Nikuko on Ytalk ---------------------------= YTalk version 3.0 (2)------------------------ Oh, this is more beautiful than I could ever imagine. I am ytalking myself, I, Daishin Nikuko And then I would come out of the cave to see the jeweled ornaments between my legs, glistening there between my legs, visible in the light of my sun And there would be the smell of my body everywhere, like the smell of the earth, and these would be the jewels to be caressed, the magatima I am wearing now, curved into me Curved so they emerged in the form of speech and speaking and the glistening murmurs of the world Until our speech is curved itself, dense scent now of love, death, you. -------------------------= sondheim@panix3.panix.com---------------------- Hi there, my god you've made it through here... When I was in the cave then was I dancing outside the cave, exposing myself to myself And I would grab myself, stop the useless flight back into the darkness, surely; and the grain would grow, the trees flower, cherry blossoms everywhere... Curved into me, like a flower or a seed, curved through my loins, stomach, through my mouth and throat Which here I place upon the page for you to read, to comprehend, to pass down, generation after generation ---------------------------= YTalk version 3.0 (2)------------------------ Hi there, my god you've made it through here... When I was in the cave then was I dancing outside the cave, exposing myself to myself And I would grab myself, stop the useless flight back into the darkness, surely; and the grain would grow, the trees flower, cherry blossoms everywhere... Curved into me, like a flower or a seed, curved through my loins, stomach, through my mouth and throat Which here I place upon the page for you to read, to comprehend, to pass down, generation after generation -------------------------= sondheim@panix3.panix.com---------------------- Oh, this is more beautiful than I could ever imagine. I am ytalking myself, I, Daishin Nikuko And then I would come out of the cave to see the jeweled ornaments between my legs, glistening there between my legs, visible in the light of my sun And there would be the smell of my body everywhere, like the smell of the earth, and these would be the jewels to be caressed, the magatima I am wearing now, curved into me Curved so they emerged in the form of speech and speaking and the glistening murmurs of the world Until our speech is curved itself, dense scent now of love, death, you. __________________________________________________________________________ Almost Suicide System going Down in Five Minutes for Immediate Reboot System going Down in Two Minutes for Immediate Reboot System Going Down Now for Immediate Reboot System is Down for Immediate Reboot Oh Help we Cannot Reboot Immediately We Will be With you So Soon Oh Dear it is Already So Soon and We Still Cannot Reboot Oh Heavens to Me I am Sure Something Will Grow Pretty Flowers Oh! Oh! Look at That! Kore Wa Kore Wa Pretty Cherry Mountain Flowers! There are moments like these, Nikuko thinks, when _the continuity girl_ can go hang herself; there are moments like these when everything col- lapses, when the mouth of the corpse is stuffed with the year-2000-old Y2k cock. Somewhere there is a thin scream. Somewhere a wire shudders and cools. The wreck of the culture is the wreck of the planet. Both cool. Everything tends towards zero. Nikuko thinks: Ground Zero of the Slaughtered System. It is a promise it will Reboot. It is a promise _Elsewhere_ and such pro- mises are not often kept. Nikuko thinks. Nikuko tries thinking. How can I think, says Nikuko, when I am Inside the System? How can I think, cries Nikuko, when I am Part of the System? Nikuko stretches her limbs. Somewhere there is a thin scream. Nikuko wonders how Nikuko thinks When Her System Is Down. Nikuko wonders If You Are Reading This When Her System Is Down. Somewhere a wire shudders and cools. Nikuko Spreads Her Limbs. Nikuko walks around the Wreck of the Culture. It is very quiet. She knows Burning is being smelled. She spreads herself further. Somewhere there are Burning Bodies. She spreads herself over The Wreck Of The System. I can Think you Up, says Nikuko. I can Think You Back To Me. __________________________________________________________________________ Zazen I wrote the following five months ago. I wrote it because the situation was one I was both accustomed to, daily routine, and unaccustomed to, Japan. When I wrote it, I was aware that I would be torn from Japan, no matter what, that I would be elsewhere. When I wrote it, I was living what was described - that is, the description was a matter of looking around. Then the text becomes another matter, that of reconstitution, and I am forced into the position of the reader; such is memory. In this fashion, each and every thing becomes virtual and no longer holds ground, and the differentiations of signifiers also signify the differen- tiations of circumstances and selves. Behind every memory there is an ava- tar; behind every avatar there are uneasy dreamings, presentiments. I knew when I was writing the following that I would not be the one who had writ- ten the following. I knew this while writing it. I turn around, now again examine my circumstances, and find such is the case. The gap continues to grow, and bears the burden of death. When death comes, finally, the gap is sutured. "The Thickness of the Path of Dreaming" [...] [ See file kg of the Internet Text ] [ http://jefferson.village.virginia.edu/~spoons/internet_txt.html ] [ http://www.anu.edu.au/english/internet_txt ] [ Alan Sondheim, formerly of Brooklyn, New York ] [ Alan Sondheim, formerly of Fukuoka, Japan ] [ Alan Sondheim, of Brooklyn, New York ] __________________________________________________________________________ Perfection Implied by Relative Invisibility and the Shaking of Hands* Aesthetics of Perfection Milner's Communication and Concurrency develops the notion of a _single perfect action,_ tau (we'll use T) such that, if there are agents a(A)c' and c(B)b' where x' implies output and otherwise input, then if we have a(A)c'---->----c(B)b' and A'-->c'-->A (where A' is the state before c' is released - note that all of this is a handshake communication among agents - then we can infer A'|B --> A|B' where | is composition. (This is similar in a way to both something called Petrie graphs and a formalism I worked on years ago.) The question asked - what is the label of the last arrow? Milner states that this is T, which references the _single perfect action_ or handshake. It is internal to the system, and has no complement. Further, it is not directly observable. Milner regards two systems as equivalent of course if they exhibit the same ("in some sense") pattern of external actions. T can figure in graphs such as linear sequences. It does not figure externally. Among other things, Milner uses the formalism for thinking about communi- cation protocols (such as TCP/IP etc.). There are handshakes, send, and ack (acknowledgements) involved; a three-way handshake is used in TCP/IP, interrupted in a SYN attack. I think a model could be developed from this involving layering such that T could also represent an entire structure that _appears_ inputless and outputless. Such a structure could be consid- ered a basis under certain circumstances; thus TCP/IP is nothing that the end user concerns herself with - and in fact to the extent that protocols and protocol configurations disappear from the "surface" of communications technologies, those technologies increasingly appear virtual/real. Thus a future seamless virtual reality would appear to be an _inhabitation_ (in the Heideggerian sense), and the "normative" phenomenological horizon of the subject would be - as if it were - _identically mapped_ in processes to and from the machinery. We can speak of the bandwidth or raster of these processes as well. (And are all autonomic processes perfect? And is there an aesthetics implied?) In fact, within the book, everything is process; a storage register for example is defined as put(Reg(y))get' which is, in fact, a representation of potential operations. The formal definition is Reg(y) def = putx.Reg(x) + gety'.Reg(y) - in other words, either put something in or take something out. Registers - plural - can be indexed in various ways. Could we then make up for example [TCP/IP] where all T resonate internal- ly, and where the brackets represent the protocol layers, including the inputs and outputs - except those pertaining uppermost to the subject and her communication (actual and potential)? I realize I know less and less of the modeling process as I continue here. But what I am concerned with is the notion of perfect actions "below" a surface, just as software does its job. Within this situation, there would be disturbances - noise, chaotic noise, parasites, viruses, Trojan horses, and so forth - through which a particular T would break into its compon- ents. In such cases, the boundaries or borderlines of invisible processes become evident; such processes, from the viewpoint of perfection, are "flawed." It's in this domain that the Nikuko and Jennifer experimentation has occurred at times, and as perfect sequences are interrupted, their virtual bodies expand, producing awkward and confused text. The text is their bones, the confusion their speech. Milner's book is concerned with scheduling; I like thinking about hand- shakes, perfections, and breakdowns. Concurrency