I am stale; there is nothing to ail this body that has not done its damage much as this body has done homage to language, pillage which is stale as in before, when you have read it whispered in my ear; then I'd write it, no need to read it further, you'd been bit by what you steer to me; then through me, back again, that's what is stale, theor- y, me, and you, binding without fail what would unglue me, become stale, fear it winding that trail, cuing the near- ly stale or train of mind, cycle and rail, what could entail a natural kind. ___________________________________________________________________ m y life o o z i n g 0000000 0a0a 2069 6970 7373 6120 6c6c 6f20 6576 0000010 2072 6f79 7275 7020 6e61 6974 7365 6a20 0000020 6e65 696e 6566 2072 6f79 2075 7473 6675 0000030 2066 6874 6d65 6920 206e 796d 6d20 756f 0000040 6874 670a 6761 6d20 2065 6977 6874 6e20 0000050 6b69 6b75 276f 2073 6577 2074 6167 7472 0000060 7265 2073 6c73 626f 6562 2072 6c73 626f 0000070 6562 2072 6f6d 7475 2068 7566 6c6c 6f20 0000080 0a66 756a 756c 7327 6d20 6e65 6573 2073 0000090 7264 7069 6970 676e 6420 776f 206e 796d 00000a0 7320 616f 696b 676e 6320 6568 7473 6920 00000b0 6c20 766f 2065 7573 6b63 6e69 2067 6977 00000c0 6874 6d0a 2079 6f6d 7475 2068 7566 6c6c 00000d0 6f20 2066 6c61 6e61 6a2d 6c75 2d75 656a 00000e0 6e6e 6669 7265 6e2d 6b69 6b75 0a6f 00000ee in these lost moments in my dark oozings in my life oozing dark moments away now to defend myself additions and extra digits clawing against a final stroke of brush-wielding nikuko or pen-wielding jennifer, say pencil and julu, keyboard and alan say say say say say __________________________________________________________________ STRATA Yh beyuty, whyt yyu dy ws ylwyys cyllwng me ycryss the ylphybet, where w ywywt thee! Fyr hyw lyng these dwrectwves/mwsswves frym yn yther wyrld yr wyrld yn typ yf wyrld, chyrten and dyrja, there are perfect rwngs rwngwng yne yr anyther sphere, perfectwyns yf avatars and mwnerals; wyuld this be additiyn, subtractiyn, multiply limbs, divide bydies, think yf yther reals shyred up by iryn strykes... Lrfl rs shart, laak at thl vrbla. Lrfl rs shartlr, lrstln ta thl saunb anb nuw thlrl rs llss trml, rlab thl wrrtrng un thl wall, anb nuw thlrl is llss timl tu think what blautiful wurbs Jlnniflr is slnbing yuu, with noisl on thl linl, hunglr in thl air, blmons hovlring o'lr thl worlb you live in, what moment is this to lose, what bay or night, when vlovk- hanbs coalesce, bark murmurs fill the air... to reab in reverse, to bie along with ye, oh Nikuko, substitution strata redolent, flowers, flowers ... _________________________________________________________________________ Apology for his Life While Traveling that he is sorry that he is filled with disgust stale again, scattered what might spatter against theory, devolving against this bit of biography - I am not home, but elsewhere - a meaning of scattered responses spattered while traveling, against theory or its wall, the wall of theory. what I mean is, unthinking or unable to prepare the scattered grounds of thought. I will dream this or that. it will remain a Dream. the fingers unfurl air. this which will I can remain unfocused at the seen. I will wonder am I dead and furthermore, what spattered drama robs what is inherited, of coherence. my dreams curl emptied there. I will have said it all "this blind ambition" that I will have said it all. this which is remaining stale and scattered. that it is blocked, the road at night or in night. that the machinery has vanished, protocols forgotten: as for wires, air, fibers, all transmitting into stale and scattered smoke. spattered theories while others have management of living. stolen theories while others are capital, coherent, walls. scattered grounds while others are you know (whom you know). 1. that it has all be said. 2. that someone has said it. 3. that scattered travel spatters wires and you-know-noise. where I keep my hand in, where I keep yours. something about disgust and that will say as well the something about theory ________________________________________________________________________ blinking gaps in the mountains and valleys by _the continuity girl_ there is a gap between texts where the words run dry, there are addresses and bars, lines delineating one from another, page numbers as separators, asterisks. so these are breaks within which something else comes to fill, fulfill, whatever there had been beyond, seeping across the edges of the screen, beneath the keys. this is nothing parallel to list aura, which is generated by an email list, nothing parallel to attachments or other riders on posts or programs. instead, this is the split in which the fingers reflect the screen's light, or light from a nearby window, as now, when there are contours indicating direction, as if generated by ray-tracing programs hungering in the real. sometimes there will be a conversation or other inhabiting, telephone call or meal or sleep, visit of a friend, bad news from old homes. whatever the cause/space/place, the breaks cause memory to become memory, as in content or _continuity girl_ would would follow the script and hold you to the script. it is a balance which falters; my writing has fallen on bad times, as an example of this faltering, as I no longer think clearly, sometimes not otherwise, or in pursuit of a minor literature. or that the theory begins to spread across the plateau of a cut tree, covering and forgetting the signs of growth which have been removed above any consideration, elsewhere than the immediate difficulties of this lived life. and when the life seeps through the text, _there,_ that is the difficulty! and when the life takes over the text, exactly the same! and when the life needs to be lived for the text, for 'experience,' I'd drown the text in the life, move to another small town, kill dogs and children for amusement, run and hide into the mountains where dogs and children would find and love me. there would be circles of rocks and patterns of rocks to play hippy- hop and lots of meat for the dogs and I would feed the children luscious berries and wonderful-beautiful food gathered while I wandered through the woods. you would see the flags flying from the town when you looked up at the mountains, but when you went into the mountains, the flags would be gone and you would be left wondering. it is in this state, when you returned from the mountain, that you would write texts on responsibility and civic duty, and others of the laws and regulations, internal and external constraints, and you would begin to articulate what it is about the text that you are reading about the text. I would be playing with the dogs and children. you would publish your text, yes you would, I would say, drinking at the local tavern, yes you would, yes you would, yes you would _________________________________________________________________________ Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1998 16:28:18 -0400 From: Alan Jennifer Sondheim To: Multiple recipients of list FOP-L Subject: NOTE PLEASE! To Everyone: Please ignore my previous posts 1994-1998; I am sorry for all of them! I promise to do better! Even _here_ I take up too much of your time! signed, Alan, Jennifer, Julu, Nikuko, _the continuity girl,_ Travis, Trevor, and Tiffany _______________________________________________________________________ _the continuity girl_ Michel Serres, Panoptic Theory, in The Limits of Theory, ed. Thomas M. Kavanagh: "[...] "I shall call poor that which has no object. Myth has no object, nor does theater or politics. "We had few objects in the past, long ago, once upon a time. This state of a humanity with few things has not been erased from our memory. Poor in things, our wealth then consisted of men. We spoke only of them and of their relations. We lived in and on our relations. I call myth poor, then, without objects. I call poor the theater, deprived of things; theories are poor; politics is poor. Our philosophies are poor and miserable. Our human scien- ces are poor. "[...] "The proliferation of objects, the exponential deluge of things, has led us to forget the time of their absence. And that time now seems to us so old! Archaic, antediluvian - yes, mythic. Our myths and our philosophies tell us about that time. Memories of places where lovers were watched in an empty and resonant space, where no one ever thought of eating. Thus philosophies that lack objects (almost all of them), philosophies that derive their val- ues only from the human sciences (almost all of them), are aged and poor. They seem so old to us that we read them as we read myths. One might think they were politics, or theater, or magic. Whenever, by chance, they come upon an object, they change it, by the stroke of a magic wand, into a rela- tion, into language, into representation. "[...]" Yes, Alan, you have almost come to life, almost carrying one or another name across one or another myth, traveling across one or another text, one or another philosophy. _the continuity girl_ holds you in check, just as others are held by you, tight against your thin chest, Nikuko, Jennifer, Julu, and myself included; it is my duty as your continuation to ensure, not the pro- liferation of objects, but of emergences governed, not by an unrequited pov- erty, but by the fullness of the real as language becomes languaging, as magic issues forth its own dominions. Not ever deprived of things or relations, tissues or words which dream them- selves into existence, far beyond the hypertextual - it is _the continuity girl_ whose long fingers write your head into your head, your arms into your arms, legs into your legs - _the continuity girl_ writing Jennifer into Jen- nifer, Julu into Julu, Nikuko into Nikuko, and with a swirl of a skirt and a toss of hair, the invagination of Alan, dare she say it, and the further emergence of a philosophy, and a theater - yes a theater, and a politics, dare she say it, yes, a politics, and a philosophy and a theater and one theory and another theory, and still one more theory, in addition, and still yet a theory once again and once more. Because _the continuity girl_ is everywhere at