Alphbts ≈ Hrglyphs

As these years pass and digital technology further implants itself into our skin (we are moving from smartphones to smartwatches : computers in our pockets to computers attached to our bodies), English writing is evolving away from phonetic spelling and assuming more logographic spelling.

The casual observer already notices and experiences this with various textisms (omg, ttyl, lol, brb), emoticons, and the l33tsp33k of several internet subcultures. I would like to demonstrate this orthographic evolution with formal linguistic examples. Additionally, I argue that the English spelling system is already heavily logographic. What is written below are just some musings and beginnings of potential explorations.

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There are four main types of writing: Asemic, Semasiographic, Logographic, and Phonographic.

Asemic writing is wordless writing without semantic content. Not specific to any language, asemic writing is free abstraction that suggests the possibility of semantic content. Styles range from scrawl to calligraphy and beyond.

(more examples of Asemic writing can be found here: http://thenewpostliterate.blogspot.com/)

Semasiographic writing uses glyphs to signify general ideas. These symbols are not dependent to any specific language. Road signs, emojis, and hobo signs are a few examples of semasiographic writing.

Catalog of Hobo Signs

from a flight safety card

Glottographic writing uses glyphs to represent specific language structures. There are two branches of writing under the glottographic umbrella: logographic writing and phonographic writing.

Logographic writing uses glyphs to represent specific ideas (such as “love”) and grammar morphemes (like the subfix –ing in “loving”). Cuniform and Chinese writing are examples of logographic writing. The ampersand (&) is a formal logographic example in English writing.

Babylonian Cuniform

Phonographic writing uses glyphs to represent the sounds of a language. Germanic languages, Romance languages, Semitic languages, languages of India, etc. use phonetic systems. Phonographic writing has further classifications (Syllabic, Segmental, and Featural, but we won’t get into those specifics).

Sample of Lepcha writing from Northern India. Used by Buddhist Missionaries

Sample of Coptic writing of Egypt. A close relative of the Greek Alphabet.

A sample of traditional Mongolian script. A phonetic alphabet written from top to bottom.

Egyptian hieroglyphs, Maya script and the Japanese writing system are examples that mix logographic and phonographic writing. Sometimes the glyphs are specific ideas and sometimes the glyphs represent sounds to utter.

Sample of Maya script from the “Madrid Codex”

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English writing is not as phonetic as we pretend it is. It seems to be moving towards something akin to hieroglyphs.

Example: The word “Right” is a homophone to “Rite”. But, a few centuries ago, “Right” wasn’t a homophone to anything. It was pronounced ReeHt (hard “h” [or rixt in IPA]). Yet we keep the Middle English spelling despite no longer being phonetically similar. A fascination with classical Greek and Roman culture in the 15^th and 16^th centuries altered the spelling of words to better reflect their etymological roots. “Debt” used to be spelled as “Det”, but a silent “b” was added to reflect that it came from the latin “debitum”.

The centuries that have passed produced a rich vocabulary with countless peculiar quirks in spelling (I before E except after C unless it’s “Weird Science” lol), but this isn’t to say that our spelling system is ridiculous and without reason. English orthography is unique because it showcases etymological elaborations and language cross-pollination (The long E in “Thief” “Pier” and “Achieve” reveal French roots, while “Deer”, “Keep”, and “Tree” reveal Germanic roots). Other European languages, such as Spanish, use strict phonetic writing; a Spanish word is pronounced as it is written, thus it is hard to sink into that words developmental history.

“What irregular spellings tend to do is increase the general visual distinctiveness of words, whether they are homophones or not,” writes Geoffrey Sampson, a scholar in writing systems. A general visual distinctiveness, Sampson argues, renders words quickly and easily recognizable. In terms of reading, we become less dependent on sounding out words in order to understand them and more savvy on recognizing how the words look to determine what it is.

Thus, English writing’s irregular spelling and wide array of possible letter sequences points towards a logographic script. If I spelled a series of words without any vowels after the first letter, you will still be able to read (or, at least, correctly determine) what was written: Ardvrk, Brght, Wtrmln, Flxbl, Knf, Nght. The visual distinctiveness of these words helps us determine what they signify. Of course, there are still many words that depend on the phonographs of vowels: Dp = deep, dip, dope, dupe? Frg = frog, forge?

There have been only a handful of studies examining the relationship between reading and writing cognitive development. English speaking children are more likely to read visually distinct words successfully (such as school, night, brain) but are more likely to misspell them. Likewise, words which are phonologically regular but offer less visual distinction (mat, bat, pin, dip) are more likely to be spelled correctly but read incorrectly. Uta Frith, a psychololinguist, has argued that, for writing systems in general, “the ideal orthography is incompatible with the ideal for reading”.