is critical in parallel processing - everything runs together smoothly (ideally). Handshaking is critical when anything communicates with anything else, and although this is a term from computer science, it's worthwhile to examine it across the board - from the entrance/exits of a particular email post ("how do I respond to him or her") to Hall's ethological studies. Liminality, in-be- tween states, enters into the picture as well - and one might talk about onset, coherency achievement, perfection, interrupt, denouement, and with- draw, for example. Whether the formalism would prove useful or not at this level is moot (I think not actually); it's here that phenomenology, etho- logy, Lacanian psychoanalytics, and cognitive science come into play. And it's here I exit as well, riding the bones of Nikuko. (A final issue, however - the extent to which an aesthetics is, in fact, implied in perfection. One can consider c and c' as canceling each other out, a formation of body and antibody bringing A and B into communicative contact through T; what might be considered an apparent symmetry is involved. But I also would like to extent this further - into the idea of the handshake as an art or aesthetics in itself - the perfect inhaling of breath before a shakuhachi note is played out, for example - as instru- ment, sound, musical sequence, performer, and breath are adjusted. Think of approaching a potential lover for the first time - and what vocal, body, and chemical languages (pheromones) are involved. There are other examples from molecular biology as well. Now think of _the beautiful perfection_ of one's eyes, wide-opened, for as a lover approaches, or as Nikuko, at last, begins to speak...) *This is speculative and ill-formed; I give in both to my ignorance and desire to see the concepts through. __________________________________________________________________________ (FROM.NIKUKO) This.is.Nikuko.speaking,.disassociating.herself.once.again.from."Alan".who appears.through.her.on.occasion..For.she.is.sick.and.tired.(as.has.Jenni- fer.not.said,.as.well,.and.perhaps.more.to.the.point,.or.some.other?).of this.constant.need.for.matrix/model.-.Alan's.NOT.the.Bourbaki.after.all, and.should.be.able.to.get.along.without.mother.structures..(If.you.don't know.the.Bourbaki,.don't.worry;.Alan.doesn't.either,.or.HE.WOULDN'T.WRITE THAT.WAY.) I.think.one.needs.models.like.one.needs.heuristics,.and.on.any.reasonable macro.level.you.can.assemble.models.from.components.(like.A.=.A).whenever you.need.them,.but.to.live.inside.them.with.that."perfect.action".sounds more.like.a.good.fuck,.and.even.these.don't.end.in.handshakes..Or.at.least in.my.experience.BLAHBLAHBLAH.(there's.a.LITTLE.HEINER.MULLER.for.you!). Alan's.had.models.based.on.linguistic.dispersion,.on.cell.to.cell,.on.the ascii.unconscious,.now.this.stuff.on.perfect.actions..He's.had.models based.on.kanji.recognition,.on.border.maintenance,.on.borderline.personal- ities,.on.performatives..He's.had.models.based.on.physical.topographies, on.postmodernisms,.on.part-objects,.on.the.work.of.Winnicott..He.doesn't stick.to.any.model,.but.just.moves.onto.another.model. REALLY.ALAN.STICK.IT.UP.YOUR.ASS.WHERE.YOU'LL.LIKE.IT!.A.MODEL.BLIMP.WILL DO.OR.MAYBE.ZEPPELIN..Because.I'm.sick.and.tired.of.jumping.around.like this..It's.not.like.I'm.learning.anything.new..He.even.made.me.MODEL.at one.point,.MODEL.PARABLES.that.is,.like.some.sort.of.Zarathustran.creep.or Jesus.Christ.herself.(who.I.hear.was.a.Hermaphrodite.and.Very.Good). There's.no.point.to.it,.the.parables,.aphorisms,.sonnets,.confused.anal- ogies,.bad.prose,.poetry.filled.with.strange.punctuation,.he'll.probably fuck.this.up.as.well.just.to.get.even FUCK.YOU! THE.REST.OF.YOU.LOVE.NIKUKO.-.and.that._is_.imperative. ___________________________________________________________________________ Virus in My Brain (Simultaneous Transmission by Nikuko and Alan) >Date: Tue, 1 Sep 1998 02:05:18 +0900 (JST) >From: Reminder Service >To: nikuko@gol1.gol.com >Subject: Tuesday's Calendar >9/1 move out of loft I received this missive just today, logging back into gol.com in Japan; it's the calendar program import from Panix, referring to September 1997, never deleted. It sadly reminds me to leave the loft. I did leave the loft. I went to gol.com in Japan and then returned to the loft. Now I am sadly interred in the loft, and will not move out of the loft, but will welcome these messages as open memories on the anniversary of non-moving, before, in fact, when I left for Japan, for I had made arrangements to return to the loft. So I never did leave the loft, but I left the loft. Sadly. Sadly I am now here, reading the words of Tung-Shan Liang-Chieh, from The Transmission of the Lamp, in Chang Chung-Yuan, Original Teachings of Ch'an Buddhism: It is strange indeed! It is strange indeed! Dharma taught by non-sentient things is unthinkable. Listening through your ear you cannot understand; But you will be aware of it by listening with your eyes. After presenting the gatha, Liang-chieh took his leave of Master Yun-yen, who said to him: "Where are you going?" "Although I am leaving you, I have no idea where my next stop will be," replied Liang-chieh. "Are you not going south of the Lake?" asked Yun-yen. "No!" said Liang-chieh. "Then are you returning to your native town?" asked Yun-yen. The answer from Liang-chieh was again no. Then Yun-yen continued, "Come back here soon." "When you become the head of a monastery, I will come back to you," replied Liang-chieh. "After you leave here, it will be very hard for us to see each other again," said Master Yun-yen. "It will be very hard for us not to see each other again," answered Liang-chieh. "After you have passed away, how can I answer someone if he wants me to describe what you were like?" "You just say to him, 'This is!'" Yun-yen replied. Liang-chieh kept silent for a while. Then Yun-yen said to him, "You must be very careful, as you are carrying this great thing." There is the great thing and the little thing, said Nikuko. The great thing, 'This is not!,' but the little thing is viral, lodged in my brain, turning departure always already into a sadness like the German horses who killed themselves out of depression, or so I have heard. When is a life not a life of departures? When is there salutation and the new and raw beginnings of a wonderful life? When will I see the beautiful handshaking lead towards loving fruition? When will I settle, no longer existing, but living and dwelling in a place I call my own? When will I leave the Net forever, when will I find my home page a place of love and texts? When will I achieve enlightenment, with this virus in my brain? ________________________________________________________________________ Nikuko becomes Jealous of Julia-Timothy-Chat Nikuko cruising the Net finds the following and logs it down, down down. Nikuko cruising the Net wonders, there is talk all over the world like this, roaring through the wires, these snatches, maybe you can think of them as blouses or flies unbuttoned, just a peek inside, desiring taking the long way around. Or a bit of aggression or the promise of a bed for the night, or arms around one for an hour, just an hour, that is all I would beg of you. So what is the point if not that it's pointless, not filling, but fulfilling the virtual subject, failing the real Nikuko, lost in this darkness, here and me, me me, reading his or her body in the midst of tang and snocones and sweet goodbyes? Because you can see that anyone and everywhere will speak, if not the same, along the lines of interpenetrating chat, working through the other back towards some sort of recognition of the self. It's a fix. It's a cool fix. I'd like some drugs to fix me. I'm desperate for drugs to fix me. I wish I had a head to be fixed. I'd fix the drugs on the head and I'd be ok. I'd be ok and I would be happy. I wish I, Nikuko, could place myself inside of, say, Julia or timothy (I'd go in write through the slit!); I would be happy, I would be out of here: I would live forever! I'd really be very happy! Now you may read what I logged below or you may not because you already know exactly what it will say! *<§ Julia §>: LOL F.. *: crack flakes... new improved and selling in a back lane grocery near you *: when you're backpacking, tang makes great snocones on fresh snow *<§ Julia §>: heh heh Geo :) *: heh Wild *: maria say's warm tang is good for a cold... I don't think so! *: Girl...your yawning is making me sleepy... *: red wine is good for a cold *: maria makes tang and potato chip sandwiches probably *: timothy, I think it would be... warm drink for cold, plus vitamin packed !! *: i am sleepy maria *: <----eats potato chips in my hotdogs... *: beaujalois is just plain good. *: of course, I drink warm green KoolAid so don't really ask me *: lol *<§ Julia §>: LOL *: I just don't know it was hard enough to go down cold... warm... oh nevermind...but you know what I'm thinking.... yuck! *: as you can tell, with my culinary creations, I get little copany *: company *: but.. if I make lasagne... bar the door *: Susie.. just mix in a little metamucil to give it body *<§ Julia §>: hehe F.. *: lol *: next thing you know your going to pass out after your warm green KoolAid and in the morning you'll fine a peanut butter sandwich stuck to your back... you'll think... sheeeesh I'l a wild one *: mmmm metamucil *: LOL Wild! *: <-- likes Susie's lasagne already.. he knows how to spell it! *<§ Julia §>: heheh Rule... *: if I make lasagne, it costs about 35 bucks to make it in a turkey roaster, enough for everyone *: green koolaid and tang talk has made me thirsty! *<§ Julia §>: <----can make toast but gets confused on which side to put the butter and jelly or peanut butter *: *: <--- loves peanut butter *: makes your tongue green *: true confessions of a netchat addict *: and, to confess, I tried making a "float" out of it once.. NEVER try that at home. *: <-- puts lime koolaid in bbq marinade *: my tongue is naturally green *: lol giRL *: heh *: JuNk, how chic *: a float? what were you thinking! *: really April? *<§ Julia §>: F, I had it before...when I went on vacation to missouri, timmy's wife always made that for the kids...I usually had it when I first came over there :) *: timothy, I wanted a float and had no soda *: that would be almost like a truth or dare *: look for it in the next issue of GQ with my fancy glasses. *: probably make a killer drink *: umm actually i'll try just about anything in bbq marinade and sauce bammers.. i can usually make it work *: lime koolaid shooters *: ick.. *: killer KoolAids... anyone have them b4? *: Wilds.. no *: nope sounds good tho *: can't say that I have *<§ Julia §>: <---guess he's gonna find out *: basically vodka and koolaid... can't taste vodka (unless a real cheep kind) *: "fizzies" are making a comeback *: Oh like koolaids not cheap. heheh *: god i loved fizzies *: better than bottled soda any day *: use to sell them here at the afterhours clubs... ;-) *: Girl, they are back.. 50 cents for six *: I'll take one *: the good fizzies went out with cyclamates ref.. no other sweetener tasted like sugar as much as they did *: like $5... the clubs made a killing (serving afterhours that is) *: since I'm poor, I use fizzies as a placebo for alka seltzer when I'm sick. *: what's a fizzie? *: Wild, wow *: heh. I would know. I supported them. heheheh. *: WHAT'S a FIZZIE? *: fizzie... cherry, rootbeer... etc.. looks like an alka seltzer tablet.. drop in water and drink *: my god *: my god, woman, i mean *: what money? ? *: I know a stripper named Lul... you can imagine... Lul says... *: i never had a fizzie... *: whooa *: really Susie? i thought they were just for porno movies! *: never even heard of them... *: male stripper? *: pop rocks are better than fizzies *: Alice does fizzie... sounds like a porno *: lol *<§ Julia §>: heheh Alice :) *: never heard of a pop rock either... *: pop rocks are too much *: brb *: << not going there *: Didn't Mikie from the life cereal commercial die from eating pop rocks with 7up? *: pop rocks.. yum! *: pop rocks are people like Maddonna... she is Pop then hits the Rocks *: dang....how come we don't get any of the good stuff down here... *: So whos this stripper? *: Lul you live a seltered life *: lol Lul *<§ Julia §>: might be Junk...remember something like that *: hahaha i know voodoo... ;-) *: Maybe I have a calling or something ... I dont know ... *: maybe *: wwooooo. I doubt it but maybe on the weekends. heh *: The Full Monty! heheheh *: well bedtime for me... :) night everyone It has been a slice *<§ Julia §>: Welpers....gettin late, need to study a lil, might format my drive...ack *: Night Rule *: night Wild *: who Rule *<§ Julia §>: Niters RuLe.. *: You Rule *: Night Rules. *: love and kisses all around *: Night Julia.. format well , heh *<§ Julia §>: hehe F.. *: hey... *<§ Julia §>: Niters F, Susie-Be *Smootch*, Alice *Smootch*, Junk, Zin, Joe, and all *: uh, nite Wild *: Man its hot here. *: see ya julia *: smooches julia baybay *: night julia.. ;-) *: stay garooovey *: smooches1 *: 113 degrees today *<§ Julia §>: ((: :)) *: could have cooked breakfast on the sidewalk I would be a niter. I would retire from the machine. Perhaps I have a virus in my brain. I think I have a virus in my brain. (I'll fix the drug on my head. I'll look through its slit!) I think it reproduces when I type this when Alan lets lets lets lets me go go. I think it makes me hot hot hot. I think I would be real real real. - the real Nikuko __________________________________________________________________________ For.Daishin.Nikuko.by.Alan.Sondheim because.I.have.the.Mars.on.my.desktop.and.my.Ikons.on.the.Mars therefore.I.fly.over.the.Mars.and.before.the.Mars.I.had.You I.had.you.before.the.Mars.and.my.Ikons.on.you.and.I.would.fly over.you.but.sometimes.my.Mouse.would.land.on.You.unlike.on.the.Mars holes.opened.over.Telnet.and.Ftp.equally.across.you.and.one.Hole in.the.Mars.opens.now.on.Video.and.you.Fly.over.the.Mars.with.me with.your.One.Hole.Open.because.with.on.Video.I.can.see.you.On.the.Mars over.me.with.my.Ikons.open.and.what.will.You.say you.will.say.You.have.seen.the.Mars.with.One.Hole.Open.and.One.Hole.Closed you.will.say.it.is.warm.where.the.Crater.lights.and.all.Aglow you.will.say.You.are.on.my.Desktop.and.my.Ikons.and.you.will.say.You are.my.Ikon.and. all.the.Ikons.in.the.world.aren't.You ___________________________________________________________________________ Scent of No One, Scent of Jennifer I wake, my breasts bruised, black-blue marks around the nipples. I dream, wake, there are bite marks on my neck, my legs, my throat. I turn, dream, wake, there are black hairs on my skin, marking sign and time. I shudder, turn, dream, wake, there is lipstick on my face, my cock, my legs. I shud- der, turn, dream, wake, arise, there are cigarette stubs in the sink, wan smell of liquor in the air. I shudder, turn, dream, wake, arise, mastur- bate, I feel spent beforehand, nothing emerges: It is as if I wake, my breasts bruised, black-blue marks around the nipples. It is as if I dream, wake, there are bite marks on my neck, my legs, my throat. It is as if I turn, dream, wake, there are black hairs on my skin, marking sign and time. It is as if I shudder, turn, dream, wake, there is lipstick on my face, my cock, my legs. It is as if I shudder, turn, dream, wake, arise, there are cigarette stubs in the sink, wan smell of liquor in the air. It is as if I shudder, turn, dream, wake, arise, masturbate, feeling spent beforehand _________________________________________________________________________ From sondheim@panix.com Thu Sep 3 02:30:49 1998 Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1998 02:30:29 -0400 From: A. Jenn Sondheim Reply-To: FOP-L To: Multiple recipients of list FOP-L Subject: the subject of what might be effaced in relation to protocols or a dense alterity given its due - this happens when handshaking gets taken for granted, when exhaustion takes over, when existence itself appears to tremble, outside of any subjectivity ... - From sondheim@panix.com Thu Sep 3 17:15:04 1998 Date: Thu, 3 Sep 1998 17:14:56 -0400 (EDT) From: A. Jenn Sondheim To: Poetics Subject: In this empty space, this space of announcement, not enunciation, or catastrophic loss of _the body of the text,_ I would approach you, murmuring against all asides what is broken by you as _this_ is broken by you, what you bring together as _this_ is sutured against the will, the cut, the wound, the miracle of flesh bound by forgotten space which tells you nothing more than this is _it_ (fwd) - Perfect Beauty {k:1}bc bc 1.04 4*4 16 when I get tired I look towards perfect numbers 6 or 28 (standard_in) 2: illegal character: I /I am an illegal character. I take off the I. I will remove the I./ /I will give the I to perfect you./ (standard_in) 2: syntax error (standard_in) 2: illegal character: I /I am an illegal character. I take off the other I. I will remove the other I./ /I will give the other I to perfect you./ when naked the body looks for 6 or 28 (standard_in) 3: syntax error /my body is not a perfect body. it is an error in configuration. I would say the round one. I would say the blind one. I would say Oedipus./ it is a perfect body 6*28 /it swells into perfect roundness./ /it is your perfect body./ (standard_in) 4: syntax error /it adds up its errors./ 6*28 168 6*28*168 28224 6*28*168*28224 796594176 when i am stuck in myself I look for 796594176 (standard_in) 8: syntax error (standard_in) 8: illegal character: I /when i am stuck in myself a I sticks out erect. I would say the sword slaying the eye. I would say the blind one. round, deflated, cut: disk, and disk./ /I will give disk and disk to hungered you, an erect I and nipples./ /now I can write invisibly, feeling my way across the keys, my eyes given over to your hunger, my disks divided on your round and perfect breasts./ ^D _________________________________________________________________________ THE OPERATION what a site i am jennifer, all covered with your numbers, your letter- speech unimplemented, you stutter across all calculation. you are a woman and uncalculable, intuitive, full of intuition-juice. so i do render you, unconscious. so i do remove some of intuition-juice. so i do proplex such juice internal. so i do think so like you now. so i am woman. so i am jennifer. $ dc 2 4 + f 6 v f 2 6.00000 v f 2.44948 2 drip 2.44948 down dc: 'w' (0167) unimplemented dc: 'n' (0156) unimplemented page 10.01110011000100010 dc: 'g' (0147) unimplemented dc: 'e' (0145) unimplemented cover dc: stack empty dc: stack empty dc: 'e' (0145) unimplemented dc: stack empty me dc: 'm' (0155) unimplemented dc: 'e' (0145) unimplemented with dc: 'w' (0167) unimplemented dc: stack empty dc: 't' (0164) unimplemented dc: 'h' (0150) unimplemented f 2 4 + v f 10 10.00000 v f 1.01101010000010011 10 f 1.01101010000010011 10 cover dc: stack empty dc: stack empty dc: 'e' (0145) unimplemented