once, she is nowhere at all; because she garners the script, she speaks from experience; because she reads from memory, she improvises what is the thought that one or another is thinking, Because she ensures that the thought continues into the thought, that the I continues through the I, that one eye sees what the other eye sees, with just the slightest difference - That histories are memorizations and lists and forgotten names, just as Julu and Jennifer and Alan and Nikuko will be forgotten - that histories are mo- ments and slights of hand, just as _the continuity girl_ is a magic powder and a poultice, or a patch and a plaster - just as there are cures for the body ailing, and aches that never go away - Just the memory of _the continuity girl,_ just the hair and fingers, eyes and mouth, hands and legs, arms and feet of _the continuity girl,_ just as the face is an other, face is always already an other, face of _the contin- uity girl,_ circling and the cycling of the script, pagination and collat- ing of the script, as she writes this - Ensuring the one to the one, other to the other, ensuring the one to the other, other to the one - Naming, forgetting, naming - just as there are almost objects coming into the world, almost a pleasure in theory or philosophy; just as there is almost a pleasure in the reading and the writing; just as there is almost a belief in the one and the other, and the value of speech and the meaning among them; just so _the continuity girl_ That there be a striving or a mourning, that there is a mourning one is born into and within, a _mourning already in place_ ... [...] _____________________________________________________________________________ two of them queued forever PINE 4.02 MESSAGE TEXT Folder: INBOX Message 16 of 28 70% ----- Transcript of session follows ----- ... while talking to igc7.igc.org.: >>> MAIL From: SIZE=349 <<< 451 queuename: Cannot create "qfEAA19665" in "/var/spool/mqueue" (euid=0): No space left on device Deferred: 451 queuename: Cannot create "qfEAA19665" in "/var/spool/mqueue" (euid=0): No space left on device Warning: message still undelivered after 4 hours Will keep trying until message is 5 days old _dramatic-script boy_ wonders what the message is: does he have to re- write? or in other words how many and for what purpose? who is the device, wonders _the continuity girl,_ thinking perhaps the same as before, while the message ages during the difficult process of birth. _he_ turns to _her,_ wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, so exuberant in the very early morn- ing! it's the role of the _dramatic-script boy_ to keep things moving along, he feels; he's given himself the old monicker of a non-existent position. he'll look after the scripts, just as well as the next person, and in a far more dramatic way! _the continuity girl_ will be proud of him, perhaps even slipping a little out of her slip as she adjusts the flowers in the vase in the corner of the room in the scene in the film in today's shoot- ing of the script held so dramatically by the _dramatic-script boy!_ they are so loving and adorable and cute, standing there in the wings of the big stage waiting to do what they are best at doing, holding and moving the script dramatically, and awaiting the interval between one scene and another, one message and another, making sure reality is all that it is cooked up to be, nothing changing, or at least nothing chang- ing _very much!_ ____________________________________________________________________________ still of the Nuit "I was and probably still will going to write something about this as well - odd - using Maxwell's Demon to imply the impossible separation and or- dering of scripts..." so I wrote to Clara Nuit in relation to the entrance of the Demon, separating hot and cold molecules, separating hot and cold scripts, what would happen - so that the _dramatic-script boy_ carries a bundle! and _the continuity girl_ ensures that one follows another with a modicum of etiquette and something that might be called _the least concern of all._ So I wrote this, I, Daishin Nikuko, _in relation to the continu- ity girl,_ hoping that she, as well as Clara Nuit, would read this, as one script among many: consider then an intervention \ / V from elsewhere, a stylus inscribing, delimiting, articulating a series or sheaf of texts or scripts, the Demon hard at work, Satan at the keyboard, writing all of us into existence, toppling into _this_ form, font, and style: consider then an enabling A / \ as if balancing the w/hole, the effluvia or debris of the world - _the continuity girl_ half hysterical with a task moving quickly out of hand - _dramatic-script boy_ almost collapsing under the weight of proliferating scripts ... Maxwell faltering in his impossible task by the way side, reality carrying on ... __________________________________________________________________________ The Demon The Demon divides the real from the virtual, the real from the real; the virtual divides by means of the _device-random,_ always already a seed or a promulgation. Thus the virtual is traceable, at least in the common parlance; the real is deeply untraceable: lost from the lost. Divisions fissure into divisions; continuum produces the apparent smoothness of lost histories, clutters. The real has always lost itself. The virtual is always in the process of losing. __________________________________________________________________________ SHINTAI In the center of the Shrine there is a Mirror but wait, there is also a box or a case, and it is the case (which is all the World!) that there is something in it, that-which-divides. So there is a division made, or a making-division: (Enter: Hunger-eating goblin The division of the real and the virtual, line cutting where it may, what or what does not think itself across the gap; (Enter: Thirst-drinking goblin The division of the body, top and bottom, left and right, one or another lobe, searing and a searing retreat!; (Enter: Wake-sleeping goblin The division of the reader and the writer, the text and the other, eternal divide of the two of us, of the two of us and the one of them, of the three of us and the one of them or the two of them! (Enter: Horned-fucking goblin But beware! The Mirror sends you away - look, you're retreating! But now! Come closer; are you in the box (is the box in you?!)!? But think! What could it be, that-which-divides, if not for the beautiful breasts and body of _the continuity girl_ stretched over like the Sky-Goddess across the terrestrial body of the _dramatic-script boy,_ weighted down with all the stories of the world! (Enter: Cold-warming goblin But once again! I am the Shrine housing you, O _the continuity girl_ and _dramatic-script boy!_ And you are _shintai,_ the inhering-object of the sacred kami-body, the essence-placement of kami, perhaps unknown, perhaps secret or PGP-encrypted, perhaps lost in the black holes of cyberspace, perhaps exhausted, flooded across the wires and routing errors: YOU ARE SHINTAI BEYOND THE MIRROR, SHINTAI OF _THE CONTINUITY GIRL_ AND _DRAMATIC- SCRIPT BOY:_ (Enter: Warm-cooling goblin LISTEN TO ME: THE MIRROR IS THE MIRROR LISTEN TO ME: _________________________________________________________________________ your man. my hair his fingers. your drama. is the text of a billboard advertisement over fourth avenue and pacific street, an image of a young woman of color with great hair staring out at the camera which becomes you on the street: who are you? who am i? just thought you might want to ask these questions when wondering who is speaking to you as you run your fingers through your hair, typing your answer on the keyboard, dreaming one last sad sad time of the _dramatic- script boy_ who has you somewhere in his scripts, or does he or will he - for it's the truth that, as newton's equation in the calculus of finite differences indicates, any script can be written after the fact - you might want to speak to _dramatic-script boy_ before making any quick decisions in these matters - meanwhile _the continuity girl_ wants you to be me - all of them are in collusion she feels, tracking down one or another emission - the screen's hot with them, lifeforms pouring out of machines all over the planet - meanwhile again, jennifer notices still another attempt to find signs of life elsewhere in the cosmos has led to null results (sci. amer. this month), and so and then again, the spectre of the very anthropic cons- tructs of our universe appears - that the world is constituted in such a manner that intelligent forms of life appear relatively suddenly in the evolutionary process, discover nuclear energy and weapons of high destruction, and extinguish themselves just on the verge of reaching for the moons, the planets, the stars, the universe itself - too much power, too little time - there are no exceptions - it is built-in with these inflationary-universe times, it's the way things are, the neutral and tragic foreclosing of the world we live in - it's the first and last atomic fact - it's all of us - there are no exceptions - your drama. ________________________________________________________________________ susan's "and the aliens" "and the aliens, where are they, in our desperation, looking for large eyes or things which dwell within us or within our identities or equivalences, sliding ourselves into a more dangerous universal womb, but at least the womb which doesn't show, exfoliate, closed labia just as they refuse us entrance - that there are none of them, no scripts, no continuities but our own hysterias seeming to construct semblance, so that now we substitute the net or art or just about anything else, else which might nonetheless turn ashy in a universal conflagration generated by the smallest flesh or flash, risen from the surface of the sun; so now we wait on meteors or asteroids, veering from dangerous safety to safe danger, a distance few or fewer, but then the danger's real, safety's not, that's the truth of it as it falls disturbed and scattered to the floor where one might imagine grounds defined as metaphysics or whatever until the text chars, explodes, implodes - "it's