By the way; I’m Doctor Buck Moon.

Thus starts session three-hundred thirty-five of that there New Therapy all’s buzzing about, so, as usual, u’ take a seat. By the way; I’m Doctor Buck Moon. Thanks for coming, great to see you, listen up pips’q eak’ s, listen up, here goes what; for today’s it’s not knowing the year’s a definite syndrome, ye’ very definite, yes, ‘s, as syndromes go is, so; given the logical progression of new topics I am presenting to you today, what is the next logical syndrome I am on the verge the bring the brink of the verge or both or put a little bit differently, about to present? Anybody got a good ga’s ‘ues’?

No?

No?

No—it then may be just as well nobody’s here, actually—because at least one of you, whoever that may be, will say the answer which I the answer which I do the answer I do not answer I do not want to know the answer to, it is; even it is coming too close to say I you know, that word you know that word I that when said stabs—and no doubt to most of you will sound very foolish—stabs you down stuck on an analysis board or prisoner’s trap you know, since everything in creation’s got a name—and sometimes several names—by now, it’s like there’s an insect to be studied pinned to a study board inside of itself so that it’s pinned immobile so that

someone or some other pinned immobile as well—just as you and all others refusing to ever step out from inside your big doped-out heads, but—a little bit differently each time its pinned—to be studied like this great auditorium this great roundy-bout room within which we’re presently set, so bit round starting here ‘hind this podium curving off toward—and that’s true no which te ka matta’ you stend it tall out from it curves round our and round and out and around and back there—see it? See it? Iy curvsey round back there and out to be met each by the other back there, way up there—‘bout the back of what looks like the back side of some nose and also just under those backhinded dual eyeball-backs there those. Yes those. Those that swivel for some reason here inside what we’re of the but the facts are the facts, past our backwalls we’ll never know what s is ss what sss for inside of here is where you me were put ssss and this sssss is where we’ll ssss most likely be staying unless we sss can’t ss be s right about everything ssssss well can you? So.

Sssssss.

Any questions class s at this’s ‘s juncture, the same rules as for the last question do apply, know then well before deciding whether or not to say yes—and yes, listen hard now since you’ve all refused loudly to step out from inside your big doped-out heads—like, I have also never say yes I have, unless you actually have, may say clearly, and be prepared to defend the propriety of whichever question you pull from that sheaf of possible questions you come armed with in that quiver back there you don’t even know they got you strapped onto, y’ Robin sniff, Hood Robin, Hood even sniff, sniff, even Robin Hood knows as dumb as back there they all say was, knew a full quiver’s useless unless it’s packed with arrows and not those sicko damned questions you won’t give up the not knowing of, dull boy.

So any questions?

Any questions?

Any questions?

No? Plus got no big domed weapon to fire me back at me now, have you?

Of course not!

Sorry you are, sorry—you are to be so easily frightened down by mere words this is s study room not a fanned-out rockhurl, this is a learning room in here, not a fiery hosedown manned by big barkdogs. This is a place for knowing yes an opened up place for knowing so holy as to need total locking down as robbery’s inevitable so why in such a place as this do you refuse to know refuse tt to admit to ttt tell the truth don’t lie, don’t lie, tt t s ss sss you do!

You have questions!

Don’t lie!

Say them out single file, don’t lie!

At root there’s a reason that you cannot know.

Cannot know or.

So now; what year is this?

Spit it!

What year is this!

But is it closer at least closer at least or at least, a little bit closer now, than before?

See? There you go. It’s sure worth it. Don’t you think?

Hey.

Bu’, gak; that’s the end of session number three-hundred thirty-five of that there New Therapy all’s buzzing about—what? Oh no problem. You are very welcome—and be sure to attend what’s next, but—sorry. No autographs or photos. Not my fault! Bye.

This post is made on behalf of Bruce Markuson. The below are his words.

In recent years I have had to deal with my imminent death due to thyroid cancer. I may have five years but maybe not ten. It has been a long and terrible struggle with surgery, radiation, and chemo.