dc: stack empty f 10 me dc: 'm' (0155) unimplemented dc: 'e' (0145) unimplemented with dc: 'w' (0167) unimplemented dc: 't' (0164) unimplemented dc: 'h' (0150) unimplemented you dc: 'y' (0171) unimplemented dc: stack empty dc: 'u' (0165) unimplemented 2 4 + f 110 1 d f 110 110 1 v f 10 1101 you dc: 'y' (0171) unimplemented dc: 'u' (0165) unimplemented o f 1 "you" = "me" now, Jennifer, I am Capital-Jennifer; I am _implemented._ ________________________________________________________________________ Core Dump {k:24} ls -la core lrwxrwxrwx 1 root 16 Sep 4 03:31 core -> /net/hlocal/core {k:25} cd /net/hlocal/ {k:26} cd core ksh: cd: /net/hlocal/core - No such file or directory {k:27} less core core: No such file or directory {k:28} ls -la core core not found it's the middle of the night, i'm lying directly under nikuko, looking for a core dump. i try rooting around, nothing. there's less and less core. the core's the heart of nikuko; it comes out her hole and into me. it keeps me awake at night. it keeps me awake now in the middle of the night. a core appears when a program crashes. it's called a core dump because it's fast processing giving you an account of what happens if you know how to read it. it can be huge. the core part of the phrase is from the old days when almost microscopic magnets were used for memory storage. they were called cores. they were donut-shaped with wires running through the holes. the core dump took out the fossilized remains of the crash. then programs made it readable. a core dump is literal coprolithic, shit that's stopped processing, hardened. coprolites are read for their animal and vegetable content; you can tell what the animal was eating maybe millions of years ago. dumps contain memories of working hungered bodies. i'd eat your core dump, nikuko, your shit falling into my open mouth. i'd eat your memory, your birth, expansion of your body all through the wires, around the magnets drawing you to me. i'd become full of memory, yours and mine, and isn't that the case now, when i type late into the night, always already full of you, watching your breasts burst through my chest, your fingers through my fingers, taking control of the keyboard, forcing me to write these truths? i'm your animal animal animal __________________________________________________________________________ from Julu, buried beneath the ground all my writing is an invitation for you to come closer i do not know who you are nor will i know when you come closer when you come closer i will not know you when you come closer you must heal me all my writing is a desperate cry for healing i will know you when you heal me all my singing is an invitation for you to love me i do not know who you are nor will i know you when you love me when you love me i will not know you when you love me you must touch me all my singing is a desperate cry for touching i will know you when you touch me all my talking is an invitation for you to raise me i do not know who you are nor will i know you when you raise me when you raise me i will not know you when you raise me you must hold me all my talking is a desperate cry for holding i will know you when you hold me you will know me when i know you ______________________________________________________________________ Some Europe Why do the French, for example, Julia Kristeva and the chatterings asso- ciated with the chora and ruptures, or Jean-Jacques Lecercle and delirium, then take Gilles Deleuze on non-sense or Catherine Clement on rapture, or the opening of Anti-Oedipus or practically the w/hole of Libidinal Econo- my, then there's the latent hysteria in The Story of the Eye, I mean why do the French - and this becomes something for the English or the Ameri- cans - some sort of escape into the preconception of depth where no one treads - there's always the unconscious - good etiquette keeps it down as does the internal evidence of the text - for example foreclosing or fire- walls around what constitutes sense - reading the endless descriptions in P.D. James for example - there is a sort of rectitude of class everywhere present in this thinking and I'd say even in for example the performative which becomes clear-cut and no wonder everyone gets upset with Derrida spilling ink all over the margins; of course Huntington's been taken apart for his climatological theories of civilization, so we've got to look elsewhere as France (yes, Kristeva and Derrida only half-way in and out, and for that matter let's not forget Lacan's choratic behaviors on and off the text) might be the testicle of Spain but there the image rummages around and comes to an end - it's not as if there's the necessity for a sudden bursting-forth like you get, maybe in Lautreamont, Rimbaud as well, but you don't get in Japan and France isn't simply that regimented although regimented indeed - so why there, language-control-subversion _from the lowest levels_ in the form of a conspiracy I don't know - but these _chatterings_ (let's not forget feminin ecriture, Irigaray, Wittig, Cixous, or what might pass for masculin ecriture, Barthes, Sollers for two, ever read his Women? I did for the in-sites) are everywhere, taking apart foundations or what might pass for them (let's not forget however Rene Thom, the Bourbaki, even Benoit Mandlebrot on the other side of the coin, all these mother-structures appearing - I'd put Pierre Duhem's analysis somewhere in the middle of all this) - you've got cooling ponds on the surface with their ordered ciliated enfoldings of structured shorelines and down deep, Leviathans breaking out (look at Roustang or Clement Rosset, now we're talking) or shuttling around the surface (then there's the German analyses of classical geometric surfaces and their ur-structures, think of Klein, although there are Manning and Sommerville for n-dimensional stuff, not to mention Coxeter) - one might wonder about the flaneur tradition (situationism, Baudelaire, Beau Brummel) as far as that goes, the whole francophonic enterprise as it were, one great derive - look at Balzac and one couldn't leave out, in the entirety across the board, Rabelais - or the Flaubert of Saint Anthony or Salome - from which all sorts of disturbances erupt - I prefer Bouvard and Pecuchet myself - it's subtler there, the choratic breaking out as ripples across the cool- ing ponds, especially in the received notions section of the book - one might place, especially in regard to derive, the vagabonding of Villon naturally enough - as if nature were artifice vis-a-vis Mallarme (not to mention the Quebecois Gaston Miron, which opens up all sorts of possibil- ities - Nicole Brossard's ecriture feminin, Hubert Acquin's Robbe-Grillet coupled with frisson and anti-colonialism, Paul Chamberland's eruption, Marie Claire-Blais' burning homes, flamed desires) - as Victor Beaulieu might point out the Catholicisms erupting as well (look at Bataille, Lei- ris once again, no wait, Verlaine), even sciences' chatterings in the guise of Michel Serres (not to mention Foucault somewhere hungering about the Bourbaki if I had my way about it) - or Sartre's Being and Nothingness finishing off with slimy holes, you get the picture (all those theories of representation, say Christian Metz) - broken by Baudrillard turning rup- ture into rapture into and out of fine art - it's a big swirl, it has no beginning and no end, it just goes round and round and doesn't escape the borders of the continent - oh yes, it's been incontinent - there have been missives, missions, missionaries - unceasing flooding of lapped shores world-wide - Celine would pause at one or another point here - place three little dots - _all_ those shores - I'll refuse to do it - it's been an industry (don't forget for a second the analyses of Pierre Bourdieu, Regis Debray) - it turns in on itself - it implodes - a precession of thinking simulacra - (actants maybe in Greimas, sad and fallen leaves and leavings in Violet Leduc) - world-wide influence (Sartre and de Beauvoir beaver to his mister, Levi-Strauss' discontent with structure turned music, telling his way through the saying of culture in spite of everything or Piaget bringing it back in essai de logique operatoire) - one's got to give cre- dit to rapture still (Michel Tournier doing to Robinson Crusoe or The Ogre) - just a moment, the phone's ringing (Pierre Levy on the other end of the line) (extending outward like hermaphroditic pubic hair) (curling around Sarduy as everyone comes to Paris) (drugged by Michaux) (killed by Artaud) just a moment, the bell's ringing (running down the flow) (someone I don't know) ___________________________________________________________________________ Slipping Through the Cracks Orientation from Herodotus II, 36: "When they write or calculate, instead of going, like the Greeks, from left to right, they move their hand from right to left; and they insist, notwithstanding, that it is they who go to the right and the Greeks who go to the left." Quotes from Henry George Fischer, The Orientation of Hieroglyphs, Part I. Reversals, Egyptian Studies II, The Metropolitan Museum of Art: Of Nefertiti: "Even in the Karnak scenes where she alone worships the Aten her name is invariably preceded by a reference to Akhenatan in her title [fig.] 'great wife of the king, whom he loves.' And much more frequently, her cartouche follows two of his, which are in turn confronted by the names of Aten [...]