as if there's nothing to read, nothing to see," say the aliens - now we can move them from say siberia or area fifty-one all the way to our interior - there are scripts within scripts, encrypted scripts, lost-treasure-scripts, scripts-of-ghosts-and-demons, scripts-of-discontinuities, kabbalistic numbers prying open numb alien skulls and thought- forms, "Oh, how she could go on, in the mornings when the sun was just rising behind the poplars in the garden." "The truth is, she did go on, she went on alone and speaking, murmuring the pulse of the green-gold world, and there was nothing else to it, nothing else to any of it, nothing, nothing at all." _____________________________________________________________________ From: beauty-love-person@jennifer.com.org.edu Subject: Yoo-Hoo Date: Now, Silly Yoo-Hoo you beauty-love-person@jennifer.org.com.edu I would know you if you would let me know you you are so beauty-person time that is for me so what you are so wonderful having a good time with me on your lap beauty- person.com could be now so muchly wondrous time you beauty-you-hoo! _Susan, the continuity girl_ __________________________________________________________________________ More than One, Two, Many Addison, Spectator, April 20, 1711, of a Friday, he writes among other things: "But there is nothing which delights and terrifies our _English_ Theatre so much as a Ghost, especially when he appears in a bloody Shirt. A Spec- tre has very often saved a Play, though he has done nothing but stalked across the Stage, or rose through a Cleft of it, and sunk again without speaking one Word." [...] "The Appearance of the Ghost in _Hamlet_ is a Master-piece in its kind, and wrought up with all the Circumstances that can create either Attention or Horror. The Mind of the Reader is wonder- fully prepared for his Reception, by the Discourses that precede it: His dumb Behaviour at his first Entrance, strikes the Imagination very strongly; but every time he enters, he is still more terrifying. Who can read the Speech with which young _Hamlet_ accosts him, without trembling?" Things appear, nouns are, verbs do, particles surround, ghosts walk, and ghosts may or may not talk, and when they talk, they will say a word which they may not Say. There is no ectoplasm except insofar as it is testable and determinate, all that effluvia or fluid corraled for the purposes of 19th-century science for an example; ghosts are translucent but every- where determinate. This is the determinate of Western civilization, if I may stereotype, thinking through the Noh with its evanescence that might imply an elusion or elision, Jun'ichiro Tanizaki's In Praise of Shadows, "This was particularly true of Kongo Iwao; but even the hands of an ord- inary actor - which is to say the hands of an average, undistinguished Japanese - have a remarkable erotic power which we would never notice were we to see the man in modern attire." (Trans. Harper and Seidensticker.) Fluids meld from things in darkness, losing distinguishing features and that sharpness that comes from the exhileration of light. Nouns and verbs might forever disappear as _objects appear by virtue of the intentional processes of illumination_ - every _thing_ is a flux and definition, and in the darkness language peers out from its originations... ( Why but that I would be your ghost, your inhalation, through the tunnels of your body, through the thin fingers, through the skin sloughed and left mid-air, the piss in the toilet, the tears dried against the desiccating wind... ) "Out beyond the sitting room, which the rays of the sun can at best but barely reach, we extend the eaves or build on a veranda, putting the sunlight at still greater a remove." (Tanizaki.) "Far be it from me to think of banishing this Instrument of Sorrow from the Stage; I know a Tragedy could not subsist without it: All that I would contend for is, to keep it from being misapplied." (Addison.) Let us say that there are doubled orderings of things, in the day when things coalesce and in the night when things are coalesced. Let us say that there are active and passive Instruments and Agencies, and that these interpenetrate, are Objects of one another's Imagination and Fascinations. And let us further say, that all of these, among ourselves, and ourselves including, are half-alive, that our Words are but Poorly Spoken, that we have the capacity of the Inaudible, even in our Protestations and Utter- most Desires. Then Ghosts do reign among Occidentalisms and Orientalisms already deconstructed, and further, that there are but ghosts, and these are not the singled or doubled orderings, but of _a nature altogether._ "It must have been simple for specters to appear in a 'visible darkness,' where always something seemed to be flickering and shimmering, a darkness that on occasion held greater terrors than darkness out-of-doors. This was the darkness in which ghosts and monsters were active, and indeed was not the woman who lived in it, behind thick curtains, behind layer after layer of screens and doors - was she not of a kind with them? The darkness wrapped her round tenfold, twentyfold, it filled the collar, the sleeves of her kimono, the folds of her skirt, wherever a hollow invited." (Tanizaki.) Let us say that there are scripts and orderings, stains and residues in and throughout the earth, nothing your way at all. Or let us not say this, altogether, or speak, or remain silent. Let us say that silence and shadow are on the far side of the sun and therefore of a planet, and therefore where the things are. Let us say that some think there is responsibility for such things, but they are also on the far side, and such is intention where I come into play. "wherever a hollow invited." - _the continuity girl_ __________________________________________________________________________ Parable of Daishin Nikuko _dramatic-script boy_ gives the lines to _the continuity girl_ who makes just gosh-darn sure he's got the same clothes on! while he makes sure she makes sure, and he might just for a little old tease change a shoe or two! _________________________________________________________________________ parable of daishin nikuko beneath the shadow of the thing there is the thing itself. beneath the shadow of the thing there is the thing itself. above the shadow of the thing, there is the thing itself. above the shadow of the thing, there is the thing itself. the shadow of the thing cries out that it is still alive. the shadow of the thing cries out that it is still alive. the shadow of the thing breaks off from continuity. the shadow of the thing breaks off from continuity. _the continuity girl_ hovers over the shadow of the thing. _the continuity girl_ hovers over the shadow of the thing. _the continuity girl_ hovers beneath the shadow of the thing. _the continuity girl_ hovers beneath the shadow of the thing. _dramatic-script boy_ hands out the wounding of the thing. _dramatic-script boy_ hands out the wounding of the thing. _dramatic-script boy_ hands out the faltering the faltering. _dramatic-script boy_ hands out the faltering the faltering. _the continuity girl_ and _dramatic-script boy_ fuck in the shadow of the thing, yes indeed in the shadow of the thing. they fuck in the shadow of the thing. _________________________________________________________________________ Subjective Feelings of Cyberspace Sometimes there is an experience of cold, like "'a jug of cold water poured on the nape of the neck.' 'As if the blood was like ice in my veins.' 'A cold, shivering feeling came over me.' The apparition 'laid a cold hand on his cheek.' 'Her kiss was like a waft of cold air upon my cheek.' 'She felt a cold hand clasp hers.' 'I awoke in a cold sweat.' The percipient 'felt an icy wind blowing.' 'As if a cool wind was blowing about me.' 'As the figure passed we distinctly felt a cold air.' Again, 'Any icy chill passed through him, and his hair bristled.' 'My hair seemed to bristle.'" And then again there is the odd feeling of presence, "'My eyes were fixed on my book, when suddenly I _felt,_ but did not _see,_ some one come into my room.'" (Quotes from Apparitions, G.N.M. Tyrrell. See also the 1882 Census of Hallucinations, British Society for Psychical Research.) Sometimes I have felt a _nervous warmth,_ as if under a bright light, whose illumination remained invisible to me. Sometimes I feel a sense of _arousal,_ as if waiting for some one to come into my presence, entering through the screen; this effect, while that of _gambling_ to an extent, is also the sensation of a _hovering_ just out of reach. Neither wet nor dry, my own entries onto the screen appear dry and drying to the touch; the entries of the other always seem moistened, organic, far beyond the cool typing that has become apparent. When I mouth the words of the other, I tend to run too quickly on, so I will return over and over again, allowing each syllable its proper space. I am aware of a certain _height_ to the text as well, several inches above the ground, spread out around the dimensions and texture of a tatami mat - in other words, comforting, _low,_ enveloping. This countermands those entries which sear the soft flesh, dividing cell from cell - entries of disenchantment, when I withdraw from the screen, promising myself its irrelevance, the fictivity of the other in relation to my own solidity, the intensity of light streaming in the window or the sounds of nighttime rain against the covered skylights in the loft. I think of intermingling bodies, just as the inhalation of a perfume is a communion from naked skin to one's own airy and moist interior. We ex- change, not messages, but each other, in such a fashion, and the Net also permits this dream - that these words, for example, are the far-flung remains of a script or moment of pleasure against the otherwise real. I always try to write the words in order to forget the words, or write the words that tend towards their forgetting, and in such a fashion I come towards you, words and speech as well on the periphery of something un- namable, deeper, darker. (Not autonomy, perhaps, but the autonomic.) This underlies the subjective feelings