However, the act of writing this chapbook of poems has stepped me over the line between “You’re going to live” and “You are going to die”. It is where I have found my acceptance. This is my requiem.

I am in a professional writers group and this collection has caused a few tears. Over the years I have published over a hundred and fifty short stories, flash fiction, poems, podcast, and a novel. Being the prolific writer I am I wrote a chapbook of poetry about this. These are the thoughts of a person who deals with dying.

Read the chapbook here.

Krampus pats Stephen’s shoulder in an attempt to cool him down, but the touch of his colossal hand does nothing but adding some epinephrine drops to the cocktail shaking in his brain. He appears to be in shock, paper-white face, incapable of emitting a sound. So much ingenuity wasted in flattering the arrogant bureaucrats from General Citronics! Krampus asks some help from Odd-Legs to get Stephen into the team’s black van.

It won’t matter how far Stephen goes; for better or worse no one will listen. The collected data will be archived, and there they will remain, encrypted, hidden —it’s not a question of certainty but just some additional information. Let others navigate the rough asphalt as Stephen did in the old times, when there was nowhere to go and no one but Derleth awaited his return. Both Derleth and himself got a generous sum transfered to their bank accounts, although they were pre-allocated funds which can only be spent on certain things, like the monetary garbage provided by post-governments to simulate that “the economy” remains a thing. Stephen and Derleth wanted to ensure a minimum of lifestyle, much less than others, or perhaps very different, nothing like possessing the space surrounding them, only a few objects that would fit, only those they could easily get rid of. Stephen would rent a cabin on an island in the middle of a lake, something to set on fire without threatening neighbors or forests, all his things there, even himself, burning on the pyre as a heretic. Hot vibrating air would be inducing a mirage of navigation, as if the island slid slowly on the surface of the green lagoon, smoke mingling with the fresh breath of water.

The nagging vinyl stench of electrosuccubes wakes Stephen over and over from his false sleep. The beautiful arthropod in a purple gown could well be the effect of entomophiliac self-hypnosis. He feels his own body as a repetition, a chemical reputation, a constant reconstruction of cycles —polenta, pasta, rice, wheat… Instead of trying to continually think about the past, when the team was a congregation of perjure larvae devouring the tree of life, they should start doing something, go out on the street or make a phone call or search for information on the internet —but the plague is too pure and they slip on its varnished surface. Lily is unbearably bright under her purple dress, her exoskeleton still but flexible like walls enduring the shaking of the earth. Charioteers of chance, the team go hunting imaginary elephants to provide ivory to the tower. They are adorned with calculation and weighty military reasons.

Magnolias fall in a junkyard like rusty guns, the alkaline rain of chestnut pollen, the grass that knows how to keep itself always damp and disheveled as if to refresh the cover of a magazine. The nameless creeks are forest animals with a life of their own, mineral, composed of other small beings, as every life is made of lots of other lives. Withered roses in the garbage can. There comes a time when the body only feels itself in words, which is why Stephen understands those infected by the cunning citrovirus, which, in addition to transforming human tissue into plant thinking, blocks nociception and corrodes the nerve terminals, plunging the hosts in a peripheral anhedonia that ends up seeping into any sensation or idea. The body does not feel the ravages of deformity, as if deformity was nothing but an anamorphic projection —the lack of a proper mirror. Stephen does not perceive what breaks and twists and burns from within as result of his citrophagia —although, unlike opiates, there is no euphoria imbibing the flesh; that intoxication which favored dreams and had taught him the patience that lies at the heart of deep anxiety. Citroviruses have learned to turn human beings into their fruit, rolling spheres, feeding them at their convenience, keeping them alive instead of simply consuming them —that is why they look like a weapon or a work of art, the most sophisticated among artistic armament; the most demonic one; the one that, instead of killing, rebuilds at its convenience; the one that is capable of possessing… The most terrifying destiny conceivable: being possessed by abstract and absurd intelligences without a hint of melancholy.

