Chucking Values I'm chucking values this evening. The first to go is the transvaluation of all values. This just won't do and besides makes a mess of some of the little ones! You can get the best values for your money if you chuck the old ones! There are always rooms for new values emptied of old ones chucked! A chucked value is valueless even if it is a transvaluation. No, wait! A chucked transvaluation is worth a lot of the little ones. The little ones gather in a group as if they were capable of speech. My values are my clothes! I chuck them and dress in transvaluations. Everyone knows me here and understands I do this daily. What others call contrary behavior I call value-chucking. What others consider contradictory I find falls apart. The contradictory falls apart because one thing follows another. There are never simultaneous things in my world of transvaluations. If there were, I could chuck them simultaneously. Everyone knows I try to do this just about all the time. I'm hated in some circles as a result, but that's just another value. I chuck those values in each and every direction. That's part of my transvaluation which does the chucking for me. No value-chucking for my transvaluation! It will have to go! ______________________________________________________________________ Machine-19e Renan-Machine Seminary to Spiritual Crisis to the future of science to the history of religion and the lover of ideas through 1892 Taine-Machine The young philosopher through literary critique through critique of art to moral crisis to historian through 1893 Baudelaire-Machine His mother's remarrying through the solitary child through the Parisian bohemian through the man of letters through 1867 Rimbaud-Machine The child-prodigy through the visionary poet to renouncing all literary activity to the adventurer through 1891 Hugo-Machine The sublime child through the romantic chef to the sonorous echo through the death of Leopoldine to the political man through the coup d'etat and exile through the proscribed to the grand-father through 1895 Lamartine-Machine The young aristocrat through the sentimental crisis through the diplomat through the public man to the political crisis through the vanquished through 1869 Nodier-Machine The touched-by-all to the cruel years through the lunatic through 1844 Vigny-Machine The first tests through the epoch of the pen to the young romantic through the disenchantment through the elaboration of wisdom through 1864 Stendhal-Machine The student to the discovery of Italy through the soldier to the Milanese through the dandy and the diplomat through 1842 Gautier-Machine Research into equilibrium to debut in journalism through studies in eva- sion through 1872 Balzac-Machine The quest for success to the first successes through the brilliant expan- sion of genius through 1850 Verlaine-Machine The inspired commencement to the years of crisis through a strange mysti- cism to a sadness through 1896 Mallarme-Machine The Baudelarian tradition through studies in aesthetics to the first Tues- days to supreme ambition through 1898 Sainte-Beuve-Machine The poet and romance writer to the interior crisis through the critique through 1869 Flaubert-Machine The exalted adolescent to nervous malady through the hermit of Crosset through 1880 Zola-Machine From romanticism to naturalism to the success of l'Assommoir to the natur- alist landscape through humanitarian propaganda through 1902 Lautreamont-Machine The destiny of Isidore Ducasse through the despair of Maldoror through the frenzy of Maldoror through 1870 Michelet-Machine The young plebeian through the university youth to the entrance into the National Archives through the master through the militant through the judge through 1874 _________________________________________________________________________ your writing does writing matter? ( i sit on the chair naked, nikuko sits on me, she says, i want to show myself ) does my writing matter? ( nikuko sits on the chair, partly naked, i squeeze her breasts, pull her thin blouse up, she pulls my panties down, pulls my cock towards her, her, her ) does obsession matter? ( i sit on the chair naked, my face half visible, moaning nikuko, nikuko, nikuko, it's clear i can't see straight, looking inside the imaginary, inconcievable bodies and conceptions ) does writing matter only if it bears witness? ( nikuko lies on the couch, naked, her body twitching, exhausting from pirouettes, her feet are bleeding, she cries doctor, doctor, doctor ) does writing matter? ( i lie on the couch, partly naked, turning from side to side, my body covered with bedsores, she occupies me, she takes me over, her tongue's my own, i have no control over it ) does my writing matter? ( i bite nikuko's naked breasts, leaving marks, she bites mine, my neck, my naked abdomen, we're covered with bruises, we're covered with signs, we're visible from the windows, people read our bodies, the symbols are primitive, an early form of writing, they clothe us, we get culture ) does obsession matter? ( nikuko pirouettes in a short skirt, faster, it flies up, she's naked un- derneath, her labia are visible, they measure the pirouettes, they divide time, they divide the days and nights ) does writing matter only if it bears witness? ( i'm naked, i dance clumsily for nikuko, my cock turns uselessly, my lips are bleeding, i'm calling nikuko, nikuko, nikuko, my chest burns, nikuko is partly naked, she's watching, her breasts are pained, her mouth opened, she's calling me, i can hear her, she's calling me ) does writing matter? __________________________________________________________________________ Other and Same The machine: contacts through and into Trace, sending the diary and texts to Nottingham: Number of calls: 320. Last call: Fri Jan 7 23:47:02 2000 You have transferred 13.65 MBytes, averaging 12.18 kBytes/sec. A Bookmark name: trace B Hostname: trace.ntu.ac.uk C User: asondheim F Directory: /sondheim/diary G Transfer type: ASCII Text H Port: 21 I call up machines, I control machines thousands of miles away, they write what I tell them to, they send me returns, the returns are on my screen here at home, they're messages from afar, my structures are world-struc- tures, my structures are world-wide. My screen is always already foreign, my screen is always already alterity, my screen is other and transcendent and absolute beneath the signatures of protocols. I send out 320 messages. The messages come from these keystrokes; I can see and hear them. All you get is residue, stains. You send something back and for me, it's the same - residues, stains, one machine to another, acknowledgments and synchroni- zations. We will talk together and I don't know who you are but everything is filled with the foreign, these letters staring back at me are never my own. ___________________________________________________________________________ farmers and dells doctor leopold konninger shuddering on the couch, naked, his body dissolving before us, calling nikuko who lies heaving, sprawled on the couch, naked, her body decaying before us, calling the doctor - doctor leopold konninger sitting naked on the couch, his nipples grabbed by nikuko the beautiful russian ballet dancer, twisted, while nikuko sits partly clothed on the couch, her thin blouse pulled up, her nipples grabbed by doctor leopold konninger - doctor leopold konninger in a pensive moment calling nikuko - but the bodies of doctor leopold konninger and nikuko the beautiful russian ballet dancer are shredding before us - and closeups of labia and penises grace our screens, veering back and forth, oh whose can they be, the closeups splintering right there in front of us - their faces are in shadow, their feet are akimbo, their arms are askew, their mouths are ajar - doctor leopold konninger sits naked on the couch and nikuko the beautiful russian ballet dancer sits naked on the doctor and their bodies are splattered, arms shattered, legs spattered, breasts scattered, necks sputtered, minds skittered - they topple forward and you can see the couch neatly arranged with footprints of the audience leaving out of boredom and ennui, out of exhaustion and detumescence, out of irritation with their continuous display - they're dancing in their minds - they're dancing in their minds - they're dancing in their minds - high, hoe, the dairy, oh! they're dancing in their minds - ___________________________________________________________________ ..*....*....*....*....*....*.. nn*nnoo*oott*ttii*iicc*ccee*ee ..*....*....*....*....*....*.. there's nothing more I can do with nikuko and doctor leopold konninger in their present condition, it's better to consider them killed off somewhere in the midst of a narrative that refuses to stop for them, they might, yes they will, appear on screen, they might do a dance or two or a trick or two, but they've gone from the text, they're ghosts, oni, obake, they're scrabbling ..*....*....*....*....*....*.., but they're lost here, she might pirouette, she might not ..*....*....*....*....*....*.., he might look, he might not, they might get married and run off to konigsberg, they might not ..*....*....*....*....*....*.., but they've left here, left the texts, ..*....*....*....*....*....*.., there's nothing more to say, noth- ing more to write about then, they're off on their own, they'd rather have it that way, they've gone, you won't hear more about them, they've said goodbye, ..*....*....*....*....*....*.. __________________________________________________________________________ Supernumerary 218:412) Jennifer 01:10:00:00:00 I couldn't think of a better topic since the hangman disappeared. Here I am writing you at midnight! It's as if everyone stopped breathing just for a moment. I know I did! 218:413) Julu 01:10:00:00:05 Hey Jennifer, I didn't know you were on! I feel that the air's cleared around here. If I hear the word "ballet" I'm going to throw up! Enough already! It was a stupid conceit! 218:414) Jennifer 01:10:00:00:10 Yeah, a conceit - that's exactly what it was. A trope or lever to explain just about everything in the world. As if you could squeeze blood out of a stone. Nothing is farther from the truth. 218:415) Julu 01:10:00:00:12 Exactly - but truth is simultaneously centrifugal and decentered. It's the lack of the eye, all that perspectival machinery. We're just coming to grips with it. 218:416) Jennifer 01:10:00:00:15 Just like those pirouettes, as if there were a body at the center of them. Her skirt kept flying up, and there was nothing there. An avatar, or woman of Lacan. In masquerade, burdened by the lack, shattered. 218:417) Julu 01:10:00:00:18 Well, there's no more to it, and his writing avatar discourse itself is getting stale. He's taken you and I around the bend, and meanwhile there is e-commerce to think about, all that corporate supernumerary exchange. It doesn't appear anywhere in his work; he's completely ignored the poli- tical economy of the Internet. 218:418) Julu 01:10:00:00:21 He's placed bodies in the way. The Net's about "streaming video, it's about streaming music," and he's back there with a vision or version of flesh and disappearance. He doesn't realize even the imaginary is disa- ppearing - everything replaced by the monetary clot. 218:419) Jennifer 01:10:00:00:24 That gets back to his theory of the self as a coagulation - now the imag- inary itself is a coagulation, running between flesh and machine, swollen with flickering and competitive protocols. There are no rooms left for the avatars, and even human speech is always already stolen speech - from selves, machines, corporate entities which are themselves streaming. 218:420) Julu 01:10:00:00:29 Do you mean our days are numbered? 218:421) Jennifer 01:10:00:00:30 At least our conversations are. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable One day Nikuko was walking by the banks of a raging river. She was reading the Diamond Sutra, and stepped dangerously near the shoreline. A passing monk came up to her and said, Please be careful, or you will drown. Nikuko said, The Diamond Sutra will save me. The monk said, The Diamond Sutra has never saved anyone. He grabbed the scroll from her and threw it in the river. Nikuko, furious, jumped in after it, and with much difficulty brought it back to shore. The monk said, On the other hand, everyone saves the Diamond Sutra. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable There once was a lion who terrorized the villages of southern Kyushu. Nikuko was walking near Kirishimayama one day, hoping for enlightenment. The more she hoped, the farther she walked, and the farther she walked, the more hopeless her condition. Mired in emotion, she vanquished the lion in a dreamlike state from which she never recovered. Now enlightened, she continued her terrorization of the villages, plundering, raping, and mur- dering, without cause, with great effect. She knew there were no lions. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable It was Hokkaido's darkest winter in a long time. Outside, the ground was frozen. Nikuko sat by a fire inside the thatched hut; covered with skins, she chanted Amida, slowly drinking tea. Her eyes were half open, her child asleep in the corner. The wind howled; the flickering flames made eerie patterns on the wall. But there was something else in the wind and the snow, something not quite right with the night. Something was shuffling around the hut, and, if she tried, she heard great wings beating. She was certain it was a tengu, come to disturb her meditation. Nikuko felt a great sleep come over her, her body covered by wings, not skins. She woke in the early dawn; there were wings everywhere upon her, her muscles thick within them. Nikuko moved the wings in great swatches; they beat in all directions, and she remained immobilized. Her child had vanished. She could no longer chant, could no longer speak. She huddled there, the fire cold, beating her wings, again and again. The walls of the hut were over- come, her soul was overcome. She continued beating. She beat the air into clouds, beat the winter sun back in the sky. The day dawned warmer and warmer; Nikuko, exhausted, fell back down into a deep sleep, enlightened, as winter returned to the land. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Why dogs don't have horns. In bygone days, male dogs had horns centered in their high and bony foreheads. The horns were symbols of their prowess, and many a villager was kept awake at night by ferocious fighting - the horns clattering against each other. One day Nikuko was wending her way from the hotsprings in Oita - an enlightened being, she allowed her mind to drift. Suddenly, a ferret crossed the road in front of her. In a split second, Nikuko and the ferret changed places, Nikuko now running low upon the ground, working the roads as cross-walks, heading in and out of the deep forests surrounding her. Sure enough, a dog approached, its horn hard against the sky. Nikuko was sweating and naked, her skin scratched by brambles, her breath hot and heavy from running. The dog lowered its head, Nikuko exchanged places with the horn. The horn fell useless to the ground and disappeared forever; Nikuko, astride the dog, changed places with a bee, a bird, a plant, a butterfly, and a ferret, in just that very order. Now cooled by the shadows of dusk among the bamboo, she continued on her way. A monk passed by, laughing, and asked, Nikuko, after all this play, are you any the wiser? Nikuko replied, not in the slightest, Izanagi, not the least little bit. _________________________________________________________________________ Parable Before there was the word, there was no beginning. Nikuko tried to think. She couldn't think. She didn't have time to think, and she itched. Nikuko scratched herself and flakes of skin fell into the water. They became Japan. Nikuko, thought, I will take a swim. Nikuko said, I am swimming, and her mouth filled with water. She spat it out and it became Lake Biwa. Did I just say something, said Nikuko. She thought, now I can say all sorts of things. Just as she thought that, all sorts of things appeared. They were grey until she said, What a colorful life. They were dark until she said, I wish it were sunny out. They were hot until she said, I wonder when it will snow, and they were too shiny until she said Good night. __________________________________________________________________________ they live in the world already gone one pulls the other inside out what is left, blood marking the body breasts grow from breasts, the two are hungered i would eat your flesh, she says, dancing my eyes cut your body in two, he says, looking lips grow from lips, the two in struggle inside of him, she screamed violently inside of her, he twisted in her fit their names were erased by the war you're watching the bodies of survivors you're watching bodies which are dead by now everything you take from them is all they have you're a thief, you've stolen their holes you're a thief, you've stolen their mouths their bodies are broken, corrupted their corrupted bodies are broken, hanged carnage and ecstasy, they do it for you carnage and ecstasy, they do it for them ________________________________________________________________ Parable Another day Nikuko was walking on the long path from Sata towards the mountains; the day was overcast and uncomfortably cool. She passed several fishermen on the way, their nets heavy, their faces weathered, searching the clouds. The sun was shiny metal in the grey sky; there were mists about. Someone was walking towards her from the distance, as if in a dream. Nikuko recalled later that the woman looked like a stranger, then familiar, then a friend. It was Nikuko walking from the mountains, heading towards Sata. It's not surprising that I met myself on the road, Nikuko later said to Izanagi, but it was surprising that I would ever want to return to Sata, after all. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko came upon a corpse lying by the side of the road. They were on the way back from Kagoshima; it was the middle of the night, but the moon illuminated the landscape. Look, said Izanagi, something is moving. Sure enough, a thin shadow flitted across the body, which was that of a young samurai. He is not yet reborn, said Nikuko, and is moving quickly through rebirth after rebirth; he continues to commit seppuku, waiting for the proper body. He is bound to the wheel, Izanagi replied; see how the body freshens every so often, as he almost returns to this life. With that, Izanagi took his sword and severed the head with one blow. He'll have to go somewhere else now, said Izanagi, turning around, but Nikuko was nowhere to be seen. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable This is a story that has been told many times, but is well worth the re- telling. One day Izanagi and Nikuko, for it is true that they traveled together, were passing by a ridge in the vicinity of Dazaifu. The way was steep, and suddenly, a white fox bounded across the path in front of them, disappearing into the bamboo forest. Izanagi said, This must be an omen; let us keep our eyes open for further adventures. Nikuko remained silent and thoughtful as they continued on their way. All at once, the forest grew darker, the birds stopped their singing, and the strips of sunlight disappeared from the tall stems. Another omen, Izanagi said, and Nikuko remained silent. A little further on, they came to a stone peculiarly carved in the shape of a tortoise (Why, at this height, said Izanagi), and beyond that, they saw a small stream reverse its course, wending its way uphill. Izanagi spoke again, asking Nikuko, All these omens, what do they signify. Nikuko replied, These omens announce one another, like the cycle of births and rebirths; they signify nothing but each other, the eternal wheeling of worlds. They continued along the path, passing two unicorns fighting, a woman playing a ch'in in a most mournful manner, golden birds, and dragons coursing through the air, as they made their way to the summit. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable A well-made shakuhachi is created from root bamboo, worked on for weeks and months, lacquered inside, a hardwood insert in the mouthpiece. When Nikuko plays the shakuhachi, whole worlds appear within the moist interior air between the five finger-holes. Bacteria thrive, stationary waves hold colonies of protozoa in perfect suspension. After the shakuhachi is swabbed, smaller life-forms cling to the lacquer, and for hours or days, cultures appear and disappear. One evening, while Nikuko played beneath her basket, two robbers approached her. Her shakuhachi was made from a single piece of bamboo without any joints, and, with the old narrow bore and wide stem, it was a strong instrument. Nikuko, swinging it this way and that, defeated them without missing a note. There are many silences in shakuhachi music, and life-within, life-without, each contains histories full of pathos, sweetness, violence and despair, lives clinging to the sounds, suspended. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko invented the syllabic script; Izanagi threw it away. Nikuko inven- ted the wheel; Izanagi rolled it out of site. Nikuko gave fire to humans; Izanagi stole the flames. Nikuko invented clothing; Izanagi tore it into shreds. Then Nikuko invented all the kanji, a myriad of signs; Izanagi was overwhelmed. What can I do with them, he said, There are so many, they will prove useless to men. But men read and reread the kanji, memorizing each and every one, and out of the shapes of the signs arose the wheel, fire, and clothing. Only the syllabic script remained behind, nurtured in the lives of women, always a chance, in this or any other worlds, of sub- verting, replacing, the kanji. Thus was hiragana born, as a reminder that invention and memory can reside, not only in the signs themselves, but also in the spaces between them. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable How the snail got its shell. Nikuko pared her toenails, and a slug, ever- fearful of death, crawled into one of the cuttings. Why the bamboo grows so straight. Of all the plants, the bamboo first avoided the cycles of rebirth by least inhabiting the world. Nikuko rewarded it by allowing it grow the fastest towards the heavens (i.e. a straight line is the shortest distance between two points). Why water flows downhill. Nikuko made the reflection of water one of the three gifts, in the form of a mirror. In order to reflect, water had to fill the land (i.e. flow downhill into hollows). How the torii originated. Nikuko instructed a prince to build a bridge that went everywhere and nowhere at once. Why birds fly. Nikuko needed messengers to Izanagi. Why men are taller than women. One day Niku- ko was asked what the greatest blessing would be. To see beneath the surf- ace of things, she replied. Why there are births and rebirths. Once Nikuko fell asleep, tired from the creation of beings and souls. She said to Iza- nagi, perhaps there are too many, or perhaps there are still not enough. Izanagi replied, let them find out for themselves. Why bees make honey. In order to chant the Amidah in the winter. Why men fight. One day Izanagi said to Nikuko, there are too many of them, and they take too long to die. Why flowers open in the summer. To hear the bees chant Amidah. Why the shamisen took so long to enter the floating world. It took that long to steal three strands of hair from Nikuko for the strings; that is why the shamisen plays music no one can resist (i.e. the strings tie up the man in knots). __________________________________________________________________________ Parable One day Nikuko left Wa to see the worlds she had created. She traveled through Afghanistan and the outskirts of the Roman Empire, coming at last to Palestine. Here she walked towards the Galil, having heard of a new prophet, as prominent as Izanagi. She was disappointed; his voice was thin and his message all too familiar; he also spoke of a poverty of gods. One day she rose in the morning to the sound of weeping; it was the prophet, Jesus, forlorn and