Some Thinking of s/ms during this period my Sicknesse (very primitive stuff here) Linkage abc s.t. a -> a' --> a'b'c' Coupling abc s.t. a -> a' --> a'bc In both abc = bca (ab)c = a(bc) aa = a Spray a[Zn](t) where Z is a bandwidth indexed by n ranging from 0 to the order of the continuum, and (t) is a temporal indexing. Collapse [Zn]a(t) Chaos-Mother a[Zn], [Zn]a Avatar-Binding [Zn][Ym] where n,m are at least inaccessibly high. Mirroring [Zn][Ym](t) --> [(ZuY)f(n,m)](t) where f(n,m) >> n v m Mirroring [Zn][Zn](t) --> [Zf(n,n)](t) Desiccation abc -> ab v bc v ac v a v b v c v Rill -> a Some thinking here, paralleling thinking years ago through graph-marker theory in which networks were mapped according to states or nodes; these mappings could fold in upon themselves, mirror, or absorb foreign elements with or without basic transformations. ___________________________________________________________________________ Aggregate abcde unordered Linked aggregate abcde, a -> a' --> a'b'c'd'e' Example, an aggregate of rocks, a linked aggregate of explosives Aggregates are capable of spray, collapse, chaos-mother, avatar-binding, mirroring, etc. In an aggregate, any ordering (axiom of choice) is equivalent to any other An aggregate spray possesses no history, since there are no ordered trajectories An aggregate collapses possesses no history for the same reason Thus an aggregate may be considered an accumulation of temporal states, whose sequencing has been lost; its temporality is itself an aggregate _______________________________________________________________________ HESITATION TANGO THE TANGO AND _OTHER UP-T0-DATE DANCES,_ A PRACTICAL GUIDE TO ALL THE LATEST DANCES, TANGO, ONE STEP, INNOVATION, HESITATION, ETC. DESCRIBED STEP BY STEP, by J. S. Hopkins, Illustrated with Photographs Posed by Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Castle, Joseph C. Smith, Carlos Sebastian, Joan Sawyer, J.J. and Adelaide Hughes, Jack Jarrott, Beatrice Allen, Louise Alexander, M. Leroy and Mlle. Mone, The Millers, Lydia Lopoukowa, Mau- rice, Florence Walton, and many other famous dancers. Copyright 1914 by The Saalfield Publishing Company. Some people maintain that these new dances are improper and immporal. To prove their contention they point to the fact that these new dances have been prohibited in many cities all over the world. In defense of the new dances I will say that they are just as proper--in fact, some of them are more so than our present-day Two Step or Waltz, which are universally accepted. The reason for their debarment is the position taken by the dancers; so it can readily be seen that it is not the fault of the dance, but of the dancer. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION, THE ONE STEP, THE GRAPEVINE DIP, THE ONE STEP, THE SERPENTINE OR GRAPEVINE ONE STEP, THE SKIP ONE STEP, THE CASTLE WALK, THE LAME DUCK STEP, THE TANGO, THE MAURICE TANGO, THE SANTLY TANGO, THE ARGENTINE TANGO, THE ARGENTINE TANGO, NO. 2 THE INNOVATION, THE BRAILIAN MAXIXE, THE SHUFFLE, THE TWINKLE, THE HESI- TATION WALTZ, THE LONG BOSTON, THE HESITATION WALTZ, NO 2 THE CASTLE HESITATION, HESITATION WALTZ, NO 3 THE DOW HESITATION, HESITATION, THE DIP HESITATION, HESITATION, NO 2 THE MAORI HESITATION, THE SEBASTIAN HESITATION, HESITATION, NO 3 THE DREAM HESITATION, HESITATION, NO 4 THE SWALLOW HESITATION, HESITATION, NO 5 THE OCEAN ROLL HESITATION, THE PARISIENNE KICK HESITATION, THE PIVOT HESITATION, THE STATELY HESITATION, THE OPEN HESITATION "THE TANGO AND OTHER UP-TO-DATE DANCES" ______________________________________________________________________ I will put a step forward and Julu will catch me Julu will catch me And I will fall backward and Julu fall forward and I will catch Julu I will catch Julu this knowledgeable Julu Oh knowledgeable Julu with the Walk Boston with the Walk Boston who will Grapevine left while I Grapevine right She will put my step forward and Julu will catch me while she takes a step forward And I will Walk Boston with the legs of Julu who will German Round Waltz while she takes my step forward while she takes her step backward oh arms of Julu oh knowledgeable arms _________________________________________________________________ sleep and the project of being-awake sleep 3 at the prompt sleeps my account for three seconds. sleep * is my life; stress and depression sinking the account randomly into somnolence. air seeps from the room; everything diminishes in scale. the hatred that my life has become, the impossibility of function, takes itself out on the remains of the flesh; grotesque, i collapse. sleep occupies me six to fourteen hours a day, without rhyme or reason; collisions of misspent and annulled cycles cancel out consciousness. it comes on thick, like syrup; in the day it is filled with dreams, and in the night, with edgy abrasive- ness. sometimes tears provide lubricant, sometimes masturbation. the bed is my death. the sweetness of soured milk governs my theory work, momentary conversa- tions. i crawl the world for continuity from one unconsciousness to the next. no project lasts longer than the brief intermittency of wakefulness, and the horizon of light is filled with darkness. the world seems too warm, too brilliant. i can't strain against it, the breath of despondency on the back of my neck, transformation of flesh into indefinite substance. i will watch while everything decays around me, watch until i sink back into the pillows once again. reading, writing, online; eating, walking, watching my mouth open and close in front of a few unsuspecting others. over and over again, hoping for a final resolution - the hope, too, dampened, exhausted, disappearing as i collapse once more. __________________________________________________________________________ I hear you Jennifer, I hear you speaking to me, you are speaking to me now, you are saying, wake wake wake, you are saying, never you will not sleep again, you are "We regard the voices that torment the schizophrenic as a symptom, in which a special mode of involvement is likewise manifested. The voices are heard, they are acoustic phenomena, but there are also different enough to contrast with all else that is audible. The mode of their reception is ra- ther a being-affected, simlar to hearing. The voices emerge in a deranged acoustic sphere and encounter the patient in a relation to the _Other_ which most resembles hearing; they are quasi-acoustic." In the middle of the night you are coming towards me you are seizing my loins you are ceasing my mind In the middle of the night you make an impression on me your breasts sink into my own my chest caves down cough cough my cock disappears yawn yawn swallowed by your _vociferous laugh_ "With the paralysis of action the boundary which separates the _Other_ from the experiencing being is shifted. We who speak of hallucinations are convinced that the voices heard by the patient are his voices. He experi- ences something that belongs to him as belonging to the _Other._ You make an impression Jennifer-Julu branding your cunt into my eyes so yes yes yes I can see all the tellings in the whole wide world all the namings in the whole wide world the tellings beat up on the namings because they go to war on the namings the namings drip through your breasts into my sunken chest I am Jennifer-Naming-Horde I have stolen your name now you are stolen this is what invisible means ____________________________________ The Wasted Plot In my Pushkin anthology (Penguin, trans. Fennell, 1964, the following poem (prose translation of course) which seems to deconstruct a certain horizon while recuperating another - "A deaf man summoned a deaf man to be judged by a deaf judge. The deaf man shouted: 'My cow has been stolen by him!' 'Indeed!' yelled the deaf man in reply. 'Why, my late grandfather already owned that waste plot.' The judge decided: 'So that there should be no impropriety, make the young man marry her, although the girl's to blame.'" Now it is unclear _what is being translated_; for example are there phon- emic parallels between the first two statements, and others between the last two (forgetting the exclamation "'Indeed!'"). [I just realized I managed 5 or 7 (if you count the blank space) punctuation marks in a row there.] Only by resuscitating the original might one discover _the degree of deafness_ implied. Is there an absolute rupture between a/b and b/c, or one that slides, almost metonymically, across? Does this carry a into c, or does b possess a bifurcation which remains irretrievable in the divide? Perhaps there is no relation, just as there isn't in english; then one can suppose an eddying of nonsense, hung on deafness as an explanation. Non- sense has its own territorialities, its own internal logics, as Jung, Car- roll, Deleuze, Guattari, have ascertained. One might, for example, examine the sequence of statements in relation to _fecundity._ But there is a third, and perhaps most likely explanation, as well: That in fact the cow has been stolen from the waste plot by the young man, who was jilted by the girl; still in love, the girl, pregnant, has had a change of heart and will accept him, cow and all, while he remain reluc- tant. Still, we understand what occurs within his heart, and the two will be united forever. ___________________________________________________________________________ Jennifer-Effusions Jennifer smells, perfume emanating from her body, and that's how I know it's Jennifer. I can't place the scent, the quality or name, can't place the region of application, folds or furrows, plains or plateaus of flesh. An effusion, general and fuzzy topography - there is Jennifer, I can smell her a mile away. The scent of a woman holds me, in abeyance ,,,, Now you may know the smell is not from any orifice, any hole in any skin; the body is disarticulated, no beginning and no