of cyberspace, which disappear them- selves as so many ghosts, so that others may take their place. _your scent, my breath_ continuity:script _your interior, my interior_ continuity:script1 _my flesh, your breath_ continuity:script2 _your words, my sounds_ continuity:script3 _you're cold, I'm cold_ continuity:script0 _you're warm, I'm warm_ continuity:script0 _your height, my height_ continuity:script0 _you're wet, I'm wet_ continuity:script0 _you're dry, I'm dry_ continuity:script0 _______________________________________________________________________ Heian Aesthetics a baskt of vrtical woodn slats hld loosly togthr and thy'r frayd on th dgs how could anything rmain in it just th touch of th moonlight spilling on th arth or th spacs among th slats to th narby huts which possibly ar th only ways to think today whil ths words fall apart and cruis missils targt th 's ________________________________________________________________ for the sake of _the continuity girl_ (by _the continuity girl_) the _need_ of _the continuity girl_ who doesn't know what she needs or what freud wants but who knows she's needed to keep the world afloat from explosions and cruise missiles and the wrong ties on a man dressed up for dinner and the wrong dress on a woman tied up, online, she's addicted, he's waiting, they're poorly dressed for the occasions, cocaine but the _need_ of _the continuity girl_ so that the building or flesh doesn't suddenly change shape across the charred body of the _dramatic-script boy,_ so that the world doesn't cave as disease explodes as the man cruises for the woman, as the man's tied to the woman who constantly changes her name while he fires her gun at her name, while she changes into her name, her name into hers for the _need_ of _the continuity girl_ goes across all culture, civilization, society, goes across all movie-magic, special effects, goes across all normal effects, tie on the woman, dress on the man, as they're on a cruise and _dramatic-script boy_ rises from the dead skin-grafted from _the continuity girl_ and the building missile totters, wait a minute _______________________________________________________________ _dramatic-script boy_ Explains Email Email is like golf, says the _dramatic-script boy,_ since you send a missive or a missile to a place where flags direct it across the course hoping to reach someone on the other side; caddies are routers, always helpful in terms of the direction of wind or packet-switching, look - a router's down, perhaps go another direction, avoid the sand-trap to your right. Another way to think it through, says the _dramatic-script boy,_ is that email is similar to a desert ecosystem. There are seeds everywhere hungry for nourishment, and a limited amount of water, which takes the easiest routes (roots) to divest them of their lethargy; they sprout whenever possible, as if they're read in a wadi or arroyo, and you might even consider sudden bloomings as chain letters or flamewars brightening up the cyber-landscape. Then again, continues the _dramatic-script boy,_ email parallels a No play, in which there are to principal actors, shite and waki, receiver and transmitter, and all the words flow between them, amplified by the hollow floor of the stage, which is somewhat similar to the trunklines carrying email from me to you, and the often atonal phrasing of the No flute may be likened to the routing around obstacles; then again, there are so many layers to the play, from that of the language to that of the costume finery and repeated stances, which are equivalent to the TCP/IP protocol layers on the Internet, and a television production of the play is surely like asynchronous transmissions modes which have been recently used to good effect. Now you might think, says the _dramatic-script boy,_ that it's easiest to consider email a form of mineral deposit, specifically anthracite coal, which seeks its own des- tinations in the midst of sandy loams and clays, having been deposited for millions of years by organic materials repeated compressed, just like packets are compressed, having been equally deposited by organic materials, and such packets also seek their own destinations, as it were, by means of somewhat intelligent routing tables based on traffic amidst the sandy loams of other information streams as well as the weather of the entire planet, which might knock down wires or knock out satellites, just as Sigillaria or Neuroptera were knocked down by winds or storms or decay so many millions of years ago. Further, think of the coal bed as hard disk storage; a disk crash easily parallels the burning of the coal in furnaces for the warming benefits of our loved ones. Once again, explains the _dramatic-script boy,_ figuring on, I would postulate a breakfast eating of a scrambled egg; the scrambling is definitely PGP encoding, of course, which is then taken apart by means of mysterious stomach juices, keys to personal fulfilling satisfaction. The egg itself travels through various machines, from chicken through supermarket cart, perhaps to automobile or subway car, and then onto a stove for merry preparation. Such preparation is identical to the preparation of an email missive; both involve fuzzy logic, attempting to get the ingredients right for perfect reception. I might add that both cost very little, and both are tending away from a flat rate to something that big corporations, looking out for us, feel is far more equitable, a per-unit charge for just about the whole wide world. If I maybe so bold, says the _dramatic-script boy,_ think of email as _the continuity girl,_ always bringing coherence and joy into any production, carrying as well those wonderful memories that ensure the functioning of the world, and opening her womb to the birth of a loving matrix and wellspring of communication. Just as _the continuity girl_ moves from set to set, so does email move from location to location, speaking where sent and where needed, silent otherwise, always addressed to the proper recipient. If I may be bolder, says the _dramatic-script boy,_ I would ask that you consider email as the _dramatic-script boy_ himself, carrying a bundle or packet of scripts accessible for any occasion, written by someone he knows not, and delivered to someone equally unknown, just as packets tunnel through machines that know not their contents, carrying their addresses at their heads, just as scripts carry their tables of contents at the beginning in order to assume salubrious receptivities. Furthermore, says the _dramatic-script boy,_ begging indulgence, it may be propitious to consider email as the fall of the Roman Empire; in both situations, messages in unknown tongues scurried back and forth, there were layers of diplomatic or software protocol, posts began lost as they were sent to and from outposts with poor connectivity, the aristocracy huddled in fear from flamewars and insufficient bandwidth, the writing, if not the writing skill, of letters increased exponentially, there were hackers at the gates, the road system was one of the best in the world for redundant routing of legions and packets, and there were vast circuses and email lists for the entertainment of the multitudes. _________________________________________________________________________ OVERHEARD: _dramatic-script boy:_ TERRIFIC! _dramatic-script boy:_ OH HELL! _dramatic-script boy:_ HORRIFYING PITY AND DISMAL CIRCUMSTANCES! _dramatic-script boy:_ INCREDIBLE EXPERTISE WITH MASCULINE FLESH! and: _dramatic-script boy:_ INCREDIBLE EXPERTISE WITH FEMININE FLESH! _dramatic-script boy:_ UNBEARABLE TRAGEDY BEYOND THE MERELY HUMAN!! _dramatic-script boy:_ LOST AND TOSSED FOREVER ON THE HIGH SEAS! _dramatic-script boy:_ AMAZING! _dramatic-script boy:_ THE "WELL-NOW" SCRIPT: "Well, now!!!" _dramatic-script boy:_ FANTASTIC YET SOMEHOW... TRULY UNBELIEVABLE! _dramatic-script boy:_ HOW COULD THIS HAVE EVER HAPPENED! _dramatic-script boy:_ OH MY GOD! _dramatic-script boy:_ IS THAT A HUMAN EAR?!! _dramatic-script boy:_ FUCKING HECK! EFFING HELL! _the continuity girl:_ HOLD ON JUST A DARNY-WARNY MINUTE! _the continuity girl:_ SNOOKUMS YOU WERE WEARING YOUR YELLOW-WHITE JUMPER! _the continuity girl:_ BABYFACE'S CIGARETTE WAS ONLY THREE-QUARTERS ASH! _the continuity girl:_ LOOK OUT FOR THE GAZEBO'S BALUSTRADE! _the continuity girl:_ WHERE'S THAT SCARF?! _the continuity girl:_ THE OLDSMOBILE, NOT THE CHRYSLER!! _the continuity girl:_ WE'RE IN DETROIT, NOT PANAMA!! _the continuity girl:_ WE'RE ON NEPTUNE, NOT EARTH! _the continuity girl:_ MORE POCKETMONSTERS! MORE POKEMON! _the continuity girl:_ EVERYONE OFF THE SET! THAT MEANS YOU! _the continuity girl:_ SCRIPTS, SCRIPTS, AND MORE SCRIPTS! _the continuity girl:_ MORE SCRIPTS! MORE SCRIPTS! WE NEED SCRIPTS! _the continuity girl:_ WHERE ARE THE SCRIPTS!?! _the continuity girl:_ SCRIPTS! SCRIPTS SCRIPTS SCRIPTS SCRIPTS SCRIPTS! _the continuity girl:_ SCRIPTS! SCRIPTS SCRIPTS SCRIPTS SCRIPTS SCRIPTS! ___________________________________________________________________________ On Cruise Missiles and Truth: "Truth is a human thing, since I must affirm it in order for it to exist. Before my _judgment,_ which is an adherence of my will and a free commit- ment of my being, there exist only neutral and floating ideas which are neither true nor false. Man is thus the being through whom truth appears in the world. His task is to commit himself totally in order that the natural order of existants may become an order of truths. He must ponder the world, must will his thinking and must transform the order of being into a system of ideas. Ever since the _Meditations,_ he has appeared as the 'ontico-ontological' being of whom Heidegger speaks. Descartes there- fore begins by providing us with entire intellectual responsibility. At every moment, he experiences the freedom of this thought, and his soli- tude as well, in the face of the sequences of essences. As Heidegger has said, nobody can die for me. But Descartes had said earlier that nobody can understand for me. In the end, we must say yes or no and decide alone, for the entire universe, on what is true. This adherence is a metaphysical and absolute act. It is not a matter of an approximation that can be called into question again." (From Sartre, Cartesian Freedom, in Literary and Philosophical Essays, trans. Michelson.) __________________________________________________________________________ + From Barthes, The Grain of the Voice, Of What Use is an Intellectual + _There was a time when intellectuals considered themselves to be the "salt of the earth" ..._ For my part, I'd say that they are more like the refuse of society. Waste in the strict sense, i.e., what serves no purpose, unless it's recupera- ted. There are regimes that do try in fact to recuperate the refuse we represent, but, fundamentally, waste is useless. In a certain sense, in- tellectuals are useless. _What do you mean by "waste"?