through the postulation of this sublime experience? The Fetish & Desire You may well be wondering what any of this has got to do with desire. Well, first let me fill you in on the research context out of which these essays emerge. For the past three years I have been undertaking ethnographic research on computer gaming: first, by participating in online gamer fan activities; and second, in an enterprise ethnographic study of Auran, a computer game development company situated in Brisbane, Australia. "Controlling Gameplay" is clearly marked by my immersion and entanglement in an ethnographic relationship with online gamers. The material on which it is based came from spending up to 25 hours a week online playing and discussing games. The point of these comments is not simply to establish my credentials as a gamer, nor to embarrassingly distance myself from 'going native' by making the appropriate gestures about reflexivity. Rather, I insist on these moments of fetishistic disavowal and illusion as a necessary condition of doing ethnographies. This shifts us from the domain of desire to what Slavoj Zizek, following Lacan, theorises as enjoyment. In the introduction to "Controlling Gameplay" I made the banal point that computer game software is a commodity. Computer games offer an example of the informational commodity circulating through the networks of informational capitalism. This is basically the bottom line of gaming: big business. Zizek carefully outlines that central to the Marxist understanding of commodity fetishism -- the displacement of relations among people onto relations among things -- is a fascination for some kind of mysterious 'content' that is presumed to be hidden by the form of commodities (Sublime Object 16-22). An example of this is the cultural studies academic doing ethnographic research, and believing that his work offers "something more", a potential critical edge, than just the commodification and corporatisation of academic work. It would appear, at least initially, that this is precisely how gameplay is working: the hidden technological sublime behind the empty form of the informational commodity. The problem for critical analysis then becomes that of insisting on asking the question of why this 'content' of gameplay is affirmed in the game's particular status of the commodity form. We are not interested in disclosing "the secret behind the form but the secret of this form itself" (Sublime Object 15). In discussions many gamers would insist on the fact that gameplay is simply the fun factor of playing computer games: nothing more and nothing less. Others would insist on refusing to finally fill in this secret content. After describing gameplay as having something to do with an immersive experience of escapism a gamer would invariably move on to suggest that it perhaps involved the design of a good interface that allows the player to seamlessly participate in the game; or it is to do with quality game-design, a careful balancing of various features that define a particular genre. Or it is a skill developed and honed by many hours of gaming; intense gameplay is an insider's experience that is used to define your belonging as a 'hard-core gamer with cred' -- if it has to be explained and described to you, well, you just won't get it, will you? In the movement of these discussions and exchanges desire is not so much to be found or discovered in the hidden content of an essential, authentic experience that is gameplay, but rather it is right there on the surface, in the work of these displacements. If anything then, unconscious desire is not a deep interior experience of gameplay but in the very form of this movement, in the work that is done to elaborate and produce the effect of a hidden content. And the question arises: what is being avoided or obfuscated in this movement that perhaps has nothing at all to do with an experience of gameplay or even desire for that matter? I will return to this question in a moment. The important step here is not to become overly dazzled by this 'content' of gameplay, but instead to ask the question of why it assumes the form of a commodity. But why this focus on the commodity-form, and the process of fetishistic inversion. After all there is a lot more at stake here than simply the commodity-form or some kind of economic reductionism, essentialism or substantialism. There is also the fascinating power of attraction that this "something more" can exert on academic work. This has to do with the status of a sublime materiality that persists beyond the physical materiality of an object in the networks of business, or even that of an object-cause for intersubjective desire played out in the game of ethnographic research. It is precisely this persistence that is so troubling. But is this interest in fetishistic disavowal, the insistence on "something more", simply a more refined type of traditional ideology critique? That is, is it once more a matter of the illusory knowledge or beliefs of misguided naive gamers which the critical intellectual will come along and tear down, to reveal the true state of affairs -- that there is really nothing there except perhaps a complex, overdetermined effect of socioeconomic processes, a social construction if you like? Is all of this concern with the fetish simply an epistemological and monstrous game played out in the interiority of the thinking subject that has in fact very little, if anything, to do with the effective materiality of the complex assemblage that is computer gaming. Perhaps a shift to the materiality of the processes and objects involved in the production of computer gaming would help us to leave behind the problem of the fetish as some tired epistemological quandary about illusory belief. After all, is not the very idea of commodity fetishism based on a rather tired and limiting opposition between people and things? The Factish In his recent Pandora's Hope: Essays on the Reality of Science Studies, Bruno Latour attacks the notion of the fetish and the modern critical subject that he believes is behind it. Latour's actor-network theory (nicely explained in Sean Aylward Smith's recent article for M/C, "Where Does the Body End?") works to displace the assumed divide between subjects and objects, particularly humans and nonhumans. This is often theorised through richly detailed ethnographic studies that follow the associations between humans and nonhumans that make up the assemblages and collectivities of scientific practice and technological projects. In Pandora's Hope Latour takes aim at the critical gesture of the iconoclast, the modern critic, who seeks to expose the fetish as "something that is nothing in itself, but simply the blank screen onto which we have projected, erroneously, our fancies, our labor, our hopes and passions". A problem for the anti-fetishist is the assumption that people naively believe in the inherent, mysterious qualities of the object in the first place. Anti-fetishism is not so much about the qualities or status of the object and our relations to it, but more a mode of argument: "it is always an accusation. Some person, or some people, are accused of being taken in -- or worse, of cynically manipulating credulous believers -- by someone who is sure of escaping from this illusion and wants to free the others as well: either from naive belief or from being manipulative. But if anti-fetishism is clearly an accusation, it is not a description of what happens with those who believe or are manipulated" (270). Latour argues that the problem of fetishism is all in the mind of the critical thinker. Believing himself disconnected from the realm of things and objects, this monstrous "mind in the vat" "invents the notion of belief and manipulation and projects this notion upon a situation in which the fetish plays an entirely different role" (270). Latour proposes that we shift our attention to the status of the fetish as a quasi-object or factish. The factish has to be fabricated, made, and invented; as such it has a complex and variable ontology in which it is entangled within collective practice. The status of the factish is all about the associations between humans and nonhumans and refuses the disabling opposition between subject and object, epistemology and ontology, internal belief and external world. The modern critic's belief that others believe functions to render invisible the complicated practice through which the categories are mixed and factishes are constructed. To replace all of this Latour suggests that we adopt a heterogeneous ontology in which we externalise belief "among the multiplicity of nonhumans" (284) -- in short that we recognise the ontological content of beliefs, and grant ontology back to nonhuman entities (273-88). By t

This research is supported by the China National R&D Key Research Program (2019YFB1705703) and the In-terdisciplinary Program of SJTU, Shanghai, China (No. YG2019ZDA07).