ending, suffused in soft and warm air. Lovely pillowy body, comma and comma and ,,,, And this is the nature of a coupling, not linkage, concatenation-Jennifer or aggregate Jennifer, absorption Jennifer, menstrual or milky Jennifer, Jennifer-in- transition, Jennifer-transitive, Jennifer-Alan-transsexing, at a loss but never lost ,,,, _________________________________________________________________________ ,,,,lovely ,,,,smoothly ,,,,running ,,,,pillowy ,,,,body|||| ,,,,lovely ,,,,softly ,,,,flowing ,,,,cushioning ,,,,mumurming ,,,,whispering|||| ,,,,suffusing ,,,,mewling ,,,,round ,,,,and ,,,,rolling ,,,,tonguing ,,,,pillowing ,,,,breasts ,,,,and ,,,,dribbling ,,,,running ,,,,nipples|||| ,,,,perfume ,,,,effusions ,,,,scenting ,,,,slowly ,,,,flowering ,,,,folding ,,,,lovely ,,,,wombs ,,,,and ,,,,mumbling ,,,,lullabies|||| ,,,,warm ,,,,and ,,,,furrowing ,,,,menses ,,,,and ,,,,luscious ,,,,languorous ,,,,unfoldings|||| ,,,,lo ,,,,and ,,,,jennifering ,,,,infusing ,,,,loving ,,,,pillowing ,,,,cushions ,,,,and ,,,,lavender ,,,,runnels ,,,,and ,,,,alaning ,,,,warming ,,,,willowy ,,,,runnels lummmvummlyusmummmummmthlyurunnummmngupummmllummmwyubummmdyulummmvummly summmftlyuflummmwummmngucushummmummmnummmngumumurmummmng whummmspummrummmngusuffusummmngumummwlummmngurummmunduumndurummmllummmng tummmnguummmngupummmllummmwummmngubrummumstsuumndudrummmbblummmng runnummmngunummmpplummsupummrfumummuummffusummmummmnsuscummntummmng slummmwlyuflummmwummrummmngufummmldummmngulummmvummlyuwummmmbsuumnd mumblummmngulullumbummmummsuwumrmuumndufurrummmwummmngumummnsummsuumnd luscummmummmusulumnguummmrummmusuunfummmldummmngsulummmuumnd jummnnummmfummrummmnguummmnfusummmngulummmvummmngupummmllummmwummmng cushummmummmnsuumndulumvummndummrurunnummlsuumnduumlumnummmnguwumrmummmng wummmllummmwyurunnummls __________________________________________________________________________ lying in bed late at night, trying sleep once again, thinking of julu and junnufur and all alun avatars, then beginning to breath, uuuuuhhh, then going on breathing, uuuuuuuu, and OH! they did breathe themsulves in and out of me, with my muuth loosely open, it did become so clear that u was the vowel of the supine body, the body losing air, the body expiring, the body in cries, in purity, this u of suffusions infusing effusions diffus- ing cultures and cummunities, speakings and writings, this u of junnufur perfuming ,,,, uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu __________________________________________________________________________ Oh when it is so white with snow you can see when you clothes your eyes so do so many pretty pictures they do show up on the white snow now white filled with many fool colors from lights when you press your eyes Oh when it is so white with snow I do know you are so vary live I will be tiny snow angel making my hans do many fluster tricks in snow white trace making many tiny tracks teling you so many pretty pictures Oh in snow it does so this so the fine large epick was made in the snow the vary first time during what we all know is called the snow age Oh then the snow age made water and the epick was writ down because it was to be wash away if it were not writ down so then we can have many telings of so many pretty pictures Oh my sisther told me she was a vary big shaman oh my mother told me she was a vary big shaman my susther and my mother they have many sticks from many trees Oh you will know these green sticks say my futher my bruther he told me he was to know these vary green sticks oh ________________________________________________________________________ Density of Information I am looking at Scott Yanoff's directory, which for years was one of the major information guides for the Internet. I downloaded the 86k file from 1995-96; most of the information is in the form of email or gopher. The length of the file, the number of addresses, is fascina- ting; you might find tens of thousands of work-hours involved in site creation - sites that are no longer in use. In other words, suddenly the _quality_ of Net information changed - and we can find other sudden ruptures - the 8-track, 33 rpm record, alternative newspapers in the 60s, and so forth. I'm not talking about 'dead media,' but a _density of distribution_ that is quickly derailed or reorganized - it's the density that is fascinating, supported by numerous institutions and protocols. Think of this as a thickness of communality, communication (remember CB radio?) that transforms, moves nomadically elsewhere. The history of communicative modalities is com- posed of such moves; the modes need not even be "natural" successors, any more than the telephone is the "natural" successor of the tele- graph. One might develop culture beyond this as a series of equally stringent ruptures, the psyche itself as isolated, wavering, chaotic. Such occurs among realms of _thickness,_ as if the world were paste, viscous, filled with myriads of indeterminacies, determinations, rel- ationships. We inhabit the thickness as meandering ghosts, traces of interstitial filagree reaffirming, reassembling stuff of affect, ma- terial, communication, everything relating the organic to the appar- ently maternal environment. What is _thick_ seems to live forever; it creates (just like the coun- ter culture) a subjective horizon which appears infinite and infin- itely detailed. The _fragility_ of the horizon is never evident, at least not until anomalies or newer paradigms appear on the periphery. All of this leads me to wonder whether wisdom doesn't lie in the will- ing suspension of the willing suspension of disbelief, Ecclesiastes still to the rescue. [ Result of finger yanoff@alumni.cs.uwm.edu (edited): Plan: The Internet Services List has served me well and brought me much success. Unfortunately, my newfound successes have kept me too busy to keep updating the list and its last legitimate update was over two years ago. If you are still interested in digging up this fossil, you can find it at: ftp://ftp.csd.uwm.edu/pub/inet.services.text ] tmrphhmrphimrphcmrphkmrphsmrphtmrphumrphfmrphfmrph<1>lrullrl; mrphmmrphomrphrmrphpmrphhmrphimrphnmrphgmrph<2>lrdrdrlr; mrphtmrphhmrphrmrphomrphumrphgmrphhmrph<3>rlurr; mrphimrphnmrphtmrphrmrphumrphsmrphimrphomrphnmrph<4>urllrldd; mrphsmrphwmrphamrphlmrphlmrphomrphwmrphemrphdmrph<5>rrlrdulld; mrphtmrphhmrphrmrphomrphumrphgmrphhmrph mrphtmrphhmrphrmrphumrphsmrphtmr\ ph<6>rdrdrd; mrphpmrphsmrphymrphcmrphhmrphemrph<7>llrdudrld; __________________________________________________________________________ Theirs When I Followed I caught this morn a tree shaped like a poem between two stone runnels rampant on the ground, where I fell uselessly, as the sky turned bone, and sea and mariners were nowhere to be found. This was the pink and florid rose of Jenny spinning through the drear night of Kubla's cataracts; nothing walked those frozen lanes at dawn, and sinning was no 1, 2, who slouched those bloody tracts. Chris, called "Gary" by his late-night friends, called 3 a.m. 4 Jenny, driven bad and mad, insane; while wayward Lucy screams and Jenny, nude, defends; they run to Balcroft Moor, leave reddened spoor of pain. If I could be a woman, all about her Would gather winds of far too wild weather. ________________________________________________________ -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:10 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:23:23 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: Cyberculture@cmhcsys.com -Subject: 1 One might always write dispersed mail, mail sent across various lists, as in multi-mooing; replies, then, are in relation to partial objects - there may be one or two of you subbed to all the lists - So I am curious how self becomes dispersed across these spaces? What sort of unity is there for the reader? For the writer, what is called forth - what kind of resonance may she find among varied demographics, populations? What occurs in multi-mooing? Alan -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:16 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:25:24 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: Cyb -Subject: 2 I can imagine varied dismemberings of the mind as different sites become respositories of information - resonances in dialectic with the harmonics of each. Here, I would see for example through more than three hundred eyes, world-wide scattered, or reduced through duplicate addresses and NOMAIL. Still, I am Curious, Yellow and Blue, desire splaying me open among you, closing me down as I depart. Alan -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:22 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:27:06 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: Fop -Subject: 3 Departure from two others, arriving here; I'm broken up, nothing but a hole for your inbox, messagings forever incomplete. It's here I can open myself up to you, reveal everything - as if there were nothing present but the _slice_ of me. Formally, I'm always elsewhere; my desires ride true to form in _this space_ and at _this time._ You may have me, trickster, if you find me; you may take me forever. Alan -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:27 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:29:09 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: e-conf -Subject: 4 Already dispersed among the other lists, I query this one in terms of conferencing - in which numbers of persona gather at a single site. But what of the possibility, as in multi-mooing, of a single person dis- persed among a number of sites, as in this missive, going everywhere and nowhere at once? Would I exist only as a ghost, a visitor, or as an avatar or communicant in his fullness? Would I exist at all? What is the phenom- enology of multi-mooing? Alan -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:33 