With 38 straight Comments about Futurism in Russian Film, Time and Rhythm. Chris Marker, minimal D&G, Tarkovsky and Somnambulistic attempts rolled into one Sushi Ball.
⇒ The airport’s arrow is an asemic figure through which perhaps to read the semiotic
technologies of the airport itself.
global transit: it turns place into passage, striates space into controlled ﬂows, and urges the
traveller to ‘move on’. It is a point sign that leads the way to a consideration of the
technologies, both semiotic and a-semiotic, that provide the navigational and behavioural
guidance that is increasingly in evidence, not only at the airport but in all public spaces.
The arrow seamlessly leads from home to highway
to airport in a triumph of collective behaviour and identity.
But the arrow doesn’t
just stabilise the person into ‘the traveller’ with concomitant
predicable paths and
contractual responsibilities, it also determines speciﬁc procedures for
transforming our relationships and personal status.
In a world where forward
movement is privileged, where ‘stasis’ in one’s job, personal psychology, or real
estate holdings is seen as decline, the arrow is a
trope as well as a tool in this
‘supermodern’ world of constant transit.
The arrow is a curious phenomenon, like
the pointed ﬁnger of Canetti’s ‘ﬂight command’,
it admits no turning back: move or
be devoured, because the ‘technical’
(read global capitalist) world is upgrading.
The privilege accorded to the trope—metaphor in particular—has been,
to many critics, such as
Gil (1998) and, perhaps most inﬂuentially,
Guattari (1998), disastrous for the study of language.
The trope has, like all tropes
eventually do, ceased to turn the language; rather,
it has become it—a dialectic based
on the sublation of forms of substitution that
leads inexorably to yet another semic
plane in a structured set of semantic associations,
in other words, to a more primal