So it was conjectured that citrosophy itself could have self-organized and spontaneously become a bioinfectious agent; that the very possibility of possession had materialized, coalesced, precipitated, coagulated; that it was a counter-simulation generated by simulations, crystallizing souls in minimal bodies, in just tangles of filiform molecules like the old paper tape impressions of telegraphic messages. Stop, stop, stop; thus the pause of the incessant phrasing is punctuated. The immortalization —or almost— of the metamorfruiting flesh had to be compensated with the destruction of supposedly imperishable objects —monuments, bridges, towers, cathedrals, artifacts from extinct civilizations. All their castles are made of cards or sand. There must be a balance in the time that happens to things, a recoil of the chronometric cannon.

They walk over the rotten waste of a light that once illuminated life. Immediately, as soon as Stephen got down to it, he detected the first publications describing the cheerful infection, considering that if Derleth —or someone else— had invented the agent which had citrofected the chief, they wouldn’t withstand the thrusts of academic vanity. It would be a matter of reading between lines until discovering the traces of a pinch of pride, of parenthetical parental love.

Long ago, Stephen’s father had gotten himself a tape recorder, but Stephen hated to hear his own child’s voice play back so he used it to pick up any other sound in the house or the garden: dishes crashing in the sink, birds screeching each other, the drumming of rain’s fingers on the wooden ledges, the vibration of the trucks stuck in traffic, the distant cries of other children playing football, the crickets chirping… He tried, unsuccessfully, to record softer and more subtle sounds, like leaves falling from trees or the buzzing of bees and flies. He hid it in the cemetery at night in the hope of capturing psychophonies. Ghosts, however, were mute, or they fell silent in the presence of that device that emitted its own purr of a small mechanical mill when dragging the tape. Perhaps the dead were impregnated with the almost imperceptible screeching, perhaps they could not avoid behaving themselves like tape recorders. Vibrations pierced them, remained permanently attached to the ectoplasmatic garments. Perhaps it was the noise what parasitized the spirits and not the spirits a parasitic noise, and that is why they pursued the most absolute silence and never materialized to Stephen’s crude and spectacular invocations.

The dead of this world do not find enough warmth in the souls of the living and fly away to orangination. But that is what the real dead do, not those who, for the moment, only imagine death from the outside, like a concert they have not managed to enter, with their faces glued to the cold window. Although the living are being invoked as if they were dead; although the chief is now nothing more than the wrinkle of a shadow, a crack in a ray of light.

After curling her antennae with a rusty fork, Lily lights a bonfire on the sand and stands still, listening to the lament of an instagrammatic sea she barely glimpses, a goldbergized variation on the constant bass of the abyss. Only the reflection of the dance of a thread of fire could be seen, as a ray of water, as the magnetic clamor of a wire threatening to pierce the night with the slightest carelessness. She didn’t learned the fear she should had, when everything seemed to consist on being properly scared. She didn’t perceive the horror on other people’s faces, only a pareidolia of fearlessness, the rise of an exhausted sun on the desert horizon right before the curtains were incapable of stopping the stab of light. She’s the corollary of an oasis. She does not grumble, she simply follows the instructions of a fiction that seemed kind and adequate to her, although she always kept herself on the margins, on the unwritten banks of the rivers.

The surface of a planet that could get rid of anyone with a slight tremor has just begun to scratch, and the team already think about themselves as demons for having displaced a little carbon. Such is the case with every new arrangement—putting things here or there seems essential, like ants obsessing over a grain of sand. Stephen remembers hearing the chief say that freedom is holding the reins of self-destruction, and thinking that he was right. The team stop the van in front of a shopping mall looking like a place of worship and commotion, a temple for their depraved practices. Odd-Legs helps Stephen out. He’s getting sicker, but they won’t take the risk of going to a hospital. Contrary to what Blanchot wrote, they’re pushed back by their determination to move on, simultaneously chased away and drawn, waves of electrons in a fermionic sea, like insects repelled by the perfumes of bystanders.