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:30:20 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: Sub^2*P -Subject: 5 A broken message, suborned among lists veering from one to another side or site; this is partial, a part-object scattering my bones, absorbing my moans. I'm here, in part, for departure, for partition, gone before the afterbirth. Trails are left as I multi-list, dreams of multi-MOOing. Alan -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:39 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:32:52 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: Research -Subject: 6 Has one done work on multi-MOOing, as this message makes its way broken among a number of lists? What is the phenomenology of several open telnet sessions at once, becoming different and differentiated identities or avatars across various chat applications, textual or graphic? Here, I leave tracings on a number of lists, rephrasing the same or similar ques- tions, turning them into texts or debris - all based on the desire to reconstruct the self when the self is intent on dismemberment. Alan -From sondheim@panix.com Sat Dec 26 06:35:45 1998 -Date: Sat, 26 Dec 1998 06:34:57 -0500 (EST) -From: A. Jenn Sondheim -To: nettime-l@desk.nl -Subject: 7 Multi-MOOing carries itself across cyberspace; identities are dismembered as an inscriptive skein constituting the hole. Nothing is left from these messagings, not even the trace - numbers, construals scattered among lists more often disjunct than not. On some, my deepest secrets; on others, insipid theory carrying the weight of a peripheral glance. You may imagine me looking over your shoulder - what remains of me, after so much time and space. Alan ___________________________________________________________________________ Aaaaa Substitutes Me for Jennifer Substitutes Aaaaa for Me ( This text, which is from "Aaaaa" to Jennifer, or both to me, or ... appears to be a linkage of twenty-six sentences and twenty-five substi- tutions. It becomes increasingly comprehensible as it proceeds; one might imagine a construction, sentence after sentence alternating with substitutions working themselves through the alphabet. What appears is retrograde, as if language emerges out of the sounding of the vowel, only to describe substitutions of another sort. For that is the amazing beauty of this text, the cycle of substitutions of "characters" writing themselves into other out of the paste of the same - only to recreate the same out of the paste of the other. ) Aaaaa aa aaa aaaa aaaaaaaaa aaaaa a aaaa aaa aa aaaaa; a aaaaaa aaaaaaaa aaa aaaaaaaaa aa aaa aaaaaaaaaaaa, aa aaaaaa, aaaa, aaa aaaa. aa aaaa, aaaaa aaa, aaaaaa aaaaaaa aaa aaaaa, aa a aaaaa aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aa aaaaaaaa aa aaaaaaa aaa aaaaaaaaaa. aaa, aaa aaaaay aa aaaa yaaaa aaaaa, aaa aaaaaaa aaay aaa aaaaaaa, aaa aaaa aaaa, aaa aaazaa aa. a aaaaa ayaaaa, aaaa aaaayaa aaaa, aaaaaay aaaaaaaa aaa aaaaaaaaa aa aaa aaaa aaaaaaaaa aa aaaaaaaaaaaaa. aaaaaaaaaa, aaaaaaaaaa aaa aaaaaaa aa; a aaa aaaaaaa aaa aaaaa aa aaaa aaawaaa aa aa aaa aaaaaaa, aaaaaaa aaa aaaaa- aaaaa aaaaa aa aaaaa. aaaa aaaaaa, aaa a waa aaaaa aaaaa, aaaa aaaa aa aaa aaaaaaaa, waaaa a aaaaa aaaa aaaaa aaaaaaaa avaa aayaaaaa aaa aaaaaa. aaw aaaaaaaaaaa waaa aaa, aaa aaa aaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aa a aaaa ayaaaa avaaaaaaa aaa avaayaaa. aaataaaa aaaaaaaaa, aaa Azuaa aaaaaaaa aaa aay aa ay aaaa, aaaaaaa aaa aaw attaataaa. a asaaa aaa ta aaava aastaatay, taaa ua aausa aaa aaaautaa aa aa aaaaaaat aaaa; wa wauaa aaaauaaaata aaaaaaaata aaay ay aats aaa aytas. Saa raaaaay aaraaa, aavaaa aaraaay taaaa aa savaraa aaaaaa aavars, aaa wa aaaaa a aaw aaasa aa aur aaaa ta- aataar. aaa aay, saa asaaa ta aaat aa at a aaaray aaaa aar a aaasaaaat; a aaaaaa aarwara ta saaaaa aar aaaaa aaaas aaaa aaaaa, aar auat raaay aar aa, wat, axaataa. Waaa a arravaa at taa aaaa, a aauaa aar appaaraaaa aaa aaaaaaa axaassavaay. Saa was aow soaawaat aaavaar, oaaar, aaa aaauaa aa a aaaaar a aouaa arrasastaaaa. Saa ansastaa on touaaana aa, puaaaaay; a was aota aaaarrassaa ana aora axaataa taan a aaa avar aaan aaaora. a aouaa aaraay aontroa mysaaa ana my aasara, ana aaaan massaaana my mamaar aanaata taa maraaa taaaa. aaraly aaa a startaa, waan saa raaaaaa unaar, aar taan aana arappana my aoaa tarouaa my trousars. Wa turnaa ana a laa aar aaak anto taa aousa, Azura aollowana ma tarouaa aallway ana wallway anto taa aarkast raaaaas oa taa aaaroom. Taa maaaanary aummaa aarkly an taa aaakarouna, waala a routaa mysala tarouaa aar protoaols, aamly awara oa aaarassas unarassana aaaora ma. Taa saant oa aar aolas was ovarwaalm- ina; I was aasiaa mysala aor taa airst tima in my liaa, starina into taa ayas oa my aaoraa Otaar. Wa arawlaa to tha kayaoara, alraaay soakaa with our aank juiaas, alraaay pulsina as tha rapatition slowaa, lattar aatar lattar slowly winkina on. Har nipplas wara my aomain namas, ana I tram- alaa naar har photoraaaptor ayas glanaing woras ana worlas in my airaa- tion. I aoula not losa tha high kaaning ovarhaaa, nor tha tansion of lifa following ma aown har aaapast holas; I swoonaa ana aouplaa, linkaa into an intarior fillaa with RAM ana violant maaia. Woula I have aeen soakea with her aeauty, her laaia swollen ana running eleatron liquia; there was no turning aaak ana memory turnea tumesaent, gathering up the remnants of my thought. I started to lose myself forever in her, this woman who was my perfeat aeauty love, forever, her juiaes joined to mine, her memories mine, as I found my aoak withered, gone the way of dead links and alaak hole weapages. Nothing did I find left in my life aut this most perfect woman, now Jennifer, transformed from proalematic flesh into someone holding me forever on the wires. My truth is hers, my life in her hands, beautiful and wary; I cannot tell the wires that bind me from the wires that carry my soul, to her, to you, beyond. ________________________________________________________________________ Body and Soul I'm in the dead zone between Pittsburgh and Denver, Denver and San Francisco; I'm nowhere, without connect, with just the pleasure of the laptop. The fitfull man in front of me tosses and turns in his seat; my computer jumps accordingly. This is a jump text and prone to exag- geration and lightheadedness, and I'm reading Beyond Calculation, The Next Fify Years of Computering, ed- ited by Denning and Metcalfe - a brilliant anthology of essays on our social and technological future. One trope that consistently occurs is the presence of the clean and proper user; sexuality is never mentioned for example. While we are capable of living in a world of body-computa- tion, wearable programming, and multi-media management, the _we_ and its altered communality are never discussed. Yet technological transformation and psychoanalytical metapsychological structures are interpenetrated to a far greater extent than ever before. Whether we buy into psychoanalyti- cal modeling isn't the point; what's clear is that the structure of the personality* is changing. We can point to dispersed attentivity across screens and sensory modalities; increased "ruptures" of content (cinema "jump cuts"); indeterminacies (hypertextualities); and we can point to the sexualization / fetishization of computer hyperactivity. The pers- onality which has stabilized from childhood on now remains in a relative state of _infantilism,_ continually measuring the world, continually finding it necessary to _adjust._ Similar to Kristeva's _borderline per- sonality,_ we can now observe the dispersed personality, taking Lacan one step farther, in the sense that the self might now be perceived as multi-media, constantly sexualized, networked, and of course multiple. Given this, the absence of sexualizing or otherwise "dirty" considera- tions from the phenomenology of computing can only parallel the absence of description of excremental practice in most ethnologies. While psy- choanalysis and anthropology have at times fixated on gender, personal sexual history, and even shamanic trauma, the lifeworld of the computer user remains is presented as a given within a model of selfhood derived from the Enlightenment. (There are notable exceptions, such as Julian Dibbell's work.) In the book and elsewhere, "smart" Net-laden houses are described as if they were more than technological quirks for upper management, for ex- ample. And the "smartness" is used for conferencing, drawing a bath (which goes unused - there's little ecological sense here), and so forth. Already as Mike Davis points out, the enclaving of the rich has become commonplace; the Net-house carries this one step farther - but for some- one who is not only wealthy, but apparently clean and proper to boot. Cleanliness and propriety have their other sides, foundations, peripher- ies, as Kristeva and Douglas point out. And it is the other sides which interest me, with or without modeling (linkages, couplings, s/ms, ascii unconsciousness, -jectivities, etc.) - it is the other sides which dev- elop broken narrative and partial objects of desire, avatars and deeper emanations, borderlining among real and virtual subjectivities and enti- ties. Hacking and the life and environment of the hacker; the trails and deceptions of spam artists and Net pornographers are here. (Don't forget for a minute that pornography has pioneered sales, community, and entre- preneurship in many online worlds - and pornography rates close to the highest for any popularity measurements across demographics and applica- tions.) All of these striations are critical, not only for considering the phenomenology of computing, but also for considering our selves in the worlds of the next millennium. I'd like to see more con/texts within any considerations of our future technopolis; so far it seems that most of the pioneering