weeping. I will lose my followers, he said to Nikuko, I have prayed over and over again for a miracle, and none is forthcoming. Nikuko said, I can help you; the trouble is that men can walk on water, and there is nothing to be done here. With that, she created drowning and forgetfulness; men no longer remembered the flowing of streams and rivers beneath their feet. When the prophet walked on water, it was he alone who did so; the rest, by diminution, worshiped him as the miraculous son of God. _________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko was resting at Dazaifu. Izanagi said, Nikuko, how many kami, beyond the eight or eighty million. There were kami everywhere, pouring from the stones, from the blades of grass, from the hills. There were kami gathered in the shrines, shadows swimming without a ripple, beneath the surface of the ponds. Nikuko replied, Sometimes it's not even me who's speaking, they're swarming within me, sometimes one or another speaks, their words escape me and new shrines are built, one even even made a world so fragile it destroyed itself. Izanagi replied, And I, Nikuko, what is within me. Nikuko replied, The blades of grass, the hills and pools here, worlds of inconceivable fragility. Suddenly Izanagi split open and the same world emerged and settled down, with Izanagi in it. This is the 'Enlightenment of Izanagi.' ___________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko and Izanagi were at Kirishimayama, walking among the mountain paths. Izanagi said to Nikuko, Who will write your parables? Nikuko replied, It does not matter, there are none about how the Leopard got his spots. Are there no female Leopards, asked Izanagi. Yes, replied Nikuko, but the blemish clothed the male. Izanagi said, But who will write your parables? Nikuko said, There are not enough things in the world for parables. What would you have, Izanagi asked. More explanations, replied Nikuko, as if causes had effects, and effects had causes. So parables lie, said Izanagi, since they imply causes and effects tied together, as men and women are tied in procreation. Exactly, replied Nikuko, the binding of parables makes causes and effects, and out of these men and women thrive, and make culture. What they do then, asked Izanagi? Forget both of us after a while, replied Nikuko; and they continued on their way. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko walked through National Park Kirishima. It was a sunny day; like mothers, the divine mountains embraced them warmly. Let us stop for a refreshing drink, said Izanagi. Certainly, said Nikuko. They paid 500 yen each, which seemed reasonable. It is good to have a park at the base of Yamato, where this world began and gods descended and ascended, said Izanagi. Nikuko replied, It is even better that the base rotates and wobbles with the rest of the planet, sweeping the heavens above and the oceans below. Yes, replied Izanagi, we never know where our ascent will take us, but Yamato is friendly and grateful, and a good place to sit. Don't spill your drink, said Nikuko, this world has gravity. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable What would happen if I were blind, Nikuko asked Izanagi. You can see per- fectly, replied Izanagi. Of course I can, said Nikuko. And I have all my other senses as well. Do you think the gods have more senses than humans, asked Izanagi. Do you think we are gods, asked Nikuko. Humans have five senses, said Izanagi, and they are smell, taste, sight, hearing, and touch in that order. Why in that order, asked Nikuko. Because they must smell what they taste, although they are afraid of it, and what it might say to move them, answered Izanagi. We have eight senses, said Nikuko, because we can determine hot from cold, tall from short, high from deep, truth from falsehood, and soft from hard. That makes ten senses, said Izanagi, Ah, said Nikuko, but do we truly taste what we smell, are not both the most intimate form of touch for us? And as for blindness, added Nikuko, for me, sight is the least important sense of all; I walk and speak with eyes closed, talk without looking at my neighbor, and listen to the world in the silence of the night. Sight is overrated, said Izanagi; I haven't seen for years. Perhaps there's nothing to look at, replied Nikuko. __________________________________________________________________________ what we watched they're dark, flooded, also naked as in the fumbling movement of bodies around or crossing, a kind of flesh against a night-time planet. azure said they should be seen in blackness. i'd imagine the dance and videos continuing in a space for hours. it would be interesting to work for hours in the space, until everything exhausts itself, everyone is exhausted. until there is a speaking in the space, or murmuring, of dancers and doc- tors and a variety of centuries. something rolling, roiling about the work, intense movement. sometimes i think of azure and i naked for a week or a month, stumbling around equip- ment always on, processing. pitch-black, the audience moving from station to station, or a space like a slab or monolith, i see the ghost from azure's makeup, the corpse of dancing, memories of faces, bodies. retrieving bodies for ecstasy that lasts forever. darkness, the fragility of the retrieving. the labor (again, labor) in- volved in the recuperating. images hardening into simulacra of performers. what comes across the media and what's direct, in the space, a presence. what is carried by beams of light, what's carried by scent. spaces of the corners or creases of bodies, convulsive bodies, bodies crossing savanna, grasping at straws, branches, climbing. the clambering of bodies. something of the nature of the dream, what begins to dissolve the real, a huddling in the matrix, something about origins in them. as in the para- bles, origins present by virtue of image or imaginary, then spoken or speaking, sight the least of it. the tension of movement which creates things or the tension of movement during the creation of things. exhaustion, as if waking from dreaming to work. returning to dream, or rather, dreams which cut like stone into or from the real, a form of hardness. submergence, what comes out, is visible, in blackness, the midst of it, what is seen as veneer, or by light, veering from the edges of movements, or lips. from origin to origin, among origins. _________________________________________________________________________ Parable One day Izanagi and Nikuko were walking in the vicinity of Nara. They passed a market full of merchants from Honshu and Silla, busy with their wares. The clattering of soroban filled the air. When we count, said Nikuko, we use our fingers up to twelve. And after twelve, asked Izanagi. We count by by shells to one-hundred-twenty, Nikuko replied. Thereafter to five-hundred-forty, we consider bamboo stalks, and after that, to roughly two-thousand, we use rice-plants, that their yield may be great. Izanagi asked again, and after two-thousand. There are lacquer boxes to four-thou- sand-three-hundred, Nikuko said, and after that, scrolls to ten-thousand, that we may properly observe the rites and rituals. After that, there is only the counting by numbers and words, that goes nowhere, and means noth- ing. There is a certain truth in that, said Izanagi. There are a number of bamboo stalks in them, replied Nikuko. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable What did you do with the atoms, asked Nikuko, as they left Nara, heading south. Bad mistake, said Izanagi, there was a loophole, they'll destroy themselves. Not again, replied Nikuko, we should readjust the cycles of worlds; let them be born elsewhere, keeping the balance. Where do you imagine, said Izanagi, adding, perhaps in another universe altogether. Nikuko replied, Excellent, and if we leave gravity behind, they could just float around if the atoms misbehave. Atoms, said Izanagi, this time I want nothing but fluids; we could have two elements and a whole lot of informa- tion. About what, said Nikuko. About where everybody's been before, and where they'll be going, replied Izanagi. Then they might stay put, said Nikuko. No, said Izanagi, they'll come back, they always miss the little things in life. ___________________________________________________________________________ note .flesti eloh eht ton ,ti fo tser eht ees ylno yeht tub rebmemer yeht dna kool yeht tub gnikool ekilsid yeht .sessentiw era yeht .hturt fo citsitats rehtona sdda gnihctaw enoyreve dna ,em htiw erew uoy evorp nac uoy os .ecneserp a ylesicerp si ,ffo sleep ,htrof semoc syawla ti ,ti gnikat ,uoy era ereht ,rednifweiv eht ni era uoy reverehw esuaceb ,eloh-oediv video-hole, because wherever you are in the viewfinder, there are you, taking it, it always comes forth, peels off, is precisely a presence. so you can prove you were with me, and everyone watching adds another statistic of truth. they are witnesses. they dislike looking but they look and they remember but they only see the rest of it, not the hole itself. eton Parable Nikuko and Izanagi were walking near Lake Biwa. They were discussing the parables of Nikuko, which were also the parables of Izanagi. He said, They'll be known by your name, The Parables of Nikuko. She replied, Noth- ing in this world exists outside of the sign, or everything exists outside of the sign. If nothing exists outside, these parables will remain forever in human memory, but if everything exists outside, these parables will already have been forgotten. That is indeed a sentence, said Izanagi, or a sentencing. It is only two, said Nikuko, and that is already two too many. They continued walking around the shore. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko was wending her solitary way back to Dazaifu; she was tired, and the path was wet from the recent rains. She came across an old man hobbl- ing along; he moved slowly, his face twisted with age. Suddenly she felt herself in the presence of an enlightened being. She asked him who he was, and discovered he was mute (i.e. he did not reply, either because he could not speak, or because he could not hear, or because he desired silence above all else). It was then that she realized he had most likely lost his mind, slowly withdrawing from the world by virtue of incapacity, which he had turned to good purpose by focusing on the perfection and evanescence of all things. She continued on her way, thinking that the emptier the mind, the greater the flow; by the side of the road, a granite boulder murmured Aum, and she was enlightened. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko met Death on the way from Yamaguchi to Kokura. On the way from Fukukoka Castle, Nikuko met Nichirin. Nikuko met the fisherwoman on the outskirts of Miyazaki. Down from Kamogami, Death met Nikuko on the road. In Kumamoto prefecture, Nikuko met three samurai near a well. Outside of Oita, Death. Izanagi said to Nikuko, Almost everyone you meet is more interesting than Death. Nikuko said, Death comes to everyone. Nikuko said, Death is the unforeseen gift. Nikuko said, Death knows no class or race. Izanagi said to Nikuko, You're more boring than Death. Nikuko said, Death knows no boredom. Nikuko said, Death is the permanent disease. Izanagi replied, Stop that, this is absurd. Nikuko said, Death knows no stopping. Nikuko said, Death knows no locks. Izanagi said, From now on this will be known as the Joke of Nikuko. Nikuko laughed and said nothing. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko were walking south, passing by Udo-Jingu. They were lost in tought. Then Nikuko asked Izanagi, What, in this world, are you doing (i.e. in general). He replied, I am creating mirrors and mirrorings, moorings slipped from moorings, anchors from anchors, anchorages from anchorages. Nikuko said, Please, explain. Izanagi said, What may be launched and held in place, is released and brought to port; what is deemed to be the truth held in a mirror, is the mirror dropped on the path we are taking. The two of them were silent for a while. Then Izanagi said to Nikuko, And you, Nikuko, what are you doing? She replied, I am slipping from mirrors and mirrorings, creating moorings and anchors and anchorages; indeed, there are so many that one may sail and not yet sail, may see and not yet see. Izanagi said, Please, explain. Nikuko said, I have picked the mirror up from the path; it is dusty, and there is no reflection. They continued walking, now and then in silence. Parable Nikuko and Izanagi continued south. They approached an elderly man talking to his sister, and they stopped to listen. The man said, I remember when you were little, how we saw the world differently, spoke differently, how everything seemed so fresh and new. The woman replied, Why must we always remember; it hurts so, to have something so close, yet out of touch for- ever, just the tiniest sound we might have made years ago. Nikuko said to Izanagi, See, they are sad, having such memories; such is the fate of men and women. Izanagi replied, They're remembering nothing; they're making it up as they go along. ___________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko and Izanagi were walking down from Aso-san near the Sanjo shrine, when they came to a gate in the road. It was of unusual construction, tall, almost like a torii. It was hinged and barred with an image of the sun in the center. Sun or moon, what's the difference, said Nikuko, this is a machine for capturing goryo, spirits of the dead; they cycle in and out of this world, flickering between the sun and moon. How does it work, asked Izanagi. Nikuko replied, They mistake the sign for the thing itself - they expect space, but are confronted with iron. They walked around the gate, and continued down the steep road, the volcano fuming behind them. *i.e. the kanji for ma, space, is a gate with a sun in the center; previ- ously, a moon would do as well. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable This occurred near Ise, precisely during the rebuilding of the shrine. Nikuko and Izanagi were walking as usual. They approached an old man with a huge and comical hat, wide-brimmed, of a peculiar shape. Now what, said Izanagi, smiling. Nikuko noted that the brim was very wide indeed, and the flap on the left held the Minister of the Right, while the flap on the right seemed to contain the Minister of the Left. Poor and deluded, said Izanagi. The old man looked up, and tilted his head slightly to the left. Whole trees fell down on the slopes and the ground rumbled beneath them. Then he looked at Izanagi, and tilted his head to the right. The mountain roared and great boulders crashed on the path all around them. Without saying a word, the old man slowly continued on his way. This time, it was Nikuko who was laughing, staring at the hat disappearing in the distance. He's on the brim, she laughed, he's on the brim. _________________________________________________________________________ Mathesis (halfgroupoid with a corrupted unit element) Let us define a mathematical structure with a set A of elements, an operation on the set such that, for some a,b,c of A we have ab = c. Let us also define an identity element e, such that ae = ea = a, and ee = e. But let us also define e such that eee = e*, and eeea = a*, where * is indeterminacy such that a* not= a and e* not= e. (We can define similar structures with any length of concatenation, i.e. eeeee.) Then the structure is non-associative, for otherwise one can write eeea = ee(ea) = ea; it is also non-symmetric, since otherwise ee(ea) = eeae = eae. e is only partially reflexive, since ee = e. Note that this structure embeds the notion of process in any equa- tion, since an accumulation of identity elements transforms the re- sulting equation. What is produced can be constructed by steps - for example ea = a = ea = a = eea = a and so forth - each term cal- culated in order. Note the relationship of this to the halfgroupoid with a unit element, but it is a "corrupted" structure as such, and overall an indeterminate structure. Phenomenologically, it repre- sents an economy of means and perception for structures in the real world of everyday life; this is even more so if the rule for e is generalized, such that, for any element x, xxx not= x(xx) or (xx)x. Thus "building" x by xx = y, xy = z is not= xxx = z*. What of all of this? Creating a mathematical structure with a potential error built-in, for example, one operation eee = e* throwing everything off - then salvaging by prohibition. Isn't this in fact the way of every testament, making a fence around the Torah, for example, in order to keep in bounds what is holy, what is profane, what is the pathway of desire? Too much accumulation produces nonsense; proceed by rite, carefully, and all will come out exact in the end. __________________________________________________________________ a sphere, such that every plane intersecting it defines a circle upon it, the tangents to the circle forming a cone whose apex an external point in conjunction with the center of the circle upon the plane, in order that the whole wide world is mapped within it, sheen of dull steel, my name faint upon it, a possessive, in the midst of time and space, circulating, among stars, the knowledge of the image of the cosmos, universal image, my imaginary, traveling outward, sometimes close to the speed of light, some- times meandering, dust, dark matter, matter __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko were crossing the famed Kintai bridge at Iwakuni. It was an early summer morning, and both were lightly clad. Izanagi asked Nikuko, have you ever lain in someone's arms, delirious with desire, all day and night, unable to sleep or eat. Nikuko was silent. Izanagi con- tinued, In such states it is impossible to think; enlightenment seems a long way off. Nikuko was silent. Izanagi continued, Time seems to come to a halt, space collapses. Nikuko said, Once. Izanagi said, One lives in a half-dream, half-alive state. Nikuko said, Once I was like that, in the midst of making worlds; it was a mistake to create like that. Izanagi asked, What happened. Nikuko said, I made this world and its humans; that is why they are so much out of control, contaminated by the small spit that remains from their creation. Izanagi said, That is the way of fet- tered ghosts, half-covered in soot, half walking through mountains. They use electricity nowadays, said Nikuko, and the mountains disappear. We should have thought of that earlier, replied Izanagi. They continued on their way across the spans. _________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko were outside the Sanjusangen-Do, the great hall with 1001 Kannon. It was there that they met the counter of arrows. I will take them back, arrange them in the proper order, he said. They are like the stars, always alone, always together. What is this about, asked Izanagi. The games that are played here, said Nikuko, the great shooting matches. And the counter of arrows, asked Izanagi. He is of no account, he has no bow, and this is his fair livelihood, said Nikuko. Ah, said Izanagi, let us do something for him, in order that the hall remain intact (i.e. the arrows were eating away at the beams). Nikuko replied, let him die, reborn a poet in another life. At that point in 1580, the counter of arrows fell to the ground, and at that point in 1644, Matsuo Basho was born. But the toshi-ya ceremony continued, and the beams became heavy with the strength of others, weak with the strength of their own. ________________________________________________________________________ Parable This occurred somewhere in southern Wa. Nikuko and Izanagi came across a yamabushi (itinerant priest). The landscape disappeared; it was everywhere and nowhere at once. Izanagi's voice was heard, declaring itself a tree and boulder; and Nikuko's voice responded, declaring itself mountain and mountain-stream. Then everything was normal, just as it had been, except for the yamabushi, who disappeared in turn. It's either the yamabushi or everything, said Nikuko, one or the other, never both at once. Izanagi replied, The yamabushi was Death, who has no viewpoint; we move among worlds, our focus is tiny. At that moment Nikuko was enlightened; looking up, she saw the yamabushi walking away in the distance. _________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko was bound to the earth by a red cord. She sang I'm bound to the earth, The earth is my lover, The earth is my lover. Nikuko was bound to the sky by a blue cord. She sang I'm bound to the sky, The sky is my lover, The sky is my lover. Nikuko was bound all over, only her mouth moved. She sang Sky and earth, Earth and sky, I'm very safe, I'm very safe. The cords said, look, we're writing worlds. They sang Yin and yang we're binding, Yang and yin we're binding. Nikuko was bound all over, only her mouth moved. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko sang the song of the north. Then she sang the song of the south. Then she sang the song of the west. Then she sang the song of the west. This was in Nara. Again in Kirishima, Nikuko sang the song of the north. Then she sang the song of the west. Then she sang the song of the west. Then she sang the song of the west. Izanagi said to her, Something is missing here. Nikuko replied, Nothing is missing, either I am the east or nothing is the east, either I am the south or nothing is the south. Izanagi said, Nikuko, you'd better stop singing, if you eat up all the songs, there will be nowhere to go, and everyone will be in your way. From that moment on, Nikuko sang all four songs over and over again until there were many norths, many souths, many wests, and many easts (i.e. each to her own). Later she said, now everyone is lost and no one will find their way back. Izanagi replied, You have just created death, Nikuko. They continued on their journey (i.e. no one knows their destination). __________________________________________________________________________ Parable They were walking near Kokura. Who will listen to us, said Nikuko, and how will they listen. Izanagi replied, by the sound of the breeze and whispers in dreams. Nikuko said, That is absurd, only what the poets say. Izanagi thought for a moment and asked, Do you have a better idea. They'll go the crazier for it, said Nikuko, no one will believe them, better to talk just like they do, out loud with as much noise as possible, when they're awake and the air is still. We can't let them miss a thing, laughed Izanagi, we're so important. What did you say, said Nikuko. They boarded the ferry to Nagato, still talking away. _________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko and Izanagi were walking. They passed a man with his hands tied behind his back, writhing on the ground, his eyes gouged out. They walked by a burning village. They went on, passing a woman raped with a stick, bleeding from the vagina, her stomach torn open. They passed a baby flung against a rock, brains oozing from the skull. They passed a group of soldiers decapitated, a man with his arms and legs cut off, penis stuffed in his mouth. They passed a woman with her breasts cut off. They continued on. They passed two families slaughtered and thrown into an open grave. They passed a woman with her eyes stitched open, tied to a pole, facing the sun. They passed a half-eaten child. They passed a woman hacked to small pieces, and another man hacked, his torso and head still alive. They passed a small girl with her tongue torn out. They continued down the path past children killed before their parents' eyes, wives raped before their husbands, husbands murdered before their wives. They passed blinded pris- oners groping in the light. They passed children buried alive. They passed an old man with his feet blown off, crying for help in the dust. They passed a village burned to the ground. They continued by prisoners tied tight with barbed wire, men hung from trees, drowned women, animals cut open. They walked by a slaughtered village. They walked by a man on fire, naked and castrated. They walked by a girl battered and raped. They walked by a family hacked to pieces. They continued on their way. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko were outside Lake Biwa, near the northern shore. They passed by a grove of bamboo surrounding a stone, the whole delimited by a shimenawa (i.e. rope, zig-zag paper, and cloth marking a sacred object or area). The shimenawa was frayed, and appeared to extend for an enormous distance; indeed, it circled the grove. Who is responsible for this, asked Nikuko, it would take a man all year to keep it in good repair. They began to walk the length, heading into the foothills as dusk fell. Before long, they came across an ancient bamboo hut. A fire burned within, and a man came out to greet them. He was carrying a magatama (i.e. curved jewel) and a mirror. Where are we, asked Izanagi, we seem to have lost the path. The man replied, you are always on the outside. Nikuko turned to Izanagi and said, For the first time in my life I am afraid. At that moment, the shimenawa disappeared, and the man returned to his hut. We are chanting ourselves, said Nikuko, and they rested in the grove until dawn. ___________________________________________________________________________ Parable Nikuko passed a man and a woman who had received a message from the spirit realm; she turned them into two sand cones, that the message be dispersed among the worlds. Izanagi passed three sand-cranes fighting among them- selves for food scrabbled upon the beach; he turned them into three logs for the festival, that they slide down steep slopes, crushing men beneath them. Nikuko and Izanagi watched two children grow and marry, and two more children appear as a result; they transformed the parents into two large wooden balls, that men may fight over them, carrying them together at the festival. Nikuko transformed a tree which had outlasted Yamato into a tower, precarious-leaning and never-falling; Izanagi transformed the eye of a morbid dragon into Lake Biwa. It was from the reflection of a shell that Nikuko created the sky, and from the creature within, that Izanagi created the breathing of the earth. From Nikuko, Izanagi made Nikuko, and from Izanagi, Nikuko made Izanagi; at the festival there are two sand cones in commemoration. __________________________________________________________________________ Parable Izanagi and Nikuko created many worlds. They were walking near Hakata, where the Hakozaki shrine descended to the sea; there were several torii along the way. Together they watched the flight of a bird, circling the shore, as if searching for land. It flew repeatedly between the pillars of the torii, and seemed exhausted. Nikuko said, Look, it sees no land, even though it is of the land, and a hard thing, made of the land. The bird continued circling, growing weaker, and then headed out to sea. Izanagi replied, It is breaking away, thinking of water, it doesn't realize that water is nothing at all, taking the shape of the land. He added, The bird sees its reflection in the state of the water, just as everyone does. What is water, then, asked Nikuko. Izanagi answered, It is surely the form of all things, before worlds, it came to be their form, following equally the lay of mountains and valleys, and the flight of birds. No one can tell the future, replied Nikuko. At that moment, a disturbance swept across the face of the water, and a sound was heard, the beating of invisible wings. __________________________________________________________________________ Barong 1999 actovatong osa dma hang workarounds. calobratong delay loop... 689.77 bogomops onotoalozong rt netlonk socket pco: pco boos revosoon 2.10 entry at 0xfa114 pco: probong pco hardware pco: usong confoguratoon type 1 posox conformance testong by unofox calobratong delay loop... 689.77 bogomops pco: pco boos revosoon 2.10 entry at 0xfa114 pco: usong confoguratoon type 1: they were yosa, hanging workarounds in Bratong. after a delay, looped for close to 700 bogomops, ontology of the right netlonk socket created a revulsion of boos entering. some work of the pro-bong configuration, some were singing usong in coformance with testong by a singular fox. all this in Bratong, another delay for close to seven hundred bogomops once again, and once again the books and songs and once again the songs. _________________________________________________________________________O Parable No one will remember us, said Nikuko. Izanagi replied, There's always the myths of origin, and Nikuko replied, that's good for you. But, and Izanagi said, there's the other one, Izanami, what we made together, and Nikuko said, I never heard of Izanami, and Izanagi said, she's recorded, and Ni- kuko replied, perhaps I will take her name, in this and all other worlds, and Izanagi said, that is what we will do, we will be known together from the very beginning, when we were naming and touching each other said Iza- nami, and Izanagi replied, we will be turning, and here, and there are the pages, we will be confused, replied Izanami, such is the making of worlds, said Izanagi and Izanami, I will leave you now. They continued walking in the direction of Satsuma, in the direction of Izumo, in the direction of Ise, in the direction of Hyuga they continued on their way. _________________________________________________________________________ what the legends are, the legends you call them what the addict is, the beginning and middle and end of the smaller stories, the crying for the end of the smaller stories and another beginning and another end, call these the smaller :the elderer do tell to the child who do remember all that she has been told the elderer do tell to the child who do remember all that he has been told the elderer: thus we move into darkerer spaces, do we not, in this darkerer world, where shall one gather against the smaller stories told to us by elders:tales: legends thus we move into darkerer spaces, do we not, in this darkerer world, where shall one gather against the smaller stories told to us by elders transforms your you call them what the addict is, the beginning and middle and end of the smaller stories, the crying for the end of the smaller stories and another beginning and another end, call these the smaller on me... ah getting with one another, legends and tales and tales and legends __________________________________________________________________________ Conference Chat Report: This discussion on the interference of language in the real, the violence of proper names, the encoding of process, the particulation of the contin- uum: Fri Feb 4 14:35:03 EST 2000 He thought this was a clue, always in relation to the impenetrable barrier Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 continued, insist- ent: "Towards process, always Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 Fri Feb 4 14:35:03 EST 2000 This is complicated, he said, trying to make sense of the interference of Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 the real. Process transformed into entities by virtue of the Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 proper name; having ascertained this, the machine began: "somewhere, mov-g beyond this or the other, story, _what happened,_ - moving constantly Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 towards process, repetitiously stating it was the fault of the _proper Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 the story was made from the names - name and story construct each Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 other." Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 word and phrase. "Come with me, towards process, always saying it was Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 the fault of the _proper names,_ beauty machine!" he replied. Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 saying it was the fault of the _proper names_ in calling forth, there, Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 Fri Feb 4 14:35:09 EST 2000 _________________________________________________________________________ 31 2000 1 1 2 3 4 5 1 2 1 1 2 3 4 5 1 2 3 4 1 1 2 3 4 5 6 1 2 3 April May June July August September January February March October November December 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 1 2 3 4 1 2 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 27 28 29 26 27 28 29 30 31 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 27 28 29 30 31 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 28 29 30 31 25 26 27 28 29 30 29 30 31 26 27 28 29 30 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 30 30 31 30 31 Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa Su Mo Tu We Th Fr Sa _______________________________________________________________________ Report from the Conference A discussion on the interference of language in the real, the violence of proper names, the encoding of process, interval, space, and parable: Proper names, through contour-enhancement in the broadest sense possible, constituting entities from flux; it is this constitution that is the core of narrative, its origin. Language is the embodiment of narrative; as such it already constructs culture at the cost of the real. To say the uncon- scious is proto-linguistic is to say that occurrences are recognized and transformed into resistances. The noise of the world is translated into the parasitic; the parasitic, as a third element, modifies or forecloses a chain of events. Such chains are already a defense against this noise; language is homeostatic, defending itself. The world becomes known through its masquerade. Proper names are occurrences, uncanny in their relationship to the real; generic nouns are happenings, imaginary in their relationship. The former implies a logic of iconicity; the latter, indexicality. Consider the pro- per name an actant, foregrounded - the generic noun, as environment, back- grounded. There are dual logics of impediments and flows; these are fuzzy, occupying the two poles of thresholding logics. Generic nouns emerge out of non-distributivity, gestural logics; they appear as an encoding of en- hancements, just as proper nouns imply a decoding of language, a rupture of strata. Narrative is a succession of encodings and decodings; the power of narrative, its semantics, comes from the surplus of the latter, and the syntactical aspect, from the restrained economy of the former. Thus within and without the world, language, the real, and narrative are inextricably entwined, to the extent that any and all are thought; it is through the gaps of language that the real emerges with the idiocy of truth. ___________________________________________________________________________ Beautiful Song of Locomotive Names 4-8-4 Pocono 4-8-2 Mountain 4-6-6-4 Challenger 0-6-0 Six-Coupled 2-8-0 Consolidation 4-10-0 Mastodon 4-6-0 Ten-Wheeler 2-6-2 Prairie 2-8-4 Berkshire 4-4-4 Jubilee 4-8-4 Greenbriar 0-8-0 Eight-Coupled 4-10-0 Mastodon Chesapeake 4-8-4 Northern 4-12-2 Union Pacific 4-10-2 Southern Pacific 4-10-0 Mastodon 4-8-2 Mohawk 4-4-4 Jubilee 2-6-6-6 Allegheny _______________________________________________________________________ Entreaty from nikuko Sun Feb 6 23:52:39 2000 Return-Path: Received: nikuko @localhost by oita.com.jp (8.9.3/8.9.3) id XAA00854 for root; Sun, 6 Feb 2000 23:52:39 -0500 Date: Sun, 6 Feb 2000 23:52:39 -0500 From:nikuko@oita. com.jp Message-Id: <200002070452.XAA00854@oita.com.jp> To:root@oita.com.jp Subject: search method Status: RO I'm looking for your root. know how it is, sometimes a moment passes - worlds have disappeard - because this is from nikuko, because I'm not running X, because I'm for root, because the beginnings of worlds lie in the Sector, someone has to know - beyond this there's an Interval; beyond the Interval, nothing, nikuko, here, in a moment or a movement of curse or cursor, here the root in the software or hardware, route in the software or bus in the hardware or protocol or there, in the dialog of curse or cursor, there, adding to the presence of the other or the root or then, adding from the other, then adding to the other File: "where" Size: 1015 Allocated Blocks: 2 