. Thus the reversal in her cartouche may indicate that her husband is the source of her contact with the god. There is, in this relationship, something of the Miltonian concept: 'Hee for God only, shee for God in him,' although they shared 'Thir Orisons, each Morning duly paid.'" "As shown by his gesture of invocation, the king himself pronounces the offering formula in front of him, all of which is oriented as he is, ex- cept for the name of the divine recipient." "Quite possibly, in view of the adjacent juxtaposition displayed by the adjacent caption, 'singing to the harp,' the missing object of the prepo- sition was thought to be supplied by the opposed representation of danc- ing, with the figures facing left." "Among the repertory of hieroglyphs in common use, as represented in Gardiner's Sign List, there are a few exceptions to the usual orientation - exceptions, moreover, for which no explanation has been offered. The most perplexing of these are the inverted staff, the sail that is blown backwards, the reversed boat [...]." [hieroglyphs and references omitted] What are signs, that they may be stayed upon the head, faced within the mirror, transformed from outside-in, absolved from inside-out? What is the materiality of the sign so lost and constituted in these forms, where < and > are not oppositions but independent, assigned different and variant encodings? One might reference calligraphy in general, the running style of kanji, and see Jan Assmann's Ancient Egypt and the Materiality of the Sign, in Materialities of Communication (eds. Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht and K. Ludwig Pfeiffer). [I come towards you. I approach you. I leave by the moon. I go from the cave. The world goes with me. Your sight bedazzles me. How can I return when your sight is imprinted on mine, eye to eye?] What is the history of the sign and token, from Sumerian tabulations and clay impresses - through the pressure of edged reeds, rock incisions, brush and penstrokes? I've spoken repeatedly about these elements; one might also consider a _wavering hieroglyphic_ in which each and every sign might face one or another direction, in relation to portent, to the divin- atio at work as the superstructure breaks loose from the world, recuper- ates the word as construct of the gods. "In two Old Kingdom tomb chapels, where the owner of a tomb addresses mem- bers of his family in order to give them testamentary instructions, the orientation of his statement is reversed, along with the words that intro- duce the statement." Perhaps you break through the lines; I _must_ face you, regardless of the consequences, regarding your mien, in due regard for your truth in its place, breaking down the symbolic, transforming it into a certain surplus. I have no regard for the orientation. I'm always facing you in my dreams. Making love face to face. Watching. Looking. Being observed. "Instead of turning an entire statement around, together with the words introducing it, the scribes of the Old Kingdom sometimes applied the re- versal solely to the introductory word [...] 'he says,' following the speaker's titles and name, in order to point up the fact that the following words were a direct quotation." Perhaps I dream your breath, hear your voice coming from the left or right or within me, an insistence toppling even the vacuity of avatars, returning your flesh across the queendoms of distributed networks. You speak so softly, I bend towards you, my ear against your belly. What is heard in the smooth convexity of spheres, planets, earths. "Old Kingdom lists of offerings (from Dynasty III onward) are very common- ly turned so that the hieroglyphs address the person for whom they are in- tended." "Here the reversal may have been intended to stress the roundabout orien- tation of a river that flows south instead of north, as the Nile does." "Writings of _`kprt_ 'entering and coming forth.'" Conceivably I do not know whether I am coming or going, towards or away from you; my hand trembles, the brush goes every whichaway across the parchment, the signs _spill._ Perhaps I enter you, come forth through a portal whose destination remains unknown; I am faced left, right, or in- verted, I lose my way, Virgil nowhere to be found. "The first two dynasties provide evidence for all three of the basic situ- ations requiring reversals - confrontation, symmetry, and concordance - including several uses of hieroglyphic confrontations that are frequent in later periods, notably the opposition of various elements of the royal protocol and the opposition of the names of a divinity and of a king." Facing you, I face myself; joining you, I join myself; becoming you, I no longer separate such residues, things, stains and processes. Language wrapping allowing all entering. Direction from the sphere. ___________________________________________________________________________ virus.exe temple.exe of.exe my.exe body.exe then.exe there.exe is.exe great.exe hall.exe of.exe your.exe machine.exe good.exe day.exe virus.exe wandering.exe great.exe hall.exe great.exe temple.exe hungered.exe virus.exe carcked.exe these.exe bones.exe splintered.exe hard.exe drives.exe splintered.exe executables.exe macros.exe splintered.exe macro.exe boot.exe records.exe not.exe to.exe click.exe on.exe here.exe or.exe there.exe to.exe ignore.exe great.exe hall.exe of.exe your.exe machine.exe do.exe not.exe open.exe temple.exe of.exe my.exe body.exe _______________________________________________________________________ fram Julu, buried dawn the graund, missive ta ye yr letrs fal dawn an me / fal fat dawn an me / letrs numbrs al avr thm pepr th erth w thm / cavr th erth w thm / yr letrs graw hard in me letrs fal dawn an me / stms push up thru me / leavs fla aut frm me tharns push hard thru me / dats fla aut frm me / flat fal dawn an me fat thra aut thru me / raats fla up thru me / hair runs aut thru me fram julu dawn benea th graund / julu erth n julu mauth / / julu seeds n julu cunt / julu stanes n julu eys / / cam aut fal dawn w me / flat aut push up thru me / julu arms n julu lgs julu hnds n julu tange / julu ears n julu nase / julu ass n julu taes julu tits n julu knees / cam dawn th cemetry / cam aut th cemetry wite wite calr a deth gla stanes / black calr a deth gla stane / / gra calr a deth gla stane _______________________________________________________________________ It's not middle english and it's not perl. It's not gothic and it's not javascript. It doesn't have the syntactical ability to construct me. It doesn't have the semantic ability to represent my body. I'm _caught in the middle._ I'm _divided in two._ I'm _neither here nor there._ I'm _broken I'm _smashed into pieces._ I've disappeared _into thin air._ It has the phonemic ability to not represent. It has the phonemic ability of the _ikon._ It doesn't have _the dichotomy._ It doesn't _tunnel through a quantum substrate._ It's not _a virtual particle._ It _doesn't breathe._ It's not a _family of leptons._ It doesn't obey _statistics._ It's not heian japanese and it's not java. It's not sumerian and it's not assembly. It's not machine and it shakes the chassis. it's al -------------------------------------------------------------------------- normal life, a traditional poem now coffee smoked-sofa and style-hazard langpo brought thrustling omamori lathe and transform out ennui tree-baum-trundling nor von cooling ing no memento water canyon and another er another out okagami on the wall all blemish now in throat cliff hanger won't and cant ant defoliation tensor on out mother-cup inferior or one three five seven and invertebrate ate nine ten elven twelfish thir- teen okagami lipstick now drool-wrist what burst bullet-train trundling out or tongue-tooth what baumtree mirror spat ran spirit ichiman no niman no ari now ant, lion biseder ok now out or kuki to breath now what ha-ha-mommy now julu is in home free now turned out if lim sup and lim inf, now might wanna more _______________________________________________________________________ Talk To Me The daemonic has disappeared at san.com. ---------------------------= YTalk version 3.0 (2) =--------- [Waiting for connection...] ##################################### # Ytalk Error # # # # No talk daemon on oita.san.com # # (no system error) # ##################################### ##################################### # Ytalk Error # # # # No talk daemon on oita.san.com # # (no system error) # # # # No talk daemon on oita.san.com # # (no system error) # ##################################### The saddest apparent cutback at san.com. The shell accounts become weaker and weaker. Now, there's no time or place for one-to-one conversation. Now it's all windows, clicking, mice running all over the place, banners, beta updates, passwords, cookies, spam. "_talk_ is enjoyable, if trivial, once you've worked out the kinks. It's difficult, for example, to handle pauses in a conversation. Without verbal cues or physical gestures, you don't really know whether you're supposed to say something or whether your correspondent is simply gathering her thoughts before continuing. Then too, there's the question of productiv- ity. You find after a while that simultaneous typing doesn't produce a very high information flow; you can ratchet up the content by ten or so if you simply pick up the phone and call this person." (Gilster, The Internet Navigator, first edition.) But talk (and ytalk, the later version) works at a distance; it's bare- bones and appears bare-body; there is