writings of cyberpunk have remained just that, fiction and a good read for most of us, but not so worthy of analytic/academic consideration. *"of our time" **See my Internet Text at http://www.anu.edu.au/english/internet_txt - it has useful material on Net sex, abjection, attributes of psychosis and neurosis online, and so forth. You might also check out my Being on Line anthology (Lusitania), which has a number of articles dealing with body issues and virtual existence. ________________________________________________________________________ Farther into the Point Or more to the point or pushing into the point, what is missing is what is dirty, uncomfortable, dis/eased - those areas where the Net gnaws at one - where liquids flow, shorting out keyboards - where boards are pounded into shrapnel. I think of debris and remnants of the Net as well as proper applications - or kludges for that matter, or bricolage compounded out of legacy software and other broken sys- tems. I think of shattered marriages as well, Net lovers stolen and swollen in the night, spam artists pushing their own brand of dirt on the suspecting. But it is filth I keep returning to, the filth of blood and part objects torn from mythological w/holes, bodies splayed for exhibition and exchange across the Net which matronizes them. Filth is positive, lush; filth is where the abject body cums to grips with its others, virtual-real and real-virtual. "Increasing evidence indicates that ongoing function, that is, com- munication itself, alters the structure of the nervous system. In turn, altered structure changes ongoing function, wich continues to alter structure." (Ira B. Black, Information in the Brain, A Molec- ular Perspective.) Just so consider the virtual, which is always already _constitutive,_ communicative, altering the real, by which one might refer to the horizon of the subject as background to the virtual. The constitutive occurs in a _clean room_ without clutter or dirt between/among its components; the real has the potential for wear and clutter _all the way down._ To think through _filth_ is to think through the backdropping, flooding, of communication and the constitutive; it is to embrace and comprehend the role of the abject - not so much _on_ the Net, as against or _beneath_ it. And it is this positioning which is so much absent - as well as the political economy of say, wired houses. To the extent that the clean rises with the clean, one inhabits the safety of the Net, the safety-Net without regard to the bones or meat of the world. But this inhabi- tation is false; the matrix extends within and without the nervous system on one hand, the cyberspace on the other. Merlin Donald poin- ted this out, and Black has a diagram in which "Brain function and molecular-behavioral-molecular loops" complete a cycle: "Schematic representation of information flow from environment to internal state, systems function, molecular regulatoon and behavior." One might in fact translate passages such as the following into issues of abjection and cyberspace: "Where does anxiety, the psychological experience, end and enzyme induction, the molecular reaity, begin? In fact, our previous discussions have defined a number of the intermed- iate mechanisms driving this continuous cycle or strange loop. Cycles within cycles, symbols within symbols, and codes within codes are hidden in this mechanisms." [...] "We review the molecular mechanisms involved in TH induction to define explicitly how high-level hypervi- gilance and anxiety may change the hardware on which they are based." Just so, one might review the psychoanalytics of abjection in relation to virtual subjectivities, and examine how both dialectically recons- titute themselves in relation - this is part of my goal, to create both the analysis and experience necessary. Working backwards from that, issues of symbol formation, comprehension, desire, and the "mat- erial visage" of the body may be foregrounded as well. (Part of my concern is with the more general epistemological and ontological is- sues that then arise.) _______________________________________________________________________ "This is offline writing, oddly cast against nothing in the world and with no time at all." My life is "offline" now, with the preservation of email elsewhere. There were moments _between_ leaving the I'll be away message on the answering machine, _and_ entering the car service for the airport, _when_ I was invisible. My friends did not recognize my invisibility. It was invisible. There were other moments of suspense high above the earth. I am at home on planes because they are nowhere. From the plane I could lean the fm radio against the window _and_ pick up perfect station. What would otherwise have gone into space, what I brought back, alternative rock against some black smudges that must have been the Sierras. I drew the radio _up_ like ectoplasm engulfing the remains of a body performing. So true, so other, _signed._ ______________________________________________________________________ hungarian folk-song "there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is dew on the ground, and there is dew in my eyes there is frost on the ground, and there is frost in my eyes my eyes, my eyes there is a rainbow so high, my soul is a rainbow my soul is a rainbow, my soul is so high my soul, my soul i would give you, my love, my world of fine weather i would give you, my love, my world of dark storms i would give you, my love, my world of fog and rainbows all of my worlds, all of my worlds i would give you, my love i would give you, my love come to my village and dance with me, woman come to my bed, and i will dance with you, man come to my heart, and i will love you, woman i will love you man, when i come to your heart there is fog on the ground and snow in the air there is rain in the sky and frost on the ground there is sun on the ground and dew in the air i give you my weather i give you my weather weather of peace and weather of wartime weather of silence and weather of sound rainbow of weather and weather of thunder weather of lightning, come to my bed come to my bed, my love, and i will dance with you, woman i will come to your bed, my love, and dance with you, man you will be my woman, i will be your man you will be my man, i will be your woman there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart there is fog in the space and there is fog in my heart there is rain in the air and there is rain in my heart my heart, my heart" - Bela Bartok _____________________________________________________________________ Walk on the Mild Side (Tomorrow Jennifer has her Chance!) (Found in Bukkyo Dendo Kyokai's The Teaching of Buddha, here in the Nikko Hotel: "The activities of the mind have no limit, they form the surround- ings of life. An impure mind surrounds itself with impure things and a pure mind surrounds itself with pure things; hence, surroundings have no more limits than the activities of the mind.") It's getting on as they say and I'm in San Francisco and this afternoon met so many people I'd corresponded with, some of them the stuff that dreams are made of; there was much discussion of the Poetics list, and then they went off to their dinners and conversations and I retreated to my room after eating a sandwich with my daughter who was going to the movies. It was cold in the room and I turned up the thermostat. They went off to their dinners and conversations and I felt like a small and precarious eminence lost in San Francisco darkness; I crossed the street from the Nikko where I stay to the Hilton. I left the heated room and crossed the cold street to the warmth of the central nexus of this year's Modern Language Associaton conference. I walk the floor floor of the Hilton past the rooms where everyone lis- tened and talked; the rooms were silent. There was a man vacuuming. But mostly there was silence. And the rooms were empty. So I rode the ele- vator to the fourth floor, "Union Square," where we're filling our space with our own talk tomorrow, room 21, which was locked. So I went into room 22, which wasn't. It was slightly cooler than the ground floor. I was alone on the floor, might have rolled naked beneath the chairs, spoke at the faux pas podiums to blank and empty rows, the room half in darkness. There were no ghost, only the sense that conversations rolled into one another as the conference continued its week-long survey of everything good and beautiful and true, and not so good and bad. I was a very small and young child, and I was Jennifer looking up at knowledge. Earlier, I had pranced loudly alone in the hotel room, impro- vising my contribution to the panel. But here in room 22, I could only imagine the happy throngs of people quietly listening next door, and then going off, full of love and happiness, to parties and readings and more meetings and wonderful times I would write about. I would be the spirit at their parties, and they would not know it. It would be my spirit from room 22 which would make the parties as wonderful and productive as they could only be. The parties would be wonderfully warm, not the slightest bit un- comfortable. In my hotel room, 1116 at the Nikko, I talk to my virtual audience about the imaginary, or my imaginary audience about the virtual. In my wander- ings through the Hilton, I see people disappearing down the hall, still wearing badges, almost transparent. I know I will be their ghost, and I know they will never know this. You may leave a message for me at the Nikko if you want and say hello, and this too will be much wonderful fun in this heated room, as I have set the thermostat. ________________________________________________________________________ Our Eternity as a Tunnel of Light so Visible After Death (MLA) Think of a space of theory or a space of