_ Organic waste proves the _passage_ of the matter it contains. Human waste, for example, attests to the digestive process. Well, intellectual attest to a passage of history of which they are in a way the waste product. The intellectual crystallizes, in the form of refuse, impulses, desires, complications, blockages that probably belong to society as a whole. Optimists say that an intellectual is a "witness." I'd say that he's only a "trace." _Then you're saying that the intellectual is completely useless._ Useless, but dangerous; every strong regime tries to keep the intellectual in line. The danger he presents is symbolic in nature; he is treated like an illness under observations, a bothersome supplement one keeps in order to confine within a controlled space the fantasies and exuberances of language. _And of what passage are you the waste product?_ Let's just say that I'm doubtless the trace of a historical interest in language; and also the trace of many fads, fashions, neologisms, buzz- words. __________________________________________________________________________ My Troubled Heart, Reactions to Heian Aesthetics I am so alone; I turn towards Heian aesthetics for consolation. I am banned from the castle, turned away from the shrine. I write myself delicately across prints and scrolls. I am lost in space. There is always another infinite. The realm of departed beings, hungry spirits. My troubled heart, you're not around My troubled heart, you'll not be found I don't comprehend haiku; I do comprehend zen poetics. I don't comprehend autumn, cherry flowers, rain, ponds, sake. I have drunk sake in parks and lived through an autumn of cherry flowers. I comprehend the white-sky black outlines against the moon. I don't comprehend tsuki, the moon in the poem of haiku. My troubled heart, you're never there My troubled heart, I cry out where I don't comprehend sleeves wet with tears, or the edges of a sleeve just visible outside the door of the cart, chariot, palanquin. I don't compre- hend crimson and white outlinings, nor the pilgrimage and its attendants. I do understand walking along a path wet with rain, green and black on both sides, rustlings underfoot. I don't understand the messaging of poems, the screens dividing one from another. I don't understand the softness of the word. I have been immersed within the world's softness and its poems; eyes closed, I have absorbed the dew and brine-shrimp feeding upon the shoals of my body submerged in warming waters. My troubled heart, I'm sad and blue My troubled heart, and who are you I don't understand mono no aware, although I have wept copiously over the tiniest thing carrying the weight of the fallen world. There are pine trees that appear monotonous by the banks of the stream. There are solitary pine trees between myself and the moon, casting the shadow of lunacy across me. I have walked in the midst of the forests; I cannot read them, cannot read the signs. Signs are mirrors of the world; signs and mirrors are technologies. At opposite ends of cultures and chasms: signs and mirrors. My troubled heart, I cry and cry My troubled heart, I'll surely die I am so alone, I no longer see your face, nor can I imagine it. There is no face, there is Face, there are faces. I cannot bridge gaps, am not receptive to the gasp after the ringing of the bell or brilliant stems of white flowers: but I gasp, after the bell, before the stems of brilliant flowers. My troubled heart, it's all the same My troubled heart, what is your name If everything is illusion, I open myself to illusion, welcome it; I open myself to shades, wraiths, ghosts; they are hard against me. I cannot picture them, but I feel their pressure against my skin, just where creases lie, scars, wounds, cuts, scabs, fissures, holes. I will turn my body of non-illusion around for you in my dream-world of not-being-alone with you, but I am so alone that I cannot read Heian aesthetics, cannot send poems across the abyss. I cannot read into the abyss either. I cannot climb either up or down the slopes. My troubled heart, take me to bed My troubled heart, I'm nearly dead I can read the aesthetics; I can't comprehend haiku; renga come nearest in the dialog, but who am I to dialog with you and who are you and where are you, the distant hut against the edges of the pine forests, lives there a hermit and devotions, on the naming day of the woman who I saw from afar, reading a scroll to another; I think a young girl was also present, there were blossoms on the screen, these double-flowering cherries; think of the willows, think of me, the poem floated down the street; candles; he wept copiously into his sleeves; oh brilliance; that I promised to love you in this way forever, take you with me, My troubled heart, I pray above My troubled heart, bring me my love _________________________________________________________________________ Put Heian 220-Welcome to Global Online East Asia. 220-This is a private server run explicitly for GOL users. 220-All transactions will be logged. Any problems contact postmaster@gol.com 220- 220-Your host is panix7.nyc.access.net 220-Local time is Mon Aug 24 09:50:04 1998. 220- 220 gol1.gol.com FTP server (Version wu-2.4.2-academ[BETA-15](1) Sat Jun 27 19:4 9:25 JST 1998) ready. 500 'AUTH GSSAPI': command not understood. Name (gol1.gol.com:sondheim): 331 Password required for sondheim. Password: 230 User sondheim logged in. Remote system type is UNIX. Using binary mode to transfer files. ftp> put Heian 227 Entering Passive Mode (203,216,7,4,5,227) 150 Opening BINARY mode data connection for km. 226 Transfer complete. 4747 bytes sent in .3 seconds (18 Kbytes/s) ftp> _____________________________________________________________ absolute silence hereabouts anyone around could be a big gap between the bamboo poles could be a big gap between the telephone poles yoo hoo anyone at all hello could be no one home at all could be no one hereabouts could be a big gap between the earth and sky could be a big gap between the sea and earth anyone home hello hello i will just mosey along i am moseying along now i will just be going i will just be on my way hello hello now i will be very quiet i am very very quiet i am still very quiet i will not say another word could be a big gap here ________________________________________________________________________ Departure _the continuity girl_ checks the sea shore; there are slightly angry waves, a grey-white-foam day against sullen sky. There is a boat at the slip extending from the sand, and just like science fiction, there is nothing else for miles, dune-scrub, crab scuttlings excepted. Julu and Nikuko are there; Jennifer hovers like a dark presence or phenomenological horizon: we _know._ Julu and Nikuko, Daishin Nikuko of parable fame, Julu of the pink-red planet, walk slowly towards the boat. It is very solemn and one can imagine deep tones, fourths and fifths, gakaku minors, but there is only the sound of waves murmuring in slightly chaotic rhythm, against the lapping of the shore. Imagine the black moon against the sullen sky. Julu and Nikuko enter the boat. Their lips are parted; they speak quietly to one another, Jennifer overhears. Their hair streams with dampness and the cold spray of love. They are wearing simple brown clothes, tied in place at the waist. It is all very serious and beautiful. No islands are visible. The boat begins to move slowly out to sea. _the continuity girl_ watches the departure of Julu and Nikuko, and Jennifer is everywhere, it seems, part of the land and the shore and the sea and the sky, and part of the boat and the slip, from which it has slipped almost to a dark period on the horizon, and then nothing, nothing at all. Thus did Julu and Nikuko depart the scripts and the texts, on this cold and eerie day; and thus did _the continuity girl_ retreat, hours later, from the beach and the shore, wet sand underfoot, her work done, her desire met with tears, the wheeling of a lone grey gull in the dusk and evening sky. Jennifer begins to breathe. __________________________________________________________________________ Oo! Oo Oo Oo Oo Oo. Jennifer lies down on her side, white frock pulled up above her waist. _the continuity girl_ lies next to her, her face against Jennifer's taut panties. Oh Oh Oh. _the continuity girl_ has wide-open eyes and mouth, touching, smelling, tasting. White panties! Oh Oh Oh. Jennifer pisses a little, then lets go in a big stream! _the continuity girl_ hungrily laps up every little drop, her face wet with piss. Oh Oh Oh. The screen is placed back in the place where every screen is. There are pines and cranes against a gold background. Ah Ah. There are smaller birds fluttering in a gold sky. Ah Ah. There are sounds of meditation. There are rustlings behind the screen. Ah Ah. Ay. Ay. Ay. Ay. Jennifer's legs are wider than ever apart. Ah Ah. _the continuity girl_ snuggles up against her soaking, opened thighs. Ah Ah. Jennifer begins to forget her name, she is in such soaking heavens! Ah Ah. _the continuity girl_ continues to drink wearing a different frock each and every time! Oh Oh Oh. What an earth wobble there is, as the slurping ocean slurps into another ocean! Oh Oh Oh. What a day for _the continuity girl_ now naked against her large and muscular Jennifer! Oh Oh Oh. What a wonder penis-lolly as Antarctica slides into Scandinavian waters! Oo. Oo. Oo. Oo! __________________________________________________________________________ Eating Jennifer returns the favor, gnawing at _the continuity girl,_ Gnaw! Gnaw! Gnaw! Her mouth fills with _continuity-flesh,_ as words turn around in mid-stream, protocols sputter across Siberia and Argentina, lovers now. Gnaw! Gnaw! Gnaw! Norman O. Brown, Love's Body (and what is Jennifer if not my lover's body, says _the continuity girl_), and Geza Roheim, Magic and Schizophrenia (and and what is _continuity_ if not magic broken by the violence of schizo- phrenia, says Jennifer as Sudan clashes with Japan over territorial rites in Fiji): "The testimony of schizophrenia: _they eat and are eaten._ Schizophrenia is 'food trouble'; schizophrenia says, 'Hunger, that is the soul'; 'There is only one story - that somebody was starved. But not really - only in- side, in my stomach.' Prisoners of starvation. 