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I have barely looked at the implications and functions of English writing in the context of digital technology. There, a harder push towards logographic script is being made with emails, texting, emojis, and hashtags. I was recommended a book regarding the development of writing in the English digital world called “Digital Shift” by Jeff Scheible, so I’m gonna be looking into that next.

These are merely preliminary observations on what I’ve noticed in English writing. I plan on experimenting more with English as a logographic script and play with its possibilities via poetry, (in)formal research, and cataloging anarchist and exploratory abecedariums of children.

There are other perspectives to ponder in the world of writing systems, such as geopolitics and alphabets (The Development of Korean Hangul), the evolution of spiritual thought and alphabets (Hieroglyphs, Alchemy, and Kabbalah), social conditioning and alphabets (spelling bees?), among other weird entry points.

I H8 Performance Art

I replaced “ate” with an erect infinite symbol ∞ to better portray my undying resentment against all the hyper-intellectualized, ego-ridden elitism and gross  commercialization of what my friend would call, “self-congratulatory masturbation” – otherwise known as the New York Performance Art Scene.

As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, Communitylessness and Selflessness, “Performance Art, from its 1960s and 70s roots, was an anti-art; it challenged concepts of beauty while blurring the lines between artist and viewer. In it’s heyday, you couldn’t buy or sell performance art – it was consciously anti-commerce, escaping mass packaging and thoughtless consumption. Performance art was politically and socially minded, synthesizing new ideas of community and self”.

Then why does it cost me $7 to see someone polish an orange at an “underground venue”? Why does the artist say, “The performance interrogated multiple perspectives of identity and privacy involving fathers’ rights and child abuse”. 

O RLY? NO WAI! I thought it was talking about the post-colonial nature of a Florida boycott in the aftermath of the Zimmerman trial.

But whatever the performance actually means isn’t important; the topic of discussion ends once you leave the gallery. If the conversation continues, it is because another artist was inspired to do their own performance about child abuse at a different gallery. This time they slap a salmon. In this cycle of performance discourse the topic of child abuse will remain in the theoretical realm, crystalizing in violent actions against fruit and fish, never leaving the confines of a gallery or museum. Their art has no radical nature, no climb for social change or political justice.

The source of my diatribe: Last night I spent 5 and a half hours in a white box with a group of NYU Performance Art postgraduates. Out of respect for my friend, I stayed the entire length. This was a mistake because my mind was eventually tilling seeds of nihilism. I saw a series of events, some which were uniquely sensuous and beautiful – only to be soiled by the overall nothingologue.  As a woman was carving a chicken in front of me, telling the story of her wartime grandfather eating the flesh of a human, I internally asked myself questions, “Why were we locked in a white box room? Why is this forum not open to the public? Are we actually doing anything?”

If this were the 1960s, being locked in that room carving chicken would have been perfect – the aesthetic landscape at the time was that of rebellion, questioning, experimentation, and a search of the provocatively beautiful. We wouldn’t need to supplement our performance with half-developed artist statements – the very act of doing something so strange was more than enough to alter the concepts of art, community, et cetera.

But no – here we are engaging in fauxvestigation, iterating and reiterating the words “corporeality”, “peripheral nature”, “evokes the idea of…” because this is the fashion of New York. If you pop a balloon and describe the event as an idiosyncratic atlas, simultaneously universal and highly personal, you’ll probably get some praise and appear at a Chelsea art gallery cocktail schmoozing with fat-walleted name droppers.

You know what Performance reminds me of?  Asemica.

I use the word asemica from the phenomenon known as asemic writing : http://asemic.net/ (thanks Kalan!)

Asemic writing is open form scrawl devoid of semantic content

I think this stuff is really gorgeous. Like the early days of Performance, asemica has no meaning – its tantalizing topography is enough. Its inherent meaninglessness is part of its innocent charm. But maybe I’m just projecting my ideals onto it. Maybe other artists have different ideas regarding asemic writing. There is probably an artist that finds a connection between the scrawling gibberish of asemica to the white noise of Twitter feeds. There is probably an artist that draws lines between asemic writing and two-dimensional abstraction of child abuse.

But that’s the thing!! It still doesn’t mean anything – we are merely projecting meaning onto it.

If the New York Performance Scene wants to take a step towards fruitful discussion, they should look at themselves and ask, “why are we gibbering?”.

Then, maybe, we can talk about how we give gibberish meaning and how that becomes the beginning of language.