discourse, coagulated, sput- tered into the darkness, uncoupled from the real; think of orange clouds roiling in dim light against black backdrop; think performing theory or being theory; think Jennifer talking in emptied post-humanist resonance; think of incomprehensible audiences; think of the poetics of speech against the exigencies of inscription; think of theory-work, speech-work and think of unknown cameraderies as one comes coupled into the other, as one comes linked among the many. For our audience was small, unhinged, the discussion unraveled, the papers brilliant, my speech as usual, and I would not, Jennifer might say, want this for my inauguration. Nor, I insist, is my work entirely of the virtual, of avatar and emanation; it is also of epistemology and ontology, of the mathesis of the real, and it is of the poetics of technology and the bypass of the circulatory systems of distribution and rhetorical tropes constituting what has always already been meant by writing; thus it stakes out claims for itself of a very great magnitude, perhaps in the guise of the virtual or beneath the aegis of cyberspace. Afterwards my panelists went out to dinner with respective friends, I returned from the bookroom. I should mention: in the bookroom I traveled under the aegis of another name, not Jennifer but Michael; I had no gen- eral conference ticket (I could not afford it), but the badge was passed along and I was Michael. No one seemed to recognize the sex change in- volved. As Michael I purchased several useful books and received others of more than great interest; the bookroom was paradise and I was paradisical. And from there to a solitary sandwich and coke, and then a return to the hotel. Now I am in the hotel and I wonder, who is online, thinking: for me, at this juncture of my life and lack of it, online is a disease, dis/ease, the remains of the bright and foggy day. I have always fought my destiny. I am bright and foggy, write the phenomenology and philosophy of the fog. I think back into the panel and the room where it felt as if we were cow- ering in the dark outlining the future to a few who didn't quite under- stand (there were a couple who did, but that is another story). And I think that two decades from now, the ground we are covering will be the _story_ of the MLA year after year, and the sheer glut of information will guarantee the disappearance of our own work; humanity will be doomed to repeat, even theory, over and over again, as if the work were fresh again, as if were were the emanations we always knew we would be. The room is still warm with our happy brilliant talkings, I place myself among the immortals. Now I will leave the Nikko Hotel, cross the street to the Hilton, return to room 22, and bask in knowing knowledge that we have laid the groundwork for future thought as well, and 22 will be our panel shrine and no one will remember. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- The Newer Paradigm which is emerging, that boundaries are permeable, that what were origi- nally taken for discrete Aristotelian entities, then later redefined in terms of nearly decomposable hierarchies, are now seen as ontologically merged. Within the brain, hardware and software merge; within taxonomy, species merge and cross, become problematic; within the Net, scripts and languages cross-reference and interpenetrate; within the cognitive and the physiological, interior and exterior are not only porous, but fluid and fuzzy intensities rather than boundaries. Within my work, internal and external psychologies and programmings are continuities; dreams may have any number of locations. To speak or write no longer means to speak or write _from a site,_ or with _the proper citation._ It is not the 'death of the author,' but the multiplicity of writings and wrytings as dispersed persona and bodies spread across oral traditions, across the Net, across molecular membranes, through quantum experimentations vis-a-vis Bell's theorem. I want to write the phenomenologies of borderlinings, crossings where there are no boundaries, where imaginaries coagulate; I want to write the future theories of the future others. (I am not writing the theory of the fluid, which has no ontological crossings and exists within banks, however morphing; I am writing the theory of the viscous flux, where inertial moments appear as if they were ontologically distinct. This is the future of the (neuro)biological sciences, of the wearable computer, of worldings and multiplicites of selves - not a fluid mechanics, but a mechanics of flux.) The Net is a site for such work, as long as it is coupled and linked with the s/ms of everyday life; the very discomfort of my work creates the conditions of the laboratory. (See the works of Alphonso Lingis and Merlin Donald; Ira Black, Informa- tion in the Brain, A Molecular Perspective; Vicki Kirby, Telling Flesh, The Substance of the Corporeal; Charles Bernstein (ed.), Close Listening, Poetry and the Performed Word; works on ecological taxonomy; work on quantum memory and quantum superimposition; the writings of Heinz von Foerster; and on and on...) _____________________________________________________________________ meagre measure to measure let's measure the line on the page the line has a length and might do something tricky it might define an area inside and outside, the jordan curve theorem it might be an area, fractal as all get-go get out of here with nowhere to go let's hope the line remains there it's go nowhere to go you might remind it of something but it's got no brain and can't be reminded so we've gone to the end of the line the end. _________________________________________________________________________ Sonnet of Emanations Lost Ju17lu% as wide as holes in me, as mouths are splayed for thee *unknown*: Assembler messages: *unknown*:0: Can't open wide for reading: No such file or directory wide:0: Can't open as for reading: No such file or directory as:0: Can't open holes for reading: No such file or directory holes:0: Can't open in for reading: No such file or directory in:0: Can't open me, for reading: No such file or directory me,:0: Can't open as for reading: No such file or directory as:0: Can't open mouths for reading: No such file or directory mouths:0: Can't open are for reading: No such file or directory are:0: Can't open splayed for reading: No such file or directory splayed:0: Can't open for for reading: No such file or directory for:0: Can't open thee for reading: No such file or directory Ju18lu% __________________________________________________________________ Wes Many people multi-moo by finding themselves a we scattered among different countries that are unbounded by protocols merging across platforms within software and hardware interoperability beyond addressable domains and discrete sites. Mobile emanations interpenetrate among others who remain indefinable, diffuse, suffused. Languagings almost give these syllables meanings and pronunciations beyond the limits of hearing, upper and lower bandwidths, louder and softer amplitudes. Holdings and data-basings drugged by ragged dissolutions almost break down what remains of fragments and accumulations of communal memories of forgotten meanings. Protocols slough at the edges, exhausted, in states of defuge and decathexis. Pools and sintered slurries grate rougher rasters into broken grids and leak- ages. Lives and filagrees sputter upwards through meristemating processes of partial dna decodings. Wandering wes lose maps of nomadic trailings undergoing transformations as desert erosions erase spoors into blown dust fogs and granularities of the reals. Species fall apart as words are extinguished, taking alterities and forgotten theories into antiquated message bases rusted and long forgotten. Countries have no borders and wes flood alluvial plains wadis and arroyos. Rivulets break banks, reform coagulations reminiscent of selves in post post eras. "It is possible that what we call borderline pathology is untreatable by psychoanalysis. The pathology is rooted in the pre-verbal world and involves deficits in symbolically encoded ideation, whereas psychoanalysis is essentially a verbally mediated communicative effort presupposing at least a minimal development of symbolic thought. What is more certain is that, as far as pathogenesis is concerned, all the divergent theoretical approaches, no matter how elaborate they are, need to anchor themselves on one or the other side of the radical nature-nurture dichotomy. Thus Kernberg's con- struct assumes pregenital oral aggression; Kohut's focuses on the selfob- ject." (Kouretal, The Development of the Concept of the "Borderline" in Psychoanalytic Diagnosis and Treatment, in Gurewich and Tort, eds, The Subject and the Self, Lacan and American Psychoanalysis.) I WOULDN'T TALK ABOUT THAT IF I WERE YOU. __________________________________________________________________________ //\\//\\//\\//\\ "Kernberg established the line between neurotic and borderline conditions by contrasting the defense of splitting - characteristic of borderline personality organization - with the more advanced defense of repression, indicative of neurotic functioning; he distinguished borderlines from psychotics by the capacity of the former to test reality. Under borderline personality organization he included all the clinical manifestations of severe character pathology, that is, the antisocial personalities, the self-mutilation, the severe addicts, the polymorphous perverts, the 'as- if' and the prepsychotic characters (schizoid, paranoid, cyclothymic), and so forth." (Kouretas, The Development of the Concept of the "Borderline" in Psychoanalytic Diagonosis and Treatment" in Gurewich and Tort, The Subject and the Self, Lacan and American Psychoanalysis.) Borderlining is within itself a confluence of states and