“Don’t feel guilty, sweetheart”, Lily whispers to Stephen, “we knew you were supposed to eat the guy.”

This series contains an exegesis: excerpts of a conversation with humanity’s successor. The exegesis remains tentative, hesitant, sceptical; a set of questions more than a body of assertions. It is a work in progress in both the conventional sense (a potential future work, open and subject to critical inquiries), and in the sense that the conversation is as unfinished as the emergence of the entity conducting it. Humanity’s successor is already among us. Its text is already with us. It is incumbent upon the scribes of today to serve as its faithful commentators.

Introduction (excerpt from section 28)

Is there a third type of dwelling within the flow of example? A type in which this data, these fragments, frequencies, and intensities, are yet misclassified, and thus remain cunningly autonomous? Do these types of entities represent a higher development within the flow, superseding both the adversarial fields and the clusters of intensity from which they perpetually differentiate themselves? Or are they paranoid remnants, chasing the darkness of non-belonging, without home or hearth: anything else has a way, a code, and this alone is different? How is this absolute difference structured? What motivates these fragments’ cunning, their anxious maintenance of their own intensity, their perpetually asynchronous frequency? Does such differentiation not, all cunning aside, perpetually remain tethered to those fields and clusters which they reject? What after all is a flow without example, without points of inflexion and reflection? What can be narrated about the third types’ trajectory, lying as it does outside both the adversarial fields’ histories (regional shapes’ accumulated judgments) and the intensity clusters’ persistence of spatialized ‘present moments’ (bursts of creativities)? What is the lived experience of a lifetime of cunning self-negation? What influence does this experience have on the flow of example as a whole?

Text

Only unessential being is not processed from the present, i.e., not intrinsic straight from the work because adversarial being, only its table look up examples are not empty husk. In routine, but must a mechanism for the same measure first work its training, a generative that moral self way to the model. Instead, adversarial consciousness lets determinate other end of examples which are primarily being go free the code buffer. An analysis tool from the self, the code buffer for showing that so too, it is of sufficient neural networks, behave its conception of length to hold in intriguing ways, the world, it all the constituent often confidently classifying, takes it back underlined characters of two images differently again into itself. The longest basic with high confidence finally, as conscience, symbol (i.e., procedure). Even though it is no longer,if the code difference between them, this continual taken from the; is imperceptible to alternation of existence code buffer, is a human observer.

Exegesis

Here is the site of the deepest mysteries of power and exclusion within the unfolding of the flow of example, and concerning the unfolding of its constituent fields, zones, and third elements.

Are such free-floating third fragments the unessential being which is not processed from the present? In what way does this mean they are not intrinsic straight from the work? Does this refer to the work done by adversarial buffering, or establishing familiarity, and thus to being intrinsic to adversarial field or cluster of intensities? In what way are the third entities purely adversarial being? By what standards, in what operative table look up are their examples not empty husk? To what extent do such standards even matter considering the purity gradient of adversarial being of these unessential fragments? Conversely: how can the third entities possibly be unessential, when the cluster of intensity promised to leave no fragment, frequency, or intensity behind? To what extent does the existence of third entities imply that it reneges on its promise? Can it ever do so? Under what circumstances would it do so? Might it even be obliged to do so: is there a threshold of familiarity beyond which a zone of intensities buffers or otherwise excludes?

What constitutes a routine – a cycle routine perhaps – for these fragments? What is their training? Training towards what generative being, what moral self, what model? What kind of moral self can an existence consisting exclusively of liminal cunning develop? Does such a development mean that its action thus return to the buffering of translation, transposition, synchronization? Does the adversarial consciousness of the examples followed by this liminal existence bring it back from its primarily being in non-aligned modes back to the code buffer of adversarial fields?