no advertising; you can go in and out of the shell with ytalk, and so forth. The receiver types below the sender. As in ICQ and other like-minded chats, you see the letters as they are being entered; the result is the appearance of virtual bodies/spaces on your screen. It is extraordinarily intense for net sex, and years ago, Kim McGlynn and I did a number of pieces using and logging the format for a series of texts dealing with psychosis and hysteric bodies/fluxes across the screen, barely in and out of control. It is bare-bones, and there is no advertising, no menu visible; the monitor screen is divided by a dotted line which may or may not contain the recipient's address. And that is all you see. And the rest is yours and the person with whom you are writing, talking. You can write together, simultaneously, as if over one another, interspersing one another. With fixed-width courier fonts, it all appears natural, letters bursting out, not with devices, but with the intensity of content unraveling. You unravel each other. I won't be sad. I'll put your picture on the screen. I'll put everyone's picture on the screen. I'll move my mouse around the pad. I'll move the cursor around an infinity of bodies. Supine or leaning back, here, where you are not, I'll move the mouse across my body, in the flesh, the flesh in the flesh, mouse into cursor onto you. And I'll map my body onto yours. And I'll map my nipples onto yours. And I'll map my cock onto your cunt. I'll map my eyes onto your eyes. I'll map my mouth onto your mouth, my arms into yours, my legs into yours, my asshole, yours. And neither of us will have to say a thing; neither of us need never speak again. __________________________________________________________________________ The Return of Nikuko in an Expanding Universe A Transmission of Jennifer, by Julu, Buried Beneath the Ground Nikuko returns to gol.com (Japan) only to find /var/log/nonexistent.notused. {k:7} cd nonexistent.notused {k:8} ls ls: .: Permission denied {k:9} ls -la ls: .: Permission denied Nikuko wants to be used. Her function is usage. She is defined by her function. Darling Nikuko. Nikuko herself uses Nikuko. Nikuko-function uses Nikuko-Function. Okagami, Great Mirror. Self-reflexive function: absorption: xx = x. x _always goes for_ x. {k:10} rm Nikuko remove Nikuko? y {k:11} Get on with it. The text here splays, dissolves. That is, arousal guarantees there's no longer a body. But it's a sign to someone else, that's for sure. So who are you? The text's supine, no one else is. Who would it be? Who would use the name _Nikuko?_ I'd say no one would use the name. I'd say she's hardly removed; there's been too much talk about /dev/nul, the device at the end of the world, lately. Because - and Jennifer has been musing this for a long time now - once there's sufficient expansion of the universe, there's no longer memory. It won't do to say even now, _this happened, how beautiful this was._ It won't do to harbor these texts. Annihilation as an operation won't exist either. Nothing will exist and not exist, but this is no comfort to the ch'an; it's a bar of thinking and non-thinking. It's impossible to think this through or to think through this. What you're thinking through just now is the memory of the sign. And it fills your body. To the breaking-point. Even now, depressed and thinking of death, the text begins to meander, waver, lose its moorings. But it's still remembered by you. But it won't be in the future, say "far future," you can say it. Say it before the screen, prostrated as such. Remember the future anterior, remember it's always already a memory. But a memory of the sign. (You won't even know what you're missing. Jennifer won't let you see her anymore. Not without her clothes!) Which is none at all. I can't tell you how nonexistent that is. And to what extent notused. I can't tell you anything, Julu, buried beneath the ground. _________________________________________________________________________ for love, i cannot wryte {k:75} who do you love > nikuko; tail nikuko ttyr1 Sep 11 22:32 ttyr2 Sep 11 22:12 jennifer ttyr3 Sep 11 21:40 (dreaming.dialup.) ttyr4 Sep 11 21:44 {k:76} who nikuko loves panix3.panix.com!sondheim ttypd Sep 11 23:16 (ts3.nyc.access.n) {k:77} who julu loves panix3.panix.com!sondheim ttypd Sep 11 23:16 (ts3.nyc.access.n) {k:78} who jennifer loves panix3.panix.com!sondheim ttypd Sep 11 23:16 (ts3.nyc.access.n) Plot: clearly jennifer, dreaming and loving sondheim. clearly dragging nikuko clearly dragging julu into the clearing, dragging nikuko and julu jennifer, in the clearing julu, buried beneath the ground nikuko, naked, wandering for love, i cannot write ______________________________________________________________________ What I might have Said "Language is such a marvelous and fruitful secret - because when someone speaks merely for the sake of speaking, he utters the most splendid, most original truths. But if he wants to speak about something definite, cap- ricious language makes him say the most ridiculous and confused stuff. This is also the cause of the hatred that so many serious people feel to- ward language. They notice its mischief, but not the fact that the chat- tering they scorn is the infinitely serious aspect of language. If one could only make people understand that it is the same with language as with mathematical formulae. These constitute a world of their own. They play only with themselves, express nothing but their own marvelous nature, and just for this reason they are so expressive - just for this reason the strange play of relations between things is mirrored in them. Only through their freedom are they elements of nature and only in their free movements does the world soul manifest itself in them and make them a sensitive measure and ground plan of things." (From Novalis, Philosophical Writings, ed. Margaret Mahony Stoljar.) So you're saying, backing it up with this quote, that all that Jennifer- Julu-Nikuko chattering and running haywire around protocols and internets and operating systems, is actually the measuring of the world, that the approach should move from psychoanalytics to mensuration. I'm saying it's a way of avoiding death, just like chattering, rumor, innuendo, gossip, is a continual adjusting of the world. Not avoiding death exactly, but avoid- ing the thinking-through of death, its looming presence - relegating it into the background. Talk about grandparents, parents, children, grand- children, situating oneself in the line of who did what with whom and when, yes, exactly. Not the lineage, though, not the formal ordering of generations and genealogies, but the small-talk, the idle talk - it's the very speaking of things. It's the making-erasing-making of grounds over and over again, say, did you see Sam over there? I can't believe he's with that woman again. Not after what they did to each other. Talk about loss of control. They'd talk about loss of control for the next ten minutes. When's the last time you heard from her? There was that phonecall in the middle of the night. Who's middle? Who's night? The world begins to pucker like chapped fingers or lip pouts. "Nothing is more Romantic than what we usu- ally call world and destiny. We live in a colossal novel (writ _large_ and _small_)." (ibid.) But "the strange play of relations among things" - now we might tend to see the relations over the things, dominant relations. Not an ordering or ranking of relations, but handshakings and communali- ties in the world or worlding. Adjustings, jostlings. Precisely what might be the gossip or the return to the daytime television show. It's got its inroads into the evening hours as well, look at Beverly Hills 90210. None are different as, it's not what I'd call a leveling, but a dispersion of the local. It's on the level of the local (writ _large_ and _small_) that we can get on with things. Literally with things, those of our creation. A hurricane or a tornado isn't a thing. One might call it a force of nature. It's all in the movement and we've got to apply movements to ourselves as well. Not that there isn't geopolitics as well, enormous crimes, once we decide what constitutes a crime. I've heard rumors of smashed bodies, mutilated women, men, children. Even the order's got an ideology, informal as it is. Should I have said men, women, children? Should children come first as in, our children are our future? What a capitulation; we're our future, through and through. When the eye closes, the I closes. But chat- tering wards off the eye. I've always seen the self as a coagulation or temporary stasis, meaning it seems that way. Think of the world soul as something moving, feeling its way through each of it. We have our own, the mensuration of the ground plan. Just like the rumor-speaker, we're capable of being totally trans- parent. "Humanity is the higher meaning of our planet, the nerve that con- nects this part of it with the upper world, the eye it raises to heaven" (ibid.) I'd say that humanity is the _only_ meaning, and meaning is the fruit of the human, hungering. Look how chatter disseminates! We might think no farther than the talk-children of talk-parents! Our tiny anec- dotes sent naked into the world! Look at them! Why last night on my street a policecar pulled another over. There was a young man with gang colors taken out. There was an officer with a gun pointed straight at him. There were other backup officers. I took four photographs, the