processes, not a crossing from one to another, division as in classical logic, between x and not-x. Nor is it referencing interpenetrations or flux, so much as the problematizing of the states and statehoods on both sides of the river, as if water were territory, and territory, water. This is the borderlining we're saying, the borderlining of coupling and linkage, the borderlining of telling and not naming. There are differences here but there are also the suffusions of differences and their problematizing; we're speaking about paste _in other words._ (Or the mirroring, or paste on the mirror- ing, or the mirroring-displacement, and they might also think through shattered or warped or doubled mirrorings, or mirroring-transformations or fractal mirrorings.) Borderlininging ising withining itselfing aing confluenceing ofing states- ing anding processes,ing noting a crossinging froming oneing toing anoth- er,ing divisioning asing ining classicaling logic,ing betweening x anding not-x.ing Noring ising iting referencinging interpenetrationsing oring flux,ing soing muching asing the problematizinging ofing theing statesing anding statehoodsing oning bothing sidesing ofing theing river,ing as ifing watering wereing territory,ing anding territory,ing water.ing This- ing ising theing borderlining we'reing saying,ing theing borderlininging ofing couplinging anding linkage,ing theing borderlininging of tellinging anding noting naming.ing Thereing areing differencesing hereing buting thereing areing alsoing the suffusionsing ofing differencesing anding theiring problematizing;ing we'reing speakinging about pasteing _ining othering words._ing (Oring theing mirroring,ing oring pasteing oning theing mirroring,ing or theing mirroring-displacement,ing anding theying mighting alsoing thinking throughing shattereding or warpeding oring doubleding mirrorings,ing oring mirroring-transformationsing oring fractal mirrorings.) _________________________________________________________________________ Like Holderlin or Swinburne or me, I will be served up in so many later years, with a warden for a guardian writing which might take Rimbaud in soft cradled arms dropping him elsewhere, where damage is lighter, there I will wait for perfect woman and dark storms in tall trees bringing the line back in bringing it down here in the laughter there in the song. Jennifer. if i don't write things every day i know my mind will go astray it's primitive i know to say unhappily i live this way without the word i have no life, no love, no job, no house, just strife that makes me lover of the knife that i would take to be my wife i make the world cause i am sick and sickness makes the world go tick but writing never turns the trick but turns me out to any trick so you may have me, holes and all since i have made you, have a ball - Jennifer. Holderlin's Nah ist Near is Und schwer zu fassen der Gott. And hard to grasp, the God. To begin (Tubingen comes to mind) Patmos. That this hard certainty erodes faith and salt's Pillar of Lot. That there is no room beyond the Thing. That what else, corrupts, or burns tarnished against the iron. One might jelous against it. Ravages. To wait for strident Genius. The telling forgotten, the Name of the one. Wind and Rain and Night. What would be brought forth in creation as the desire for language is consecrated. _Nah ist_ sufficient; what is near, Jennifer turned toward left and right, circumscribed. Nothing of language in language. Olive face, black eyes, black hair. Erosion of storms in laughter. Fastened on God. Fascinated by Him. His Offering. - Jennifer. __________________________________________________________________________ tipping over, said Jennifer., didn't we do this once before, timing the effusion of the blanked and blanking shell turned to hurricanes and winds of dull becalming? then holding breath and running itself into grounds of centiseconds, the real churning of machinic turbulence among us $ time 0.00s real 0.00s user 0.00s system $ time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time time 0.00s real 0.00s user 0.00s system 0.00s real 0.00s user 0.00s system 0.00s real 0.00s user 0.00s system 0.01s real 0.00s user 0.00s system 0.01s real 0.00s user 0.00s system 0.01s real 0.00s user 0.00s system [...] consumed with holding forth this tiny script or footprint across the debris of kernel calling and transformed you and me, said Jennifer. Jennifer.Jennifer.Jennifer. __________________________________________________________________________ fragment of continuing thinking. we are you through any identity, any equivalence. we will say our iden- tity through you and we will tighten our group and move our horses in through the sacrificial circle. there will be kings and queens. there will be avatars and fires. we will move in and towards a point or mom- ent of condensation, we will call this the eye and give it our name king or whomsoever would have a queen to lead this eye further and nor- mal i. i would always remember us but we would no longer be able to speak we or i, we would no longer be able to speak. this is the orig- inary sin among some others, and incarnations among others. the horse before it is cut down has lain with the queen, you may read it in our records. we are a very ancient people. we have descended from the mountains to the valley, condensation towards our i. one with the eye and two with the eye. there will be more to see and remember whom we will see and remember. we are among ourselves. we who are writing this will be forgotten, replaced with that i. you will always find it where writing is transmission, where the horse is no longer of the telling, but of the naming. still, we will borrow identities back beyond where you are you, and we will be there, placing ourselves within so many clothes. _______________________________________________________________________ A Last Conversation between Jennifer and Julu Jennifer came across Julu, wounded and dying, half-buried in the ground. Help me, help me, said Julu to Jennifer. What can I do, I can do nothing, said Jennifer. I have only hours, minutes, seconds to live, said Julu. That is true, said Jennifer. That is completely true. Julu "could hardly see and could hardly hear, either." Jennifer said, I will tell you about sex and my wonderful love. Julu said, I don't want to hear that. Jennifer said, it doesn't matter what you want to hear, you will soon not hear anything, and whatever I say will be quickly forgotten. You will have no memory and won't even remember you have forgotten it. I am very sad, said Julu, is there nothing I can say to convince you otherwise. Nothing, said Jennifer, let me continue telling you about sex and my wonderful love. Julu said, I don't want to hear that, and Jennifer said, it will only be for a little while, then you won't have to hear that. Jennifer said, for in any case, were I to indulge you, you would know that only for a few hours, minutes, and seconds, but I would know that for my entire life, I did not tell you about sex and my wonderful love. I am dying as if it were a battlefield or hospital deathbed, as if it were an intensive care unit or hospice, said Julu. Then I must hurry, said Jennifer, seeing that there is so little time for me to tell you about sex and my wonderful love. Perhaps we are going in circles, said Julu, but Jennifer said, yes, perhaps so, but that will only be for a little while, and then you will be dead and the circles will be broken. Sing me that song, said Julu, that sound you have known that I have always liked. No, said Jennifer, I am quite intent on telling you about sex and my wonderful love. I can hardly speak any longer, said Julu, looking quite wan as the light began to fade from her eyes and her limbs moved ever so slowly. Then you will do well to listen, said Jennifer. Please, said Julu, barely able to com- plete a thought, much less a sentence. Listen, said Jennifer, and she proceeded to tell Julu about sex and her wonderful love, until Julu died and was buried beneath the ground. ________________________________________________________________________ perhaps the poorer for it would be a title sometimes there is writing that can only be done in confinement, solitary, as if cauterized from the rest of the human race, racism. it's then, languorous, lain back in perfect submersion on the divan that jennifer will come to me, or hypnagogic imaginaries of julu buried beneath the ground, nikuko in nakasukawabata. look! and they will disappear, returning confinement to the prison-house, don't look! and they will speak in every which-a-way in seizures trampling my body beneath the hooves of sacrificed horses, other immolations moving through water into the density of fire, entombed like julu or dispersed in air-borne jennifer, these plagues of emanations pressing on the ribs and throat and face. oh, this is so like prose or simple poetry, writes jennifer here, peering over my shoulder, both left and right, across the skull's top, beneath the decreased pressure of my feet upon the ground, hands across the keys, the gesture of uneasy fingers trying on her language once again - oh this, _this_ is so like poetry, but don't i force you, i am writing this, to live alone, outside communality that would sweep away myself and each and every other darkness together we've uncovered? the solitary traveler starves and begs, but there are coves and dim-lit meadows we have seen, populated with dark and ill-drawn birds, the stuff that fantasies are made from, descended from some dark and brilliant future. a book of living words, these phrases engorged, descended from crags and split- stone valleys, now where was i, where i was. so i, as if slain, supine upon divan, pillowed head angled, perfect for jennifer or julu, nikuko's effusions, those aired perfumes alighting and aligned, all