Filetype: Regular File Mode: (0644/-rw-r--r--) Uid: ( 0/ root) Gid: ( 0/ root) Device: 7,7 Inode: 41029 Links: 1 Access: Mon Feb 7 00:43:07 2000 Modify: Mon Feb 7 00:43:21 2000 Change: Mon Feb 7 00:43:21 2000 write root tty1 Message from root@oita.com.jp on tty1 at 00:47 ... nikuko, coming in loud and clear, i hear you nikuko, coming in loud and clear, i hear you EOF _________________________________________________________________________ [] Mon Feb 7 12:56:27 EST 2000 those were the travels. those gave me to you, took my l[mbs through the w[res, you would see my mouth emerge from your own. beyond the Sector, the ]nterval. my mouth speaks ]nterval th[s gap or fence, th[s d[v[s[on among us. debr[s aga[nst ]nterval: understand th[s and you understand our cond[t[on [n these d[ff[cult t[mes. the closer to noth[ng, the greater the no[se. my mouth tr[es to tell you th[s, my eyes try to see th[s; through you, my corrugated f[ngert[ps, my l[mbs th[n and shr[veled by the w[res. Mon Feb 7 13:02:37 EST 2000 0000203 22:08:00 /usr/b[n/rz -vv -b -E Mon Feb 7 13:02:58 EST 2000 Mon Feb 7 12:56:36 EST 2000 20000204 18:44:16 /usr/b[n/rz -vv -b -E Mon Feb 7 12:56:36 EST 2000 17:13:08 /usr/b[n/sz -vv -b zzMon Feb 7 12:56:36 EST 2000 20000207 00:54:32 /usr/b[n/sz -vv -b zz Mon Feb 7 12:56:36 EST 2000 on th[s s[de of the ]nterval, debr[s; [t flusters aga[nst [nv[s[ble walls; [t cr[es out soundlessly. my mouth travels through your speaker, th[ck l[ps pressed aga[nst cloth. lymph-words sp[ll out, [ want to tell you about the ]nterval. [ am mov[ng through the Sector, always [n w[th- drawal. Mon Feb 7 12:59:41 EST 2000 return[ng shr[veled, corrugated f[ng- ert[ps, as [f too much water. you take me [n. outs[de there are flash[ng l[ghts; [ send my eyes to you, now they press glass. [ am your flat world, my body crawls aga[nst the screen; [ almost forget debr[s, [t's every- where, [ can't make out anyth[ng, [t's cutt[ng [nto me, [t's you, [t's you, [t's you, th[s Monday Feb 7 13:01:02 EST 2000 20000203 22:09:22 /usr/b[n/sz -vv -b zz Mon Feb 7 13:02:58 EST 2000 Mon Feb 7 13:02:58 EST 2000 controls, can't speak __________________________________________________________________________ moi, les Juifs 3 mres juives sur une plage de Miami parlent de leurs rejetons. "Ton pre est arabe et moi je suis juive alors tu es les 2 mon fils." Une mre juive tlphone la gare et dit: - Et elle n'est pas juive... A quoi reconnat- on une mre juive abusive? C'est 3 mres juives qui se retrouvent pour le th. C'est trois mres juives qui parlent de leurs fils. Quelles sont les 3 plus grandes ftes juives? C'est une maman juive qui ne sait plus communiquer avec son fils: psychiatre dit la mre juive: 3 mres juives discutent de leur fils respectifs. Une mre juive appelle son grand fils: La mre juive, elle dit "Mange ou je me tue !" Dieu a dit aux Juifs: Vous tes le peuple lu. 6 Juifs ont chang la manire de voir le monde: - Non, ami terrien,... seulement les Juifs. Le Juif: - Chinois, Japonais, c'est la mme affaire... - Et qu'est-ce que vous avez fait? demande le Juif. Le Juif cossais ashknaze rflchit un moment. Dieu a dit aux Juifs: Vous tes le peuple lu... 6 Juifs ont chang la manire de voir le monde: - Non, ami terrien,... seulement les Juifs. ________________________________________________________________________ The Interval: Interval s2 interval.dialup.a Tue05PM 5:20 Sector s3 sector.libnet.com Mon04PM 5:29 -tcsh Aguirra s4 localhost.panix. Tue02PM 10:08 ssh -R 54543:209.209.9.12:8888 local Ju7lu% cd /interval ksh: cd: /interval - No such place Ju8lu% b @oita.com.jp THIS CAME THROUGH: sthffad hp tha chnt, pbscana spaach dpna by man tp wpman, $ll pn pna pr $npthar slda pf tha Intarv$l - thls ls whara I gat pff,:i can't talk here. no one can here with the vowel changes. what would be worse than this, the tongue gutted from the mouth, :thlrstlng tp la$va tha sactpr:cock:cunt Come with me, sthffad hp tha chnt, pbscana spaach dpna by man tp wpman, $ll pn pna pr $npthar slda pf tha Intarv$l - thls ls whara I gat pff,, violence of all people what would violence against you. across the Sector on the other side of the Interval. I I I Ju9lu% echo "int" what would violence against you. this has been the case. no one is immune. you can be attacked in your own home. you can be walking home and there is the violence of all people against you. you can have your tongue gutted out and you still can scream. you can be coming back from the store. you can't be coming back from the Interval. no one is immune across the Sector. this Sector is under the control of the Americans. Come with me sthffad hp tha chnt, pbscana spaach dpna by man tp wpman, you may be returning from work. you can lose your eyes at any moment. at any moment there may be lightning and thunder, at any moment there may be an earth- quake. at any moment, you can be run over and hideously disfigured. you may lose your children on the way home from school. you may lose your parents when your guard is down, when you are returning from a happy party. you may be returning from a sports game where your team has won, and you return home and find your home burning and everyone has perished in the fire. you may be returning from your friends, and your friends may have set the fire. you may be the fire. you can be coming back from the store. _________________________________________________________________________ how to map writing, and you may find yourself writing, how to map writing. you may find yourself writing in unknown territory and you may find yourself showing your friends that you are very fine, that you may walk on the wild side of the law, and you may find yourself very happy and your friends will turn against you and you will use an illegal stopping date in string %d in `era' field in category `%s', implementation limit: no more than %d character classes allowed, implementation limit: no more than %d character maps allowed, incorrectly formatted file, input line of unknown type, internal error - addtype called with bad isdst, in- ternal error - addtype called with bad ttisgmt, internal error - addtype called with bad ttisstd, internal error in %s, line %u, invalid gmt off- set, invalid abbreviation format, invalid day of month, invalid ending year, invalid leaping year, invalid month name, invalid saved time, in- valid starting year, invalid time of day, invalid weekday name, line after ellipsis must contain character definition, line before ellipsis does not contain definition for character constant, line too long, locale file `%s', used in `copy' statement, not found, lstat failed, malformed line ignored, memory clobbered before allocated block, memory clobbered past end of allocated block, memory exhausted, memory exhausted, memory is consistent, library is buggy, missing era format in string %d in `era' field in category `%s', missing era name in string %d in `era' field in category `%s', nameless rule, and you will find you have nowhere to go, and you will be all alone, and you may find yourself reading a book, and you will look up from the book, and someone will look back at you, and your will not remember, and you will not recognize your friend, and you will believe that your friend is your friend, and your friend will look at you, and your friend will look at you, and your friend will look at you __________________________________________________________________________ Intervals What is the Interval at the outskirts of the Sector (which does not recog- nize It, since there are no outskirts) but the remains of part-objects, broken symbols, at the edge of discourse, just beyond any subjectivity? Think of this as a world of couplings, operations such that if a coupling C = abcde & a -> a' then C = a'bcde and not L = (abcde)' - a linkage. In a coupling, every element is independent, only bracketed by concatenation or contingency. (Whhy iy yhh Iqyhyyhq hy yhh qyyyqiyyy qh yhh Shhyqy (yhihh hqhy qqy yhhqhqiah Iy, yiqhh yhhyh hyh qq qyyyqiyyy) hyy yhh yhqhiqy qh qhyy-qhqhhyy, hyqqhq yyqhqqy, hy yhh hhhh qh hiyhqyyyh, qyyy hhyqqh hqy yyhqhhyiyiyy? Thiqq qh yhiy hy h yqyqh qh hqyqqiqhy, qqhyhyiqqy yyhh yhhy ih h hqyqqiqh C = hhhhh & h -> h' yhhq C = h'hhhh hqh qqy L = (hhhhh)' - h qiqqhhh. Iq h hqyqqiqh, hyhyy hqhqhqy iy iqhhqhqhhqy, qqqy hyhhqhyhh hy hqqhhyhqhyiqq qy hqqyiqhhqhy.) Think of Nikuko emanations floating in the Interval, couplings themselves internally, mouths externally, realms of ecstasy and fear. "I wish I could explain, with God's help, the difference between union and rapture, or elevation, or flight of the spirit, or transport - for they are all one. I mean that they are all different names for the same thing, which is also called ecstasy. It is much more beneficial than union, its results are much greater, and it has very many other effects as well. Union seems to be the same at the beginning, the middle, and the end, and is altogether inward. But the ends of rapture are of a much higher nature, and their effects are both inward and outward." (Saint Teresa, trans. Cohen) These ends, are they couplings or linkages? For clearly they are mouths, they are the mechanisms and tunnelings of breaths and atmospheres, and they may connect or disconnect at the slightest notice. But they are also disrupt- ors, tremblings of foundations, shatterings of spheres, rendings of gar- ments, daydream imaginaries, wraiths - All harken to emanants, which surround us, calling lightly in the midst of the night - hoarse voices, shouts, in the harsh sun, city, at noon .. (Aqq hhyqhq yq hqhqhqyy, yhihh yyyyqyqh yy, hhqqiqh qihhyqy iq yhh qihyy qh yhh qihhy - hqhyyh yqihhy, yhqyyy, iq yhh hhyyh yyq, hiyy, hy qqqq ..) __________________________________________________________________________ untitled you may talk with others and you may talk and talk, and they may hear you. they will lovingly listen to your talking, and they will talk with you. and your eyes may be bright and open and innocent, and their eyes will meet yours with longing and kindness. you may smile at them, knowing your smile goes deep into them, that they smile back with gratitude and love. you may turn towards them and with them you may face the new day, and the sun rising above the trees and the mountains, and the pure fog lifting into the pure air, and a delicate light bathing all, and the birds singing. you may sing with them, and laugh, your laughter bringing tears of joy, and you may share these tears of joy with your friends, laughing and smiling. you may hold the hands of your friends, and you may put your arms around them, and they will hold you, and they will hold you, until the hurt goes all away. your friends may hold you, until the hurt disappears, until your tears are gone, until your smile is so deep it will remain always and forever. you will be so happy, and your friends will be so happy. you will be so very happy, and your friends will be so very happy, and the sun will rise ever so slightly, and there will be a cool morning light, and the birds singing and wondrous clouds in the sky. _________________________________________________________________________ all this traffic backwards and forwards /usr/bin/rz -vv -b -E shuttling packets with similar names /usr/bin/sz -vv -b zz you might never know what you'll find /usr/bin/sz -vv -b en it's a grid or raster, its cultural production /usr/bin/sz -vv -b ww you can hear the sound of the shuttle /usr/bin/rz -vv -b -E operations are closely watched /usr/bin/sz -vv -b zz control is all the way down to the singular bit /usr/bin/sz -vv -b zz these things occur in place, following each other /usr/bin/sz -vv -b yy they move cleanly, screaming network! network! /usr/bin/sz -vv -b ar they move in absolute silence /usr/bin/sz -vv -b zz perhaps the wires are slightly heated, charred /usr/bin/sz -vv -b yy anything could be moving here, just anything /usr/bin/sz -vv -b zz when i turn my neck i hear bones grating /usr/bin/sz -vv -b ba ________________________________________________________________________ hangups and crashing you may have your sorrows, you may stop thinking (0:00:12) hangup (0:00:12) hangup (0:00:08) hangup (0:00:07) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:20) hangup (0:00:47) hangup (0:48:13) hangup (0:20:04) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:32) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:16:07) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:00:00) hangup (0:40:37) hangup 12: depressions 12: cuts on penis 8: headaches 7: crying : insomnias : chapped lips : sore shoulders 20: sneezing 47: flus 13: myopia 4: itchy anus : nightmares 32: back pains : jealousy : bad teeth : stress 7: nervousness : irritability : shakiness 37: hypersexuality root tty1 fri feb 11 20:22 still logged in reboot system boot fri feb 11 20:21 root tty1 thu feb 10 20:14 - crash (01:35) hysteria reboot system boot thu feb 10 20:13 root tty1 thu feb 10 11:32 - crash (00:41) crying jag reboot system boot thu feb 10 11:31 root tty1 wed feb 9 18:23 - crash (02:40) masturbation reboot system boot wed feb 9 18:23 root tty1 tue feb 8 20:15 - crash (02:19) depression reboot system boot tue feb 8 20:13 you may stop thinking, you may have your sorrows _____________________________________________________________________ the table. an apostrophe. on magnificent dark wood's table, obscenities' book lay in sullen evil's shadow. vellum's book was approached by Broadham's Jennifer, wearing silk's gown setting off her incredible beauty's hair. I will say her fig- ure's nothing. Broadham's Jennifer picked up poem's book, incandescent in wax's huge flickering candle's light. she said, I will say these poems' nothing. she said, ghost's nothing. _________________________________________________________________________ Kebara In 1962 I went to Israel and studied Hebrew at an ulpan; near the end of the session, I contracted jaundice and possibly other illnesses as well, and ended up in the hospital. So I was somewhat unprepared for M. Steke- lis' course in 'clai tsur,' flint tools from the lower to upper paleolith- ic, at Hebrew University. I persevered, and in 1963 we went on a field trip to northern Israel. It was there I held raw Olduvai tools in my hand for the first time, but this is not about the Olduvai. It is about the cave we visited, whose name I did not know at the time, a cave filled with guano and partially excavated. Stekelis spoke of the Levalloisian and Mousterian, and while he talked and I attempted to follow his accented Hebrew, I walked near the perimeter, reached down into the earth, and watched my hand return with a group of stones, almost invisible in the dim light. Later, to be sure, there was Levalloisian and Mousterian among them; I surreptitiously took them with me, and they are now distributed back into the earth of Pennsylvania, lost among flood debris and mementos passed on, meaningless to those who received them. To me, these tools were my own lifeblood, however, and since then I have had second sight, seeing what Sumerians and Hittites, Akkadians and Mitanni, saw, and traveling earlier, through thousands of generations of humanity and almost-humanity, without writing, with signs and symbols, however, with the writing of culture upon them. Today in a second-hand shop I stumbled upon the December, 1992, issue of Current Anthropology, in which there is an article, The Excavations in Kebara Cave, Mt. Carmel, by Bar-Yosef, Vandermeersch, Arensburg, Helfer- Cohen, Goldberg, Laville, Meignen, Rak, Speth, Tchernov, Tillier, and Weiner; it is 55 pages long, with an exemplary detailed analysis. And I recognize the cave; it is this cave, in fact, that we visited with Steke- lis; he was responsible for excavations during the time I had been in Israel. So I learned the name, Kebara. And sure enough, there are drawings of implements from the Levalloisian and Mousterian (the former derided as relatively wasteful of resources, in a section of specialists' comments), implements that may well have come to me in dreams during the past thirty- seven years. Here, now, there are photographs of a laboratory set up with- in the southern section of the cave; there are enough lights to illuminate the interior for the camera. There, then, there was darkness, and the semblance of warmth as I removed the tools from their matrix, still sharp from the hunt and the preparation of ancient flesh. It was Kebara which gave me second-sight, and here in New York, I have a small shrine with stone and mirror - and stromatolite fossil, three and a half billion years old. I find my own life one of submergence, emergence, almost as if there were no difference, almost an indifference. It is the edge of indifference which procures my own writing for me; it is my sight which gives me pause. The Web surely has always existed; those stones have traveled. Whatever held them before me is part of my meat, just as my other self, Nikuko, 'meat girl,' is half living tissue, wracked ribs and muscle, and half demiurge, garnering time, striding the universe of wheel- ing worlds. We were together at Kebara that day, and perhaps earlier, and perhaps in millennia to come - and together, we have already witnessed the shutting-down of the universe, stars and space gone cold, none of this in speech or book or memory, no inscription, not even in the life of stone. __________________________________________________________________________ Strange I float in pure light and today Charles Schulz writes his last strip and today I receive my unix fortune, "I know the answer! The answer lies within the heart of all mankind! The answer is twelve? I think I'm in the wrong building." -- Charles Schulz -- Today again I do not sleep this 5:27 in the early morning, Azure in bed behind me. The room is dark; I read and write by the light of the computer screen. This window is yellow type against black, tan frame set against blue-black background, window title orange to orange-yellow. This active window floats in pure self-illuminated space; the monitor is invisible, I watch the glow of keystroke packets against the modem in the distance. There is a face on the screen, white, red, and black against black, stare with dead eyes, a mask, all this covered by the window. She is behind me. And that my language always be misplaced in purity, that all buildings are wrong, that I am that active window, that this text is the occasion of a singular breath, this text behind me, floating. __________________________________________________________________________ the cow i am nikuko. please tell me what your problems are. after you are done typing, click return twice. and if I return once to you. i shall look no further than the truth. and if I return twice to you shall the truth be known by she who sent me forth. crying from the top of the mountain, yearning from the valley, no one ceases to wander. the cessation of all desire is the beginning of comprehension and in such dreary worlds i will be stone or carving. you will know me by my shape, that of signs and symbols in your dreaming, nothing coming forth, nothing returning, nothing entering, nothing leaving. nothing of a jar or fire without smoke, nothing of a cow or a white horse, nothing of horses or no-jar, no-fire, nothing of white, nothing of no-cows. coming and going, it is all the same, you arrive where you have always been. reconcile yourself with all creatures, lie down with them, caress them, drain yourself of all desire, produce them within you. there is no fear that is groundless, fear holds the pathway, veering just above the highest peaks, beneath the ocean bottoms. it runs faster than the flood, higher than any lightning, louder than any thunder, it burns through time, white fire, burns through space, black fire. nothing can be turned to good effect, to turn nothing is to do nothing. to lose oneself is to gain nothing to gain oneself is to lose nothing. ___________________________________________________ SO NO MY TEXTS are populated with things and emptiness, with flux and processes, with things trying to be things, and entities trying to be entities. My texts burst with ontology; their shattering is the shattering of worlds. Here are some or none of them: SOMETHING is residue, stains. You send something back and for me, it's the same patterns on the wall. But there was something else in the wind and the snow, something not quite right with the night. Something was slowly shuffling, did I just say something, said Nikuko. She thought, now I can say all the moon illuminated the landscape. Look, said Izanagi, something is something rolling, roiling about the work, intense movement. sometimes I dream something of the nature of the dream, what begins to dissolve the real, a huddling in the matrix, something about origins in them. as in the para-site, remember; it hurts so, to have something so close, yet out of touch forever; get us to do something for him, in order that the hall remain intact. NOTHING more to say, nothing. Her skirt kept flying up, and there was nothing there. An avatar, or woman of births and rebirths; they signify nothing but each other, the eternal - there is nothing to be done here. With that, she created drowning for years. Perhaps there's nothing to look at, replied Nikuko. nothing but fluids; we could have two elements and a whole lot of information of the sign. Nikuko laughed and said nothing. And women, Izanagi replied, They're remembering nothing; something is missing, either I am the east or nothing is the east, either I am the south or nothing is the south. Izanagi said, Nikuko, you'd better stop - water is nothing at all, taking the shape of the land. He added, The bird! There's an Interval; beyond the Interval, nothing, Nikuko. Broadham's Jennifer picked up poem's book, incandescent in nothing. She said, ghost's nothing. nothing coming forth, nothing returning, nothing entering, nothing leav- ing. Nothing of a jar or fire without smoke, nothing of a cow or a white horse, nothing of horses or no-jar, no-fire, nothing of white, nothing of no-cows. Nothing can be turned to good effect, to turn nothing is to do nothing. To lose oneself is to gain nothing to gain oneself is to lose nothing. ____________ for clark coolidge nothing whichjar whichre whichut which, nothing whichcow whichwhite which, nothing whichrses which-jar, whichre, nothing whichite, whichng which-cows. coming whichoing, which whichhe which you whiche which whichave whichs which reconcile whichelf whichall whichures, lie whichwith which whichs which drain whichelf whichl whiche, produce whichwithin you. there which whichthat whichoundless, fear which whichathway, whichng just which whichighest which, beneath whichcean whichms. it whichfaster whichthe which, higher whichany whichning, louder whichany whicher, it which whichgh which which which burns whichgh which, which which nothing whiche whichd whichod whicht, to whichnothing which whichthing. to whichoneself which whichnothing to whichoneself which whichnothing. ______________________________________ The Pleasure of the Novel lies in its ability to digest, foreclose, upon the figure of the stranger, who otherwise occupies our thought, strengthens our fear, weakens our re- solve. Within the novel, the stranger comes and goes; we are introduced to him or her; we may or may not engage him in conversation, or follow her life for page after page. Never forget that classic novels, those defining the genre, arose in topographies of limited population, sparsely-settled countrysides, intermittent communication, weeks at sea. At most, novels have a few dozen characters (Genji, a notable exception with 450); we im- agine them, in their own fictitious lives, encountering several dozens more, and so on. But these encounters are themselves delimited; the circle of acquaintances remains small, and strangers are often identified by class or speech or color or other signifiers of foreignness (that are readily understood by a consensual reading audience). In contemporary society, such signifiers mean nothing; signs are broken; we are all, as Kristeva might have it, extra-terrestrials, strangers to ourselves. The novel increasingly becomes an escape from chaos and noise, no matter how noisy and chaotic it