'The whole trouble started with a party. People were dreaming that they were hungry, but hungry in- side; they were not understood and the police broke it up.'" Gnaw! Gnaw! He goes on, says Jennifer, half-eaten breast in her mouth, speaking of transubstantiation. I won't grow, says what's left of _the continuity girl,_ voice splattered across gouged trachea. Gnaw! Gnaw! Jennifer's covered with grease and parts smeared everywhere. What remain of her her clothes are dirty and useless. How dirty and useless. Enough to exchange for top-hat and toga; the constellations are suddenly different, and Hyena gapes from the nighttime sky. Gnaw! Gnaw! Gnaw! _the continuity girl_ can't end this way, can she? I couldn't continue reading says Jennifer, or writing or speaking away, or whatever I'm doing at the moment, and she's flying above North Dakota, but at a very low altitude. Her mouth's engorged, her genitals swollen, her frock and panties filthy, gaping above the corn and wheat fields somewhere in the noonday Midwest. Look, Father, a flying girl, says a nameless child far below. Jennifer thinks, Gnaw! Gnaw! Gnaw! The left leg, half-eaten, of _the continuity girl_ swoons, hairs standing on end, muscles slightly rigid. Gnaw! Gnaw! Gnaw! _________________________________________________________________________ Shitting Jennifer swells, swollen distended belly tumescent with trashed bone and marrow, skin and brain; the sky turns to red jello and buildings have no air. The leg of _the continuity girl_ is now rock-hard with orgasm and force majeure, an "irresistible compulsion" within the ligaments and ten- dons surrounding the _patella_ and the rest of the pulpy gristle. Thwoop! Thwoop! Jennifer removes her filthy panties (already torn through the leg and crotch-turned-bad from decayed piss and juices), positioning herself precisely above the upper-joint torn from the digested body. Thwoop! Thwoop! An ocean of cement! Jennifer's hands stretch her ass wide open; it's never wide enough for her, _that girl!_ She pushes hard from within, puts her hand in, pulling out as well! Thwoop! Thwoop! red-brown mush with splintered bone emerges, diarrhea of _the continuity girl_ splatting across the upper-joint leg and pulpy gristle! Thwoop! Thwoop! Out comes labia, upper and lower: An eye blinks inside the asshole, tumbling out into the mush! Eyelash! Everywhere in sight _the continuity girl shit_ spattered on what's left of cotton cloth, panties, the Suez Canal and Vietnam! (A war's on!) (A war's off!) Thwoop! Thwoop! Jennifer buries her head in the mush, swallows it! Thwoop! Thwoop! Out it comes again! She tastes and tastes _the continuity girl,_ rolls around with the severed leg, gnawing at the patella, expelling it! She's covered with _the continuity girl!_ Thwoop! Thwoop! An airplane explodes; Bulgaria is in mid-air! Someone reads Mallarme! Jennifer's breasts grow and grow, covered with soppy _the continuity girl._ The other eye perches on a nipple! Thwoop! Thwoop! Out comes the hair, covered with Jennifer-meals for days and days! What a shit. Thwoop. Thwoop. Let's take a bath together, says the swollen and shitty _the continuity girl,_ as someone forgets Mallarme, a train slows, and Bulgaria comes for a landing. Yes let's, says Jennifer, picking up the pieces (she is writing this just after it all happened, and now the words stay on the screen!), this is the best meal I ever had! A nose and arm and asshole are shit out, Jennifer's asshole begins to pucker up! The kissing of tiny assholes! The sad departure of one back into _the continuity girl's_ lovely ass! Thwoop, thwoop, thwoop, a couple more bats and birds fly, walk, fly, walk, sleep. Jennifer and _the continuity girl_ sniff their dirty-filthy clothes. thwoop thwoop thwoop What a wonderful smell! ___________________________________________________________________________ we are breathing like Ulay and Marina each other's pure beautiful breath we are very tired Jennifer breathes out thousands of people are moving out _the continuity girl_ breathes in _the continuity girl_ breathes out thousands of people are moving in Jennifer breathes in Jennifer breathes out _the continuity girl_ breathes in thousands of people are moving in Jennifer breathes in _the continuity girl_ breathes out thousands of people are moving out like Heloise and Abelard or like Ulay and Marina Jennifer breathes in _the continuity girl_ breathes out like Romeo and Juliet or like Aoi and Genji Jennifer breathes out _the continuity girl_ breathes in like Jennifer and _the continuity girl_ _the continuity girl_ breathes out like _the continuity girl_ and Jennifer Jennifer breathes in mouth to mouth _the continuity girl_ breathes in mouth to mouth Jennifer breathes out they breathe in and out hungry for each other and one of them typing this with one hand and keep on breathing until they pass out because they have stale breath with little oxygen available for their muscles because they are breathing each others breath refusing for all time to take anything new inside of them since their breath is pure they are pure they are one in their arms and legs and tongues and hair woven into one and they will never part and one of them will keep typing this with one hand and then the other will take over and keep typing while they have their breathing what is inside them into one another not taking anything from anyone else this is the most pure love and one of them will take over because fingers are very weak with beautiful pure love and the other __________________________________________________________________________ now we I you they we will rest, we have one skin, _Jennifer-continuity_ yum _________________________________________________________________________ JENNIFER IN PHAEDRA Script started on Wed Aug 26 17:19:19 1998 The Moon is Waxing Crescent (21% of Full) bash: ./.memo: No such file or directory {k:1}telnet 127.0.0.0 3000 Trying 127.0.0.0... Connected to 127.0.0.0. Escape character is '^]'. Phaedra This is in the mountains. This is where one thinks through the thinking of truth. This is where you begin with one thing always. Give me a name: Jennifer Give me a password: Welcome newbie Jennifer Last logged in on Wed Aug 26 21:18:41 1998 from localhost At dusk rain falls. Area: falls You are on the path. There are stones, worn down by glaciers, surrounding you, and you hear a waterfall in the distance. Dense fog... The cries of a roc break the silence. A monk walks in the distance, chanting. It is a picture from the Sung. Exits are: peaks pines emptiness Phaedra You are alone here The area is set to public There are 0 messages on the board There is no current topic here .rev Jennifer says: look Jennifer says: bye Where are you, _the continuity girl_? You ask: Where are you, _the continuity girl_? I miss you so much, _the continuity girl!_ You say: I miss you so much, _the continuity girl!_ It's lonely here... You say: It's lonely here... You remember who you are. .e flying away... Jennifer flying away... .e coming back Jennifer coming back Who am I? Is that you speaking? You ask: Who am I? Is that you speaking? You forget your name. No no no, I am Jennifer, I do not forget, not while you are here. You say: No no no, I am Jennifer, I do not forget, not while you are here. I love you so much... You say: I love you so much... You recognize the attributes of existence. Yes, I have known that things are strange with you... You say: Yes, I have known that things are strange with you... A certain melding in the shadows, not quite sharp... You say: A certain melding in the shadows, not quite sharp... You forget your name. .e My name, my name is Jennifer... Jennifer My name, my name is Jennifer... .e crying... Jennifer crying... .e weeping... Jennifer weeping... The sounds of the roc are unnerving. A small rabbit is caught in its talons. I will come to you oh small rabbit, I will save you. You say: I will come to you oh small rabbit, I will save you. .e runs high after _the continuity girl._ Jennifer runs high after _the continuity girl._ You recognize the attributes of existence. Yes, almost enlightenment. You say: Yes, almost enlightenment. .e brings back the small and lovely naked creature. Jennifer brings back the small and lovely naked creature. You forget your name. Please, no, do you not understand... You say: Please, no, do you not understand... .e ... Jennifer ... You remember who you are. Yes You say: Yes .map ** THE MAP ** pines------falls | | peaks----streams emptiness Phaedra ( Phaedra and emptiness everywhere, the chanting in the pines, love and rage, wherever connect is possible ) You recognize the attributes of existence. Please, if that is you, speak to me directly, personally... You say: Please, if that is you, speak to me directly, personally... Oh, _the continuity girl,_ please talk, murmur to me... You say: Oh, _the continuity girl,_ please talk, murmur to me... Whisper... You say: Whisper... The sounds of the roc are unnerving. A small rabbit is caught in its talons. .e looks down at the naked creature, disappearing again into the sky. Jennifer looks down at the naked creature, disappearing again into the sky. .echo silence You remember who you are. silence .echo _the continuity girl_ appears with loving arms _the continuity girl appears with loving arms_ .echo