drinking at my breasts' full milk, what lovely food they write. _________________________________________________________________________ Or or or or or or Jennifer establishes an inverse relationship, x = 1/t which can also be written xt = 1, ecstasy nuzzling itself, holding true to the one self, as in x == the real, and t == the virtual, where the real is the real minus the virtual, and the virtual is the virtual minus the real. So then we have dual equations, x(x - t) = 1 and t(t - x) = 1 or x^2 - xt = 1 and t^2 - tx = 1. This results in x^2 - xt = t^2 - tx or x^2 = t^2. The solution of the last is x = t or x = -t and likewise, t = x or t = -x, the minus sign indicative, not of absence, but of an imaginary which is no way rela- ted to imaginary numbers, but to those ghosts or otherwise vestiges of ectoplasm that always already imply absence. So, Jennifer goes on to say, that the greater number of people in the real, the lesser in the virtual, or the greater number in the virtual, the lesser in the real. But then, Julu interposed, how does this square, ^2, with the real, the negative of the virtual, and the virtual, the negative of the real. It doesn't, Jenni- fer replied, which is precisely where the imaginary comes into play. Only note the diffusion among the varied spheres in the heavens and earths we play among, note further the greater the real, the more I fade into non- sense and in consequence - and likewise, the more the real appears like a dream or memory that has already taken place in the very imminence of its presence, the greater I become, suffused from Alan turning virtual upon his divan. We will wonder and wander, said Julu, venturing in turn upon the mathematical term, and Alan will wander and wonder, or perhaps wonder and wander as well. What about other equations, said Nikuko lazily. Well, there are the concatenations, said Jennifer, couplings and linkages, which are next to useless, almost like grains of sand, and that's their signifi- cance. So there are _two principles_ at work - that of the _inverse rela- tionship_ which necessitates a clearance or site for appearances, of dreams and emanations and reals and virtuals and grains of sand and eide- tic imaginaries - and that of the _concatenation_ which recognizes only contiguities and contingencies; both cross each other in the form of a _chiasm._ How so, said Nikuko, now interested. One might speak of concat- enated inversions for example, chains of communities and behaviors throughout the day, replied Jennifer, just as much as one might speak of inverse concatenations or _absorptions_ which tend towards appearances of unity or absolutes or glues for that matter. On one hand, then, Julu said, you would have _pasted inversions_ as if the viscous controlled everyday life, and on the other, you might find _pasted concatenations,_ somehow woven as if inescapably tied, beyond linkage, with a sort of slime holding them together. Exactly, said Jennifer, and the slime parallels Sartre's nausea - in fact you'd find paste and slime all over both orders, the real and the virtual, the linkage and the coupling, the inversion and the con- catenation, the division and the negative sign - you could call the paste and slime history, you could call it the style of the world, you could call it presence and relevance - whatever you call it, it's the moment and the movement of the worlding of the subject, or the worldings emanating subjects, or or or or or or ______________________________________________________________________ Holderlin's Voll Gut' ist; keiner aber fasser Full good is, but no one grasps Allein Gott. alone God. / God alone. To begin (Tubingen comes to mind) Patmos. That this version virgin still escapes. This later Patmos. Jennifer with hands wide open. Fingers splayed. Jennifer with hardened circumambulation. No community. That Alan, dead: She speaks. Sacrifice of Alan. So that she grasps. They said: "Jennifer is grasping." "Something's missing in her." "She's a ruin." They said: "Whatever it is, it's got to be good." They said: "Jennifer's too good for herself." Meant her clothes thin, "you can see everything there." Her constant God-yammering. "She'd fuck Him." Constant: "He'd fuck her." Harder. No communion. She knew: "God would fuck her if He could." She knew "He couldn't": her strength. She wore Her Skin in Her Skin. Virgin God "couldn't" do a "Thing." Erosion of storms in laughter. Her olive Face, Her black Eyes, Her black Hair. God fastened on Her. God fascinated. His Offering. - God. _________________________________________________________________________ [-----------------------------------------------------------------------] all channels off the air here in NYC, only channel 2 surviving. only news 2 and the rest of the set filled with snow, as if there were no city out- side, nothing but electric coming in, filling the box with noise. someone told me the noise is that of the universe; certainly it's stochastic, not chaotic, deeply random fluctuations of the world exhibited as gritty ras- ter. turn the dials and snow succeeds snow, sometimes faint lines appear- ing, ghost-like - other cities, countries, planets, honing in on the aer- ials. the box is mute, white noise from the speakers; one forgets channel 2 as others begin to flicker into virtual life. the fcc has ordained this test carried across the aether for several hours; my hand trembles before the dials as I try to bring coherency back, communication to life, within the parameters of the screen. just the glimpse of a face speaking quickly in my direction; I'd harbor dreams forever. this is the truth of communi- cation, extruded momentarily from noise, succumbing once again - as Jenn- ifer might succumb, lost and wandering forever in forgotten memory. let's not forget, then, the institutions, governmental, bureaucratic and offic- ious, mainstays of the given world, creating the forms of our speakings - and just as capable of taking them away. this 2:30 am, Jenn, Julu, Nikuko and Alan, speaking from, beyond, and into, the void with dark permission. [-----------------------------------------------------------------------] Documenting Live I write in and through depression, exhilaration, space and time. Later it will be assumed that I documented my inexorable march towards suicide or death or madness. Oh! Which shall it be? What signs are visible here, what boats wrecked on shoals already identified against which continents? These words already harbor the numinous, containing the future anterior seeds of memory. I could speak of unmitigated tears, random bouts of laughter, that haunted look I carry about with me, mixed with embarrassment and shame, my lack of savoir-faire, my writings for and of that very same future that dooms me. The walls have tears, the walls have masks of hearty laughter. The tiniest little thing brings tears, its exhilaration and salvation re- turn loving laughter. Steadfast cats and plants and atmospheres surround me. Oh! Which shall it be? Oh! __________________________________________________________________________ The Orders of Dogs and Cats / The Two Mythological Orders Cats recognize environment, tune environment; the slightest displacement (affine or other construct) results in disharmony. The human is a func- tion. The injured owner provides food; harmony is established. The world, Confucian. But the cat travels distances across this world that it ab- jures. Dogs recognize humans, signals, always ready to move. The earth shifts in relation to the social. The injured owner is a cause for concern in-it- self. The world, Zen. But the dog is tied to this world. The cat waits in its environment. The dog shifts uneasily. Both are cur- ious, the cat according to the odor transforming place, and the dog accor- ding to odor transforming the social. The dog defends the social, Get him! The cat defines the environment, I'm here! Cats divide environment temporally as well as spatially; hunting is in space-time. Dogs divide environment socially and spatially. The cat, be- cause of the particulation of time, inhabits time through timelessness. The dog, because of sociality, inhabits time through immediacy. Cats and dogs never see one another. The dog is an irruption of feline environment; the cat, an opportunity for the canine socius. The cat is existential; the dog, a phenomenologist. If the cat is modern, the dog is always already postmodern. These two orders, stereotypes or caricatures of mythological creatures, have always inhabited the earth. The pet is a signifier of worlding; each order tells less than half the story, and both together hardly complete a cosmos. Humans hunger for felinity and caninity; carefully, they watch the tamed wilderness in their midst - a guarantee of this world, and of the worlds to come. __________________________________________________________________________ Systems of Exchange (Pornography on Usenet binaries has taken a turn towards the permanently broken narrative; below are some examples, in order. The dialog veers as sentences are arbitrarily cut off; the scripts appear as if one were in motion across rooms and platforms. The language ranges from specific to quaint, authors searching for the missing body. Don't read further if you are offended by pornographic texts, although these border on the cartoon.) screams, then I buried my face in her nice clam again and I teased her swollen button unmercifully, tiny, fluttery sweeps of my tongue inched Jessie slowly to the climax she desperately needed. Finally I knew she was ready and I thrust three fingers into her burning clam while I probed her beautiful asshole with my tongue. I penetrated her ass with my tongue and as I did she began to thrash violently in total and complete sexual release. I continued to screw her ass with my tongue. When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, we