appears. Limited by covers, spine, and pages, it is both portmanteau and portmanteau-word, at the beck and call of the reader. And what of familiarity? Every character in a novel is equally familiar - every character is constituted by the same alphabetics, the same language, at times even the same tone. Characters occupy traces; they're interwoven throughout, announced before their presence, held captive until the very end. There is something of the forestalling of death here, and death forms that other horizon - neither noise nor chaos, but an intense purity appar- ent when the book is closed, a residue of its opening. u31lu% b You have no new mail. Ju32lu% ls Mail lisp tf volt.irc News lynx_ bookmarks.html tf-lib ww a mail thing zz calendar phoenix.hlp tiny.world jobs phoenix.irc trace lh pro venom.irc Ju33lu% ^G Get Help ^O WriteOut ^R Read File ^Y Prev Pg ^K Cut Text ^C Cur Pos ^X Exit ^J Justify ^W Where is ^V Next Pg ^U UnJustify ^T To Spell http error 400 you may look towards me with yearning, you may enter me, you may enter, oh living with yellows and blues! http error 400:http error 400 transforms your 400 b$d raqhast on burning creek...:400 b$d raqhast::http error 400:: 400 bad request:server. the client should not repeat the request without modifications.:server. the client should not repeat the request without modifications. through my tunnels. you may enter into me, you may swallow me. you may, oh your needle due to malformed syntax, the request could not be understood by the in-me coursing through my veins you may find yourself thrust into my heart, you, oh due to malformed syntax, the request could not be understood, you may find yourself caught in my valves, you may find your throat suffocate, your impossible connections due to malformed syntax, the request could not be understood with your needle and you may find me, suffocate my brain. you may talk with syntax, serving me as well. you may find yourself swallowing my drugs, you may find yourself going malformed, you may be served, serving me as well. __________________________________________________________________________ "The Monolog" Why can't I sleep? I walk around exhausted every day. I'm like a zombie; I have no will of my own. I can't function. At night there's nothing but nightmares. Sleep makes me afraid - night after night, internal violence. Isn't that clear? When I sleep, everything goes wrong. I come to you to find a cure for sleep, a way to sleep peacefully. Why else would I have come? I'm losing track of this conversation, doctor. No, I didn't. I was saying I couldn't sleep. What plans? My plan is to sleep - and I can't do this. I have violent insomnia; that's not hard to understand. Everything goes wrong to the extent that I have insomnia, nightmares, bad dreams, sweats, tossings and turnings, sudden awakenings, my mind won't leave me alone. It's just getting worse over the past few months. I don't know. Yes. Yes. I'm nervous all the time. I pick my lips, shake. Sometimes I'll lie in Azure's lap; that's the only time I'm at peace. Most of the time I'm wor- ried. The horizon always seems black. I don't seem to be able to focus, and then I focus all too well. Because I need to find some sort of peace. If I could find peace I could do anything. I'd love to be rested. As it is, I feel misshapen; Azure says I'm self-effacing, self-loathing. Every- one can see it in me; I'm blind in this regard. I came to you because I need peace, because I have to stop pulling at my lips, because I have to be able to calm down and focus. I need help, doctor; there are times I'm afraid for my life, everything I've tried to do in this world, everyone I love! I have no doubt about this; it's not where the problem lies. I said something like that - I'm not sure what you mean. I have no plans, or I have too many plans - plans come and go. Plans are like a deluge; I plan one thing and do another; I plan a third to take care of the first two, and forget about all of them. Plans are like a storm for me - never end- ing. I don't want this deluge; I want calmness. I want to see the flowers, be a productive member of society! I love many things. My relationship with the world is as intimate and foreboding as for others, I think. I doubt I'm very much different in that regard. There are things I hold dear. My life is in shambles; I can't see straight; there are things in every direction, plans, and too many words! I hang around with very few people. I don't understand. I'm not in school. I don't have one. I'm not studying or teaching. No. No. No... I'm aroused all the time. I want to be effaced. I can't help myself! Azure has to put up with it! I have these desires! I'm losing myself! I'm always fantasizing; I need help! I need to calm down! Help me calm down, doctor! I don't want to be aroused all the time! Always thinking about sex! I can't help it! I'm not afraid of anything! I just need space, time. Azure needs space and time too! Nothing, nothing! I'm not frightened about anything, doctor. I told you that! This isn't fear, it's exhilaration! Help me! Nothing, no terror, nothing! I have no plans! There's never any time! We're always fucking, doing other things! I can't stop myself! There's no history to tell. It's normal like anyone else's. There may or may not have been incidents, I don't know. It's not much different! What life? What am I going through? All I do is fantasize! All I want is to fuck, get tied up, pissed on, slapped around! What's going on? Not often, I'm just living in my dreams! I dream all the time, even when I'm awake! When I'm awake? I'm always awake! I think of Azure doing impossible things to me, inconceivable, obscene things! I think of doing the same to her! I never get to sleep, never! I don't understand. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. I'm not afraid ... _________________________________________________________________________ Pulse What ma es the difference between holodec and real, between this object and that other on the des , is so clear, so obvious, I have missed it all my life - that this object, here, will always be the result of a scan, not an overall impetus (as say the photographic negative, which changes in its entirety all at once, a planar surface susceptible and suspect) within the realm of the analog, but a continuous redrawing - in which the flybac or downtime is rendered invisible - a continuous looping of the visible digi- tal object, the eye itself, or hand, or other sense 'otherwise' processing as if it were solid, granted sustenance and substance. So obvious! That the image is nothing but layerings, one upon the other, discontinuous mor- phing as we move literally stuttering through the originary moment of the new millennium. The des top for example pulses visible and audible shells into and within the local environment; the pulses are interpreted as com- munication; the communication itself is particulate, constituted; the form is that of the nova; the nova express brings patent letters of community; the community itself pulses; layer after layer interacts; the dar and in- terstitial spaces are occluded, sutured; they are the down-time of the pulses; nothing is occurring; it's as if the real were the real. As for the last, one has the nowledge that what is present, remains present in some sense for the duration; that it is obdurate, inert; that it is not a question of constitution or reconstitution but of presencing; that it is somehow thic or paste; that it oozes uncontrollably. Elsewhere, the screen saver (itself an incipient life-form as I have pointed out) is also pulsing; the unit is all of radio-frequency, the screen refresh rate a drastic reduction; there are all these ratios creating an illusion: as if this were an inscription; as if the letter, for example, 'i', were of a totality - within the machine, the 'i' is a message - within the machine the dot over the 'i' is a message - within the machine the pixel at the north-east corner (where ghosts roam) of the 'i' is a message; every mes- sage is equivalent; every pulse is li e every other; I would write this message in stone, bury it; someday, others will see - __________________________________________________________________________ oh, i'm just going away, my fingers are tired, the sound of the keyboard sounds like screams in the night, the flatness of screens slams into my heads, voices from speakers don't answer back, oh i'm taking a rest, i'm going away, i'm never outside, i'm never inside cd /dos/project ls pico violence b ls ls less hunger less fucking less hunger ls h more hunger ls cp violence ~/ cp sex ~/ less sex ls cp love ~/ less foreplay startx pwd cd ls cd /dos/b cp fucking /dos/b ls wc violence cd /dos/project wc love wc violence less violence ls h shutdown -r now _____ interval her: Fri Feb 18 12:39:04 EST 2000 resting on the printed pages of a book india ink transforms the spaces I am surrounded by infinite others my desires are exposed and your desires are written between the lines part of me lingers and all aspects of myself yearn to be uncovered pressed between the pages and bursting forth inside my head I wait exposed waiting ... Fri Feb 18 12:48:35 EST 2000 me: Fri Feb 18 12:19:39 EST 2000 nothing is comfortable here; entities fall apart; objects are lost; i hear rumors, nothing more; it's as if the whole space were shuddering; the space is glued to me; i'm burning; within truth lies in madness and depression; if you do the mathematics of the economy of populations, you discover that the poorest among us has the same limbs as the richest; everything is hidden; there are fissures in the walls, gloatings in my cracked skin, interior light, limbs breaking out, buds and bruises; desires expand into their spaces; here i say my skin; you can see outlines of blindness against the musculature, mouths opening everywhere; everyone wants to tell all! i see myself cloaked in cracked skin, twisting and turning; these are convulsions. i inhabit my bruises; only for your eyes, my visible desires; who am i. now pressed against my face, an upper palate. walking among strangers in a familiar city: i lived among you. what else is there to tell, i speak myself to myself, skin stitched to skin, as if you would know this, there was a commitment of surgery, surgery was committed, i was given the material world, now; talking to myself, for just a second, i'm closed down again; bad connect; Fri Feb 18 12:28:40 EST 2000 it: date >> bb dialog --msgbox "interval program" 0 0 dialog --yesno "you are on the far side of the interval" 0 0 if [ $0 == 1 ]; then dialog --in- putbox "what do you perceive around you" 0 0 2>>bb else dialog --inputbox "describe your comfort zone" 0 0 2>>bb fi dialog --yesno "are you afraid inhabiting this region" 0 0 if [ $0 == 1 ]; then dialog --inputbox "what are you going to do about it" 0 0 2>>bb else dialog --inputbox "why do you remain here" 0 0 2>>bb fi dialog --inputbox "are you alone" 0 0 2>> bb dialog --yesno "can you see your desires here" 0 0 if [ $0 == 1 ]; then dialog --inputbox "what are these desires" 0 0 2>>bb else dialog --input- box "are your desires always secret" 0 0 2>>bb fi dialog --inputbox "can you face yourself in the interval" 0 0 2>> bb dialog --msgbox "this is the interval program, please continue" 0 0 dialog --inputbox "where are you now" 0 0 2>> bb dialog --inputbox "where were you then" 0 0 2>> bb dialog --msgbox "this is the interval program, please continue " 0 0 dialog --inputbox "tell us everything, everything" 0 0 2>> bb dialog --textbox bb 0 0 cat bb >> dd sed 's/ i / yon /g' bb > cc sed 's/ you / i /g' cc > bb sed 's/ yon / you /g' bb > cc sed 's/ am / aq /g' cc > bb sed 's/ are / am /g' bb > cc sed 's/ aq / are /g' cc > bb sed 's/ my / mn /g' bb > cc sed 's/ your / my /g' cc > bb sed 's/ mn / your /g' bb > cc sed 's/ mine / minq /g' cc > bb sed 's/ yours / mine /g' bb > cc sed 's/ minq / yours /g' cc > bb dialog --textbox bb 0 0 dialog --inputbox "addenda: where are you" 0 0 2>> bb date >> bb dialog --msgbox "end" 0 0 _________________________________________________________________________