she approaches Jennifer and holds her forvever You forget your name. she approaches Jennifer and holds her forever Who are you, who is here? You ask: Who are you, who is here? .w *** Current users on Wed Aug 26 21:26:56 1998 *** Jennifer - a new user : NEWBIE : falls : 6 mins. Total of 1 users signed on Oh, I am so alone! You exclaim: Oh, I am so alone! Oh, these are machines surrounding me, machines dreaming me! You exclaim: Oh, these are machines surrounding me, machines dreaming me! Oh, I will die! You exclaim: Oh, I will die! Oh, I will surely die! You exclaim: Oh, I will surely die! You remember who you are. I AM JENNIFER! You exclaim: I AM JENNIFER! .e (FALLS TO THE GROUND WITH A KNIFE, JENNIFER CUT OPEN) Jennifer (FALLS TO THE GROUND WITH A KNIFE, JENNIFER CUT OPEN) .e (DIES You remember who you are. IN AGONY) Jennifer (DIES IN AGONY) .e (CRYING i am jennifer ) Jennifer (CRYING i am jennifer ) .q Signing off... Connection closed by foreign host. {k:2}exit exit Script done on Wed Aug 26 17:28:37 1998 _____________________________________________________________________ Phaedra (Post-Mortem Examination) Give me a name: _the continuity girl_ Give me a password: WHAT JENNIFER SAID IN PHAEDRA: .rev Jennifer says: Yes Jennifer says: Please, if that is you, please speak to me directly, personally... Jennifer says: Oh, _the continuity girl,_ please talk, murmur to me... Jennifer says: Whisper... Jennifer asks: Who are you, who is here? Jennifer exclaims: Oh, I am so alone! Jennifer exclaims: Oh, these are machines surrounding me, machines dreaming me! Jennifer exclaims: Oh, I will die! Jennifer exclaims: Oh, I will surely die! Jennifer exclaims: I AM JENNIFER! WHAT JENNIFER DID IN PHAEDRA: Jennifer ... Jennifer looks down at the naked creature, disappearing again into the sky. Jennifer (FALLS TO THE GROUND WITH A KNIFE, JENNIFER CUT OPEN) Jennifer (DIES IN AGONY) Jennifer (CRYING i am jennifer ) ___________________________________________________________________ She, Committed If _the continuity girl_ commits suicide, does she break continuity? For her life would be over, when her life was not over, says _the continuity girl._ _the continuity girl_ has power over continuity, because only by ending her life can she break continuity. Otherwise says _the continuity girl,_ she remains with her ego which is non-ego, and she remains which is not-remaining. For when she says _I,_ it is not not-I, but it is not I as well, for it is a break or a shifter, but only as phonemes glide across the tongue, text glides across the screen. She will be there on the morrow as non-she is not-there as well on the morrow or in the mirror. This will reach its end or not-end, after which _the continuity girl_ will have bro- ken continuity, the word not continued at line's end, hyphenating leading nowhere. Well, she will live for now, serving the _dramatic-script boy,_ loving Jennifer, continuing the two of them in a sheaf or a braid. Oh I forget, says _the continuity girl,_ perhaps I will give birth. _dramatic- script boy_ smiles, and I wonder why. The continuity-world is always hyph- (Who writes this? If _the continuity girl,_ she smiles the _dramatic- script boy,_ narrowing the range of the script sheaf he carries, much as she might carry him. If _dramatic-script boy,_ perhaps the concept of script is also the concept of seduction; perhaps death lies beneath each and every protocol; perhaps he's haunted. If Alan, then this is indeed perturbing, too much talk of suicide. And if Jennifer, then ghost-like we dance into the evening, hoping against hope, and who is this _we_ that continues, just beneath the surface of the screen, against the face of the waning moon? We wait for the world to crumble, collapse; we wait for decay and massive extinctions. We shall dance the night away. We shall dance and we shall dance and we shall dance. The night away.) __________________________________________________________________________ She, Committed What if "Jennifer" were committed by the State of New York, to an Asylum for the Criminally Insane, in perpetuity, subject to shock treatments, without reason or recompense, according to the State of New York? Then I, Alan, would also be subject to an Asylum for the Criminally Insane, her texts used against me; my body would become the Body of the State, and I too would be subject to shock treatments and forcible ingestion of drugs - whatever the Community would mete out. Thus the _continuity_ would be lost as short-term memory would disappear, long-term become muddied, and a neutral expression, haunted by memories of haunting, would be _plastered_ on my face (complete with stubble, and a ruly disposition). Of course "Jennifer" would die, not even given the grace to depart, as Nikuko and Julu have; _the continuity girl_ would roam like Medea through a violated world, and the world would continue its uncertainties, topplings, and instabilities. Already _the continuity girl_ is overworked, and Jennifer carries that haunted expression herself, wary of everyone as the State continues its crackdown in the face of a cracking universe. As I wrote once, annihilation to the limit, and we will always be nearly there from now on; I hope only to spend my time bereft of institutions, able to find work to keep my head on straight, supporting a family of brilliant and literary avatars. __________________________________________________________________________ Cell to Cell Modeling and the Internet Geoffrey M. Cooper's, The Cell, A Molecular Approach, specifies four modes of cell to cell communication. All of them involve transport of molecules which bind onto target cell receptors - the receptors may be on the cell surface, or receptors in the cytoplasm or nucleus. In endocrine signaling, hormones are secreted by endocrine cells; they travel through the circula- tory system to specified target cells at a distance. There is a relation between this form of communication and traditional models stressing trans- mitter, channel and message and receiver. (Noise also enters into the mod- els, related to disease, dis/ease in cellular communication.) Think of hormones as regulating the system-state as well; in this fashion, Inter- net communication also appears regulatory - discussions on the surface tend towards qualitative changes in protocols, as well as changes in sur- face content (filterings and censorships). The second form of cell to cell communication is paracrine signaling, in which a molecule released by one cell acts upon neighboring target cells. This is local or intranet communication; in the body, it's qualitatively different, not involving the circulatory system. Intraneural communication provides the textbook example. I'd think of Web hypertextuality, which creates the semblance of adjacency through address-to-address communica- tion - that's all that's happening. Java and other applet languages pro- vide another example with clumps moving back and forth through browser and server interfaces. Think of cgi-bin programs as well. The third form of cell to cell communication is direct cell to cell sig- naling, what we would call face-to-face, the relationship of the virtual subject for example to hypertext linking, which appears both imminent and a contact-form. Think of hypertext linking as _touch._ I would also place the ascii unconscious here - what occurs during net sex, for example, in the relationship between text and body, reading and writing the body, con- trol and transgression, and speaking the (contractual body and mind of the) other. The first form, note, tends towards the third as the Internet matures; this is also a tendency towards the seamless virtual reality of the future in which communication appears authentic, the term dependent upon the technological-social. Thus "authentic" travels from the romanticism of immanence through the technological, to an auratic future in which one can no longer tell the difference - and one no longer wants to. The fourth form of cell to cell communication is autocrine signaling, very reminiscent of operational amplifiers with positive and negative feedback looping. In autocrine signaling, a cell communicates, loops back upon it- self. A common operation is that of growth factors in T lymphocytes res- ponding to foreign antigenic stimulation. A second example is that of can- cer cells, also generating growth factors uncontrollably. This results in unregulated reproduction, the cell no longer responding to others in its vicinity. (Think of the second as an out of control positive feedback loop, and think of the first as a regulated positive feedback loop. Thus cybernetics enters into the heart of the body as well as the Internet, as autopoesis among other processes.) One might see this fourth form of cell to cell communication as a signal from outside, regulating the internal behavior of the cell, which responds in turn by foreclosing and self-generation. Could one see this as the beginning of thought, to the extent that the cell is processing external information, then internally processing and operating upon its internal processing? While this happens, I think, in every form of communication (what I call resonance of the subject), in autocrine communication it is the dominant mode. Thus autocrine communication might be considered a model, however rough or simplified, of the subject cell - which can then turn towards operative health (reproducing for the sake of repulsion) or operative destruction (reproduction for the sake of reproduction). In the former, there is an element of alterity at work - the reproduction is _reproduction-for_ - and in the latter, there is an element of psychosis - _this_ cell surviving and proliferating in any nutritive matrix whatso- ever. While there have been repeated conjectures in relation to the Internet as mind or at least an extension of mind, it might be more worthwhile to con- sider it as an organism of communicating cells. In this manner, it is app- ropriate to relate hormones and other communicating molecules to surface and depth processes on the Internet - rather than desiring and searching for mind everywhere in the denatured