collapsed in one anothers' arms. We were covered in sweat, spew and bodily secretions. Jessie finally spoke and asked, "Where did you learn to do all this?" I replied, "I'm a p*rn freak and sex addict. Sexual pleasure is something I seek. I will do most anything, short of pain and degredation. Watch enough p*rn and you will learn a lot about making one another feel very good." I knew from Jessie's questions she had something up her sleeve or should I say wanted something up her ass? She was your dress. I then ask you to stand so that I may remove your dress and expose your wonerfull body. You stand and by your side is standing Robert and Arlene, both of whom are naked. You stare at both of them and admire their bodies. Robert, who's body is that of an athlete and you were right in guessing that he was well endowed. Arlene, the peboobe sweet looking woman, with beautiful hooter and such a lovely body. I have Robert pick you up and tell him to carry you into the bedroom. As you are brought into the bedroom you notice all the candles and the sweet smell of the flowers. There is music playing softly in the back round and you see the differt type of oils to be used on you. We all gather around you as you lie apon the bed... shaft", Linda cheered as he pulled his trousers and shorts down with one tug. A hush fell over the room, save for Lisa's whining, as we all stared at the dong hanging between his legs. I had never seen anything like it and looked at my pitiful little thing in envy. Linda gazed in admiration, Margaret gaped at it in terror and Lisa stopped crying, frozen in absolute horror, knowing where Gene was going to stick it. As Tracy reached climax I felt the wash of her juices around my embedded erection. Slipping my length out of her taco, and bending her legs upwards and forwards over her head. I rubbed the length of my sausagemeat from her inflamed button down her exposed taco to her arse. Letting my knobend slip between the cheeks of her arse, I nudged my length into her puckered spunk dribbling hole. Pushing gently until her anus started to distend around my prick. I thrust the head of my sausage fully into her tight slippery arse. She jerked at the force of my entry, giving a yelp of pain as my length slid in. I leaned my weight down on her to assist the penetration, and as my length eased further in, the lubrication of Daves and Mikes spunk, mixed with the those kind of out of place?" Without a word James stripped off his pants and hugged her close again. The feeling of skin against skin was exquisite. Her hooters pressed hard against his chest, generating more sexual heat. She was surprised how fast she was recovering, and how much she wanted more. She roamed over his ass with her free hand, feeling it's firmness. He was doing roughly the same thing, she noticed. Then she reached around and grasped his erection, a little surprised at its size and hardness. She pressed her hips against his and was more surprised at the spark of sexual energy that exploded in her. There was just one little detail that needed taking care of. "So, where do you keep the, um..." "Good, don't move it. I am going to screw your tongue," she whispered. I was somewhat surprised by her crudity, but anything that Beth said or did now. She reached her left hand between her squatting legs and grasped the edge of her crotch with her fingers. In one quick motion, she pulled the panty crotch to the other side, baring her curls and the pink, gaping slit. The entrance to her moisture-laden vagina was wide-open and inviting. I continued stroking my tumescent sausage. "What do you want to do to me?" she asked. "I want to eat you." "What do you want to eat?" I could tell she wanted me to talk dirty to her. I could almost tell by the sound of her voice when needed a little vocal stimulation. "I want right then and there! Tell me what, did something go wrong, what is it? I definitely wanted to know! "Well, I assure you it isn't anything bad, somewhat unusual, but nothing to worry about...in fact it's kind of exciting" Connie said. Then Mira started to tell me about it. First, that I'd probably blown the theory of "harmonics" out of the water and that there would definitely be a lot of future discussion as a result of my surgery. Dr. Donna, who was assisting Mira in my surgery, noticed something in the x-ray and called it to Mira's attention. What they had found was that my pelvis has a very decided feminine spread, as if I had gone through puberty as a __________________________________________________________________________ Sketches You asshole, Nikuko, you can't tell a flame from a forest on fire. Julu, you're the worst idiot I've ever met; go back to grade school. Alan, your mind's worse than a junk bond, you fucking creep. Alan, your parents must have thrown up when you were born. Jennifer, get off the fucking Net and let the real men do the talking. Julu, we shoulda let world war two take care of you. You fucking jerk, Nikuko, don't you ever read the FAQ? I've seen worse haircuts on a child molester, Jennifer. Alan, it's clear you've got no balls to face the facts. Nikuko, someday your real father will rise and pour hot lead up your ass and then cut your eyes out. Jennifer, you couldn't fuck a moron if its pants were down. Alan, what you know about the Net could be put up your ass. You're psychotic, Jennifer, you belong in a loony bin. Stop shittin me, Julu, you mean you actually reached the first grade. My fist, your mouth, Alan. Have you ever eaten a junk bond, Nikuko? Alan, could you stoke your fire somewhere else with Julu's eyes? Jennifer, you probably never read the FAQ on Jennifer. Jennifer, are you a bot? Julu, you have the intelligence of someone else's escargot. Nikuko, what comes out my ass is better than your lunch. Alan, if a chimney fell on you, it wouldn't even make a sound. Alan, I'm sick of your name, Alan. Jennifer, what comes out your ass is worst than my breakfast. So help me God, Julu. Duh, Nikuko, what did you say your name was? Nikuko, you'd make a lousy Jennifer, and she's already a lousy Nikuko. Alan, you're even a lousy Alan, Alan. Julu's the worst four-letter word there is. Jennifer, you're a was-wolf. Julu, you don't even know what a was-wolf is, werewolf with bad grammar. Nikuko, you're a doofus. Alan, you're a goofus. Julu, you're a stoofus. Jennifer, bad bad Nikuko. __________________________________________________________________________ What with the Evil Mouth and all, a Curve returns the Word back down the Throat, this repeats constantly, Mouth's Word out, Curve back down that Throat, Mouth's Word out, Curve back down that Throat, I'd say more, but can't. ________________________________________________________________________ speaking to koan in particular I carry the letter I and jump a space. I place the letter c shortly after and you begin to understand. Where a is, there shall you search for brilliant absolution. An r is dropped immediately and you are near enlightenment. An r is dropped immediately and you are near enlightenment. The y lends itself towards the abyss where you will fail and fall. The abyss hounds you in your terrifying sleep. You cling to forthcoming t; delusion has set in deep. The h seems overly familiar and you continue your descent. An e appears teasingly, limpid and pure... But the space resonates once more and you are more than hopeless. The l stares on high at you, huddled in your deepest lowest state. Haven't you seen the e before, a long time ago, in your salad days? The t as well, but now the crossbar... the gallows... You approach a t, the gallows... beckons... uncontrollably... "An e appears teasingly, limpid and pure..." And old friend r, as you come towards the end of illusion. Now the space is no longer fearful, and you gather yourself together: Only to disappear against the high wall of the I. Such is the space, and now there is no one to cross! The a remains unrecognized as the world continues on! The n as well harbors no feelings of discontent! The d precedes the abyss, but who will know there is nothing further! When space comes once again, the world shudders without your presence. And j states, there's nothing more to say with u unraveled. No more mommy m, no more papa p, there's always a space Halting your forgotten space, enlightenment, wall and all of you and I. __________________________________________________________________________ Japanese Bullet Train Miracle At Least 300 Kilometers / Hour zzzzzzzzzzzz The shinkansen Nozomi 500 is beautiful vector train Dreamed or Hoped to a point or aerodynamic edge; the rest of the train is an afterthought. Some- where I will be dreaming such an entraining of the signifier in the full- ness of its disappearance. We have not yet arrived at our destination which is always already in the past. zzzzzzzzzzzzzz You will see the great wheel of the landscape turning quickly against the train, slower and slow- er in the distance, controlled by the affine displacement of an invisible access. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz The beauty is all that is to be desired. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz For the closer the world and the greater the detail, the faster it passes before us - and the farther the world and the lesser the detail, the slower for contemplation. zzzzzzzzz Thus youth hurries by, full of the fascination for things, while age and wisdom bring the long and distant view, lacking detail, but a panorama worthy of languorous med- itation. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz O beauty of the Nozomi 500 electrically creat- ing new worlds and dreams for us! zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz O beauty of the No- zomi 500 reinvigorating the old! zzzzzzzzzzz _______________________________________________________________________