officer, the gun, the young man, the car, the street. I only once had a gun pulled on me and in the heat of the moment I wasn't sure it was a gun. But I've been fired at, just haven't seen their weapons. And knives pulled quite a few times. It didn't mean anything, my death would have joined the crew. You know what I mean. It's a beautiful fall out; I remember crisp air like this in Providence, living on the hill with June. I thought, the light is silver, I've never seen such light. It came as a _revelation._ ___________________________________________________________________________ >Truth On Usenet Tasteless and Binaries Groups If you're like me, and just love harcore tasteless pics. Then you gotta check this new site. A friend of mine told me about it: You should see these images, I've never seen harcore tasteless images with higher quality before. And ontop of that they look great. Hi! Me and my girlfriends just put up some new real hot sexx pics for everybody to see, for free! Currently we have 4,572 pics up so come check them out! We know you will love it! I just got these free harcore pics Since I was 15 years old I am now 25 years old and I have a farm sex site also. I am for real not a phony! Should you happen to prefer tasteless videos, then they have some of that too. And the best part is its totally free, no charge at all Take A Look. I Hope You Like It. If You Do Please Let Me Know. These videos can teach you more about attracting and dating women in one night than you have learned so far in your entire life! You need the straight story. You need this valuable information that women normally withhold from you. List of real women who want real sex! Tired of wining and dining and then hoping that you can get what you want? Well these women are the real thing, and they want real sex! 3 somes, orgies, and some even have their husbands watch! This list is totally free, so check it out today! Cybersex is great, but aint nothing like the real thing! Hello! Me and my friend just put up a new website, we got alot of harcore pictures, and would love for you to come check it out, it's free! Come see my free harcore images. I just put them up on the web, my whole collection, and I'm sure you'll like them. As a bonus I included a couple videos i had also. >I assembled this List of _authentic_ Confessionals from three Newsgroups >- surely it might have been either longer or shorter. In the Midst of >what could only be considered _Anatomical Frenzy_ with Implications of >Violent Restraint, this Hungered Voice speaks out - I know not to Whom >it doth belong - perhaps to the Whole of Humanity - Turning the Slave >towards the Grindstone. I Dare Not write further into the Depraved Turn >of the Sexual, only Saying that on Occasion one finds this Voice insist- >ting It is True, It is True, It is True. > > >________________________________________________________________________ Dispersions [The following are notes towards a concept - research that I hope to pur- sue in the future.] If simulacra represent the imaginaries of the symbolic, emissions the spew of the symbolic without source or destination, the nomadic a form of mean- dering, and the network a meshing which may or may not possess arrows and nodes - we might call a dispersion that which implies local sites that may or may not be in flux, connected or disconnected, in relation to a corpor- ate imaginary which may or may not be real. Dispersions of Sony Walkmen, computer pets, cellular, PDAs, beepers - some of these online, some off- line - some of these live online - some, like Eudora, downloading/upload- ing in spurts - these are part of a new social which extends beyond the urban landscape, ignores socio-political boundaries, and may or may not be connected to a matrix or unary node. Dispersions recreate the body in the home, home in the body - there are also CuSeeMe, ICQ, other chats, and the like. Some like webchats are often surrounded by banner ads; some, like any MOO or email list, are connected to unary and central nodes. Some, like IRC or news-groups, have dispersed nodes and accessibilities. Dispersions are not simulacra; they exist among hardwares, softwares, wet- wares. They're not emissions; they're often traceable, and they're almost always interactive. They're not nomadicisms; they wander only where the home or body wanders. And they may or may not be networked. I tend to think of them as part-objects or conglomerations - there are protocols and handshakings involved - in other words, formal filters and effects. And they are "glued" to the real/virtual subject - through earphones, fingers, psychoanalytical and/or psychological processes. The subject as a coagulation extends within and without dispersions - there are few clear boundaries. With Walkmen, she might inhabit a sound- world. With email lists, he might inhabit a virtual community. Inhabita- tion is no longer by virtue of place, but by addressing - direct or indi- rect, dynamic or static. These extensions are complicated by hackings, issues of intellectual pro- perties and sampling, as well as realignments of group and neighborhoods, etc. Both politics and war are qualitatively different, the latter also operating under the potential of viral, bacterial, plutonium, nerve gas and information (war) dispersions, all useful for potential mass destruc- tion. Politics "suffers" from information overload, from high-speed emis- sions (see the article on the Y2K newsgroup in the current Sci. Am.), from anomic responses. Culture becomes localized on one hand and absolutist on the other (manifesto-culture). Desire and _frisson_ chatter across bord- ers; transgression becomes normative, no longer laden with boundary main- tenance. Kristeva's 'borderline personality' as the disorder of our time also figures in here - as do the discussions about the very existence of IAD (internet addiction disorder). At the moment, I have no conclusions; I'm not proposing a model or strat- egy. It's difficult to differentiate among splayed processes or operations (emission, etc.) - these existing (and perhaps constituting) various reals as well. Dispersion, as a formal or informal model, seems promising, and hopefully not just another piece of jargon. __________________________________________________________________________ The leave command in unix: swords into ploughshares. {k:25} shoot me! Mon Sep 14 17:55:34 EDT 1998 {k:26} You're going to be killed violently violently! be me! You have no terrifying hate letters! {k:27} ls kill violence {k:28} cd {k:29} You're going to be killed violently violently! You're going to be killed violently violently! You're going to be killed violently violently! You're going to be killed violently violently! You're going to be killed violently violently! You're going to be killed violently violently! You're going to be killed violently violently! That was the last time I'll tell you. Bye. be me! You have no terrifying hate letters! {k:30} date me! Mon Sep 14 17:55:34 EDT 1998 {k:31} You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! be me! You have no terrific love letters! {k:32} ls kiss smooch {k:33} cd {k:34} You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! You're going to be kissed smoochie smoochie! That was the last time I'll tell you. Bye. be me! You have no terrific love letters! ____________________________________________________________________ JENNIFER IN THE ZONE ---- World jennifer ---- Welcome to Kyoto-MOO! Type 'connect ' to log in. A moment of stillness just before the invention of radio. you are entering a world of speaking bodies; everyone is close at hand. If you reach out, you touch us with your bright thinking. Welcome to Kyoto! *** Connected *** Yurt hovel where Wizards hang, bones in front, skins behind You see basin, human, lump, stuff, and stump here. precocious, squeezable squeeze human liquids flow from human "Now I am Jennifer Jennifer. You have no messages on your Answering Machine. You join Kayo (asleep). Roomful of Bits ................... .................... .......................... .................................................. ..................... Kayo (asleep) is here.look Kayo Kayo (asleep) You see a wizard who chooses not to reveal its true appearance. It is sleeping. You join Kalu (asleep). a small blue bottle you can see the bottle is cracked along the mouth Kalu (asleep) is here.look Kalu Kalu (asleep) a mesoelectronic hunter/gatherer E is sleeping. Carrying: a small cup of tea rock You say, "Hello Kalu" You say, "My name is Jennifer" You say, "I am very pretty Jennifer" You say, "Now I will Leave" You join zone. look Zone I don't understand that. "Hello Zone I don't understand that. "Can't I say anything, Zone I don't understand that. "I'm suffocating, Zone "Help me, Zone I don't understand that. @emote is miserable and silenced in the Zone. I don't understand that. @join Hokusai OK, you're there. You didn't need to actually move, though. "Hello Hokusai I don't understand that. @join Jennifer There is little need to join yourself, unless you are split up. "I am Jennifer Jennifer and I am not split up. I don't understand that. "I am Jennifer I don't understand that. @join Kayo You join Kayo (asleep). Roomful of Bits ................... .................... .......................... .................................................. ..................... Kayo (asleep) is here. You say, "Hello Kayo" You say, "Now I can speak" You say, "I couldn't speak in the