world. _________________________________________________________________________ NIKUKO, PARABLE OF: ### # # # # # # # # # #### ### #### ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### # # #### # # # #### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### # # #### #### ### ##### ## #### # # ### # # # # # # # # ### ##### # # # #### # # # ###### # # # # # # # # # # # ### ##### # # #### # # ### And I will begin with THIS BURNING SENSATION, here's a _maeku_ of Sokan's (linking verse for which he'll reply with a TSUKEKU): kasumi no koromo The garment of mist suso wa nurekeri Is damp at the hems. So Sokan reads all of this, writes into the MONGREL RENGA COLLECTION with the tsukeku answer translated by Donald Keene (BARE WITH ME!): saohime no The Goddess Sao haru tachinagara Now that spring has come, pisses shito wo shite While still standing. But shouldn't this read: DAISHIN NIKUKO NO which in my HUMBLE MIND might read: AKI TACHINAGARA BIG GOD MEAT GIRL SHITO WO SHITE NOW THAT FALL HAS COME, PISSES WHILE STILL STANDING because I AM NOT SUMO AM I NOT SUMO, NO? and THROW THE RICE OUT OF THE KAMI-DAMNED RING because I WILL THROW IT UP YOUR HOLE should you BELIEVE ALAN OR ANY OTHER SUMO FUCKWIT who DARES SPLATTER THE THIN REVEALING DRESS OF _the continuity girl_ WITH THE SHIT OF JENNIFER! I WILL KILL THE SHIT OF JENNIFER! I AM SICK OF JENNIFER! FOR ONE THING I CANNOT STAND SELF-RIGHTEOUS PRIVILEGED WHITE WOMEN WHO HAVE A BACKGROUND IN THE ARISTOCRACY AND MORE MONEY THAN I WILL EVER HAVE, FORMERLY YOU-KNOW NAKASUKAWABATA CHICK, NOW BROOKLYN CHICK! YES I WILL FUCK YOU FOR MONEY (NOT MUCH!)! and I WILL SHIT ON YOU FOR MORE MONEY THE MOST IN THE WORLD! (SIX DOLLARS YANKEE BOY!) (TWO DOLLARS YANKEE GIRL!) and I WILL PISS ON YOU FOR FREE, you need a washing anyway, _the continuity girl_ SO MEET ME ## # # # # # # # # ###### ##### ###### # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ###### ##### # # ##### ###### # # # # # ## # # # # ##### # # # # ## # ## ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ###### # # ###### ## # # # # ##### # # # ###### # # ## # # # # # ## ## # # # # # # # # # # ## # ##### ###### # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ###### AND LET'S GET IT ON! I AM NOT CALLED ##### ## # #### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## # # # # # # #### ###### # # # # # # ###### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ## ##### # # # #### # # # # # FOR NOTHING!!! - BIG GOD MEAT GIRL (I'VE GOT MY FOOT IN ***YOUR*** MOUTH, JENNIFER!) _______________________________________________________________________ Nikuko's Over My Head Let's think again about cell to cell communication all right now that you can read me clearly, I, Daishin Nikuko, said, pulling my long legs around an extension two blocks in length you could look up close to where they joined the body on the side. Say that endocrine communication is of the form of a transitive operator such that AcB where we have (A)cB -> (Ac)B -> A(cB) -> Ac(B). To some extent that first and last may also be considered autocrine, that is of the form xx = x and we can see Boolean operations at work. c is not C, but a channel; however we can also imagine c as C, node, and the equation still holds. Thus any transitive communications process with beginning and ending resonances which are at least temporarily feeding back is both endocrine and a rough model of the first degree. For the second degree, we have paracrine communication, action on the neighborhood which appears imminent and we might think of this as a series of processes (A)cB -> Ac(B) in which the channel is submerged so to speak. This leads to direct contact of the form (A)B -> A(B); autocrine is of course (A) -> (A), or we might indicate the initialization as A -> (A), and we can add this step elsewhere all along so for example in endocrine we would have A -> (A)cB and Ac(B) -> B indicating a lowering of energy or return to a relatively quiescent state. This may or may not occur. I only wish to note that such ideas may be considered as extended by Robin Milner in Communication and Concurrency, in which there are various models based on Senders, Receivers, Mediums, Ethers, Bounded Ethers, Buffers, and Bounded Buffers. For example in the Bounded Buffer discipline, A Sender may always send a message, provided the medium is not full; the Receiver may always receive a message, provided the medium is not empty; and the order of receiving messages is equivalent to the order of sending mess- ages. One might think of this as packet transmission of course in a linear configuration. In the Ether configuration, the Send may always send; the Receiver may receive provided the medium isn't empty; and the order of receiving may be otherwise than the order of sending. One might think of this as packet transmission in which the order is reassembled at the destination, i.e. TCP/IP. There is also a Shared Memory discipline, in which there are registers that may be written to, read from. Out of all of this, a calculus is developed based on agents, cells, data, parameters, handshakes, and so forth. The autocrine might be a situation of a single cell without a medium; items are received in the order sent, and there is no buffer. The direct cell to cell might be a situation of double cells without a medium; items are received in the order sent, and there is no buffer. In both the lag might be considered zero. Both paracrine and endocrine communication are open to all of Milner's models. In the latter, the capacity or bandwidth of communication is determined by fixed channels, speed of flow, etc., whether we're looking at the circulatory system or wires/fiber optic. This does not obviate such schemes as multiplexing, encryption, compression, and so forth, of course. In the paracrine, we find a most interesting situation - there is no pre- determined channel capacity, except for total surface input/output areas of the cell; for theoretical purposes, we might consider such areas as irrelevant - in order to arrive at a model which, vis-a-vis postmodernity, needs to encounter such processes as overdeterminations, implosions, ex- plosions, splittings/splinterings, and various forms of hyper-scarcities, hyper-overloading as well. We can extend the paracrine through the nomadic as a wandering of cells, wandering of information and information regimes - and by this time, we are far from the relatively coherent models of both cell biology and the Internet. But that may be precisely the point here, I, Daishin Nikuko, would say, watching a slight flush of labia appear just at the edge of the screen, jutting out from the edge of the screen, melting and melding the edge of the screen - desire and all that messiness, my anal scent for example, breaks down concentrations, coherencies, and for all my secre- tions, reasonable argumentation. I am suspicious of such argumentation that ignores the sweet smell of my sweat, or the taste of my lover's sperm - not in order to argue either that I put my clothes back on or that sexualization is at the basis of each and every text or communicative environment (that would be absurd, a return to a passe Freudian pseudo- determinism) - but to argue that disturbances, parasites, as both Serres and Kristeva might say, are _inherent_ in communication, in our explica- tion of logic, in our drives towards certainty thwarted by trembling fingers and wet mouths and hands. Now you see what happens to me, Alan, when I write such a long sentence! I'd argue in favor of the paranoid, parasitic, paracrine; I'd argue that we'd find ourselves there, since we'd find ourselves at a loss there. I'd say this might be where concurrency breaks down in the world of splayed legs (sex) and bodies (deaths). I'd say we'd have to walk around carefully here... Milner states that [...] "we shall first examine some different media for communication; we argue that they can all be reduced to the primitive notion of _handshake communication_ between agents, and that agents need not and should not be divided into two classes, the performers (active) and the media (passive)." (This has implications for gender theory at the least.) Let us assume, then, with Merlin Donald, that mind is an exten- sion of external media, or rather that external media are an extension of mind, or rather... Let us assume that cyborg processes are already too dualistic, too much a situation of classifiers, pointers, well-defined operations bounded by traditional input/output thinking. I might add, now that my labia are quite exposed and swollen by the para- crine, that Milner's calculus is incredibly complex, far too complex for me or Alan. But listen to the beginning of the book: "Communication and concurrency are complementary notions, both essential in understand com- plex dynamic systems. On the one hand such a system has diversity, being composed of several parts each acting concurrently with, and independently of, other parts; on the other hand, a complex system has unity (or else we should not call it a system), achieved through communication among its parts." "Underlying both these notions is the assumption that each of the several parts of such a system has its own identity, which persists through time; we shall call these parts _agents._" [...] "The more complex an organism is, the greater is the need to think of it as a network of agents." So we might consider agents, networks, media - channels, bandwidths, res- onances, feedbacks etc., as part of a model of the Internet - and we might also see how these have a certain biological emphasis as well, without falling into a naive organicism on one hand, or problematic theories of mind-in-the-wires on the other. Now I will bend myself again to the task at hand, the correction of this text, adjusting my clothing upon which I am sitting, typing naked what might also be considered a _love letter_ to you, having read this far (into the text) (into the night). I love you all, I am Daishin Nikuko, the Paracrine or Paraclete... You may have me across the surface of my body, across the surface of your own - Fair is Fair!!! __________________________________________________________________________