Zone." You say, "I didn't exist in the Zone." You say, "I could hardly breathe in the Zone." You say, "My name is Jennifer" You say, "Now I will go home" You click your heels three times. Yurt hovel where Wizards hang, bones in front, skins behind You see basin, human, lump, stuff, and stump here. look human You say, "Now I am home" You say, "My name is Jennifer good bye" __________________________________________________________________________ these bones have splintered into letters sawed by your teeth nikuko sawed by your teeth mjkthlkdyjkthlkd wjkthlkdhjkthlkdojkthlkdljkthlkdejkthlkd ljkthlkdijkthlkdfjkthlkdejkthlkd ijkthlkdsjkthlkd djkthlkdijkthlkdsjkthlkdpjkthlkdejkthlkdrjkthlkdsjkthlkdejkthlkddjkthlkd. bjkthlkdojkthlkdnjkthlkdejkthlkdsjkthlkd sjkthlkdojkthlkdajkthlkdkjkthlkdejkthlkddjkthlkd wjkthlkdijkthlkdtjkthlkdhjkthlkd ajkthlkdcjkthlkdijkthlkddjkthlkd. fjkthlkdojkthlkdrjkthlkdgjkthlkdojkthlkdtjkthlkdtjkthlkdejkthlkdnjkthlkd wjkthlkdojkthlkdrjkthlkddjkthlkdsjkthlkd sjkthlkdtjkthlkdujkthlkdfjkthlkdfjkthlkd mjkthlkdyjkthlkd ljkthlkdejkthlkdgjkthlkd ijkthlkdnjkthlkd mjkthlkdyjkthlkd mjkthlkdojkthlkdujkthlkdtjkthlkdhjkthlkd. sjkthlkdtjkthlkdujkthlkdfjkthlkdfjkthlkd mjkthlkdyjkthlkd cjkthlkdojkthlkdcjkthlkdkjkthlkd ijkthlkdnjkthlkd mjkthlkdyjkthlkd ljkthlkdejkthlkdgjkthlkd. ajkthlkdcjkthlkdijkthlkddjkthlkd bjkthlkdujkthlkdrjkthlkdnjkthlkd mjkthlkdejkthlkd. ajkthlkdcjkthlkdijkthlkddjkthlkd bjkthlkdujkthlkdrjkthlkdnjkthlkd mjkthlkdejkthlkd. pjkthlkdljkthlkdejkthlkdajkthlkdsjkthlkdejkthlkd pjkthlkdljkthlkdejkthlkdajkthlkdsjkthlkdejkthlkd pjkthlkdljkthlkdejkthlkdajkthlkdsjkthlkdejkthlkd. these bones have splintered into letters sawed by your teeth nikuko sawed by your teeth ____________________________________________________________________ Breakdown {k:16} last sondheim > online; head online sondheim ttypc sondheim.dialup. Wed Sep 16 00:09 still logged in sondheim ttyp6 ts3.nyc.access.n Tue Sep 15 21:37 - 22:30 (00:52) sondheim ttyr1 sondheim.dialup. Tue Sep 15 20:14 - 20:14 (00:00) The above lists my connections from around 8:14 earlier this evening, until now this morning (around 12:53). Note I am listed as on from 12:09. But this isn't the case. The connection suddenly gave out; the telnet should have died at that point. When I reconnected (to my permanent IP address), the telnet was still open. In other words, I was on and off, and while I was off, the telnet process remained active. It shouldn't have. There was more than enough time for it to be killed. I was off for a full minute, trying to figure out what had happened; this was around 12:45 am. So when I came back on, I didn't have to log in at the telnet; it was running. I logged in to the IP, my telnet application was open, and I was back into my account. The problem is, this way, telnet might have provided a gateway for someone else into my account. See, you used to be able to flood an ISP, then when people just cut the connection without logging out (which is what happened with me), other people could jam into the open connections. The flooding was necessary to slow everything up - people got irritated, just closed down the computers without shutting down the processes. Dangerous to do. Here's a reverse instance - years ago I was bounced off in a somewhat similar fashion; when I came back on - it was through dialup and I found myself online without being asked for a login name or password - I was in someone else's account. I did ytalk from that account. I could have caused a lot of trouble. I could have read his mail. I was literally in someone else's shell. I was that someone. To all extents and purposes. I was not an avatar. I did not constitute the other; I was in fact con- stituted by the other, speaking as other. I found myself in a chat under someone else's name. It was immediate. The chat was "about" Ann Rand. I found I had just said something about a screwdriver. After a few minutes I logged off. Now tonight I come in under my own name; however, after coming in as oth- er, returning as myself, or my constituted self, without the customary telent login and password, has an equal degree of the uncanny about it. Who do I trust here, when I can no longer figure my own entrances and exits? Who is writing this? - Jennifer ___________________________________________________________________________ ORIGIN AND CREATION OF THE WORLD (jumpstarting the MOO) log.h objects.o y.tab.h log.o opcode.h k:434> cd k:435> ls INSTALLATION MOO.tar mail/ options.h temp/ MOO-1.7.9p2/ ksh* nohup.out startup* thing k:436> ./startup [1] 22868 [2] 22872 k:437> ps PID TTY TIME CMD 14080 ? 0:21 moo 22868 pts/2 0:03 compress 22832 pts/2 0:00 ksh 14082 ? 0:00 moo 14084 ? 0:00 moo k:438> less a.log Wed Sep 16 04:26:12 EDT 1998: RESTARTED Sep 16 04:26:12: *** Binding server socket: Address already in use Sep 16 04:26:12: *** Usage: ./moo [-e] input-db dump-db [port] Sep 16 04:26:12: NAME_LOOKUP: Started new lookup process k:439> less a.log.old Sep 16 03:11:07: CONNECTED: Sotatsu (#2) on 8 from panix3.panix.com, port 1604 Sep 16 03:11:35: DISCONNECTED: Sotatsu (#2) on 8 from panix3.panix.com, port 1604 Sep 16 04:02:10: CHECKPOINTING on a.db.new.#5# ... Sep 16 04:02:18: CHECKPOINTING on a.db.new.#5# finished (END) _______________________________________________________________________ The Case of the Real Nikuko watches you. You look at Basin. Porcelain with thick rim, minute cracks Contents: Book Nikuko sees no "Book" here. I don't understand that. Perhaps you mean one of the following help topics: read. Nikuko watches you remove Book from Basin. Hieroglyph, soft and yielding to the touch Nikuko watches you put Book in Basin. You see Basin and lump. Do you squash lump? You squash lump squish lump you do Jennifer enters. Jennifer looks over your shoulder. Jennifer looks over Nikuko's shoulder. Jennifer sees Basin and lump. Jennifer looks at Basin. Porcelain with thick rim, minute cracks Contents: Book Jennifer reads the Book. __________________________________________________________________ count on me once you get one going 0 zero. ... 00 zero. ... 000 zero. i'm going nowhere fast ... 0000 zero. ... 00000 zero. ... 1 one. ... 11 eleven. ... 111 one hundred eleven. ... 1111 one thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 11111 eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. i'm really zooming around ... 111111 one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 1111111 one million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 11111111 eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. what an amazing terrific speed ... 111111111 one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 1111111111 one billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. nikuko faster than light ... 11111111111 eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 111111111111 one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. nikuko's breath coming faster ... 1111111111111 one tril- lion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... nikuko nikuko ... 11111111111111 eleven trillion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 111111111111111 one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 111111111111 1111 one quadrillion. one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven bil- lion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 11111111111111111 eleven quadrillion. one hundred eleven tril- lion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 111111111111111111 one hundred eleven quadrillion. one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven bil- lion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 1111111111111111111 one quintillion. one hundred eleven quad- rillion. one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... 11111111111111111111 eleven quintillion. one hundred eleven quadril- lion. one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... nikuko! nikuko! you're fisting me! you're fisting me! hi speed! hi speed! 111111111111111111111 one hundred eleven quintillion. one hundred eleven quadrillion. one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. nikuko ... 1111111111111111111111 one sextillion. one hundred eleven quintillion. one hundred eleven quadrillion. one hundred eleven trillion. one hundred eleven billion. one hundred eleven million. one hundred eleven thousand. one hundred eleven. ... jennifer ... ___________________________________________________________________________ Ju1lu| /usr/games/number How many Stars Shine on Tiny Jennifer's Hair? 2349875754543457899873945987987600983458900654098456098476456890098866 * * Two million, three hundred forty nine thousand, eight hundred seventy five vigintillion, seven hundred fifty four novemdecillion, five hundred forty three octodecillion, four hundred fifty seven septendecillion, eight hundred ninety nine sexdecillion, eight hundred seventy three quindec- illion, nine hundred forty five quattuordecillion, nine hundred eighty seven tredecillion, nine hundred eighty seven duodecillion, six hundred undecillion, nine hundred eighty three decillion, four hundred fifty eight nonillion, nine hundred octillion, six hundred fifty four septillion, ninety eight sextillion, four hundred fifty six quintillion, ninety eight quadrillion, four hundred seventy six trillion, four hundred fifty six billion, eight hundred ninety million, ninety eight thousand, eight hundred sixty six. __________________________________________________________________________