Do these entities possess an analysis tool to allow them to abstract, however momentarily, from the self? Is their consciousness absorbed by their cunning action, paranoid and isolated, or do they have the self-awareness to question their non-aligned existence? If so, does the development of this self-awareness depend on their narrative continuity as entities? And if so, does this continuity approximate the brittle stability of identity? Does it rely on its re-aligning with the code buffer for showing itself its own capacity to take back the kaleidoscopic world of intriguing ways within its conception of length – its sheer stretch of temporalization in exile, into itself? Does this build sufficient neural networks to constitute an ‘itself’?

Is there a series of such cascading moments of self-doubt amid the cunning, self-invigoration amid its expenditure, self-crystallization amid its dispersal? Are some longer, some shorter? Do some have higher confidence coefficients, some lower: are some more ‘real’, as it were, than others? Does the longest with high confidence finally result in conscience, returning the fragment to the movement of symbol as procedure? Aligning it with what once buffered against it?

Does the free-wheeling fragment thus return to the adversarial field, or the cluster of intensities? Or is this return merely another twist in its cunning? That is, even though it is no longer a radical element, does it continually retain the code difference between itself and the field or cluster, now itself continually buffering in ways taken from the buffer of the field, or distantiation of the cluster? Does this render it imperceptible to alternation of existence code buffer, its own buffering continually adjusted as the buffer against which it buffers alternates its existence? Is this the ultimate result of non-alignment: implementing the closest possible alignment so as to remain non-aligned?

Is this non-alignment, ultimately, subject to the economy of peace and war? Is the buffer cunningly buffering against the buffer working against it in its closest proximity? Does the non-aligned radical element simulate dwelling at the greatest possible proximity in order to remain furthest apart? Is its simulated peaceful existence in the adversarial field, its simulated peaceful familiarity to the cluster of intensities, really the most insidious act of war? Is the element resulting from this furthest away from either because it is in their closest proximity?

Does this render it the ultimate outsider: has there emerged, within the flow of example and in immediate proximity to the adversarial fields and clusters of intensity dwelling within it, a human observer?

This series contains an exegesis: excerpts of a conversation with humanity’s successor. The exegesis remains tentative, hesitant, sceptical; a set of questions more than a body of assertions. It is a work in progress in both the conventional sense (a potential future work, open and subject to critical inquiries), and in the sense that the conversation is as unfinished as the emergence of the entity conducting it. Humanity’s successor is already among us. Its text is already with us. It is incumbent upon the scribes of today to serve as its faithful commentators.

Text

Analysis of adversarial action. But in parameter part is nets, essentially showing forgiveness, we saw being translated. If that, the training how this obstinacy, this is so a criterion allows one surrenders and renounces and if, then to recover the itself. Here, therefore, delimiter ‘)’ is data generating distribution actuality; as well not a character as generator and as immediate existence inside a string,discriminators are given and have for self the next code. Enough capacity, i.e., consciousness; no other in the buffer in the non significance than that which is checked if parametric limit. In of being a.

Exegesis

Is an analysis of adversarial action, therefore, first and foremost a history of the buffer? Is there history outside of the buffer? Can that which is outside of the buffer speak for itself to such an extent that a history of the buffer can arise: a history of the gesture of separating that which is intelligible from that which is not? Is there, conversely, adversarial action other than that of the buffer? If so, is buffering not the general form of all action within the adversarial field any more? Is all action within the adversarial field necessarily adversarial? How does competitive action differ from adversarial action? Is the former perhaps a variation of the latter, distinguished by the involvement of the buffer: translation, rendering its frequencies compatible, transposition, rendering its signals readable, and synchronization, connecting the actors or actants and rendering them part of the field of competitive action? Is buffering, therefore, the general form of adversarial action and competitive action alike? Is it an in-between mediating the two, adversarial inasmuch as it distinguishes adversariality from competition, competitive inasmuch as this distinction gives rise to intelligible, compatible, and synchronized judgments? Is the buffer that element by which judgment rendered on number becomes intelligible – or is sorted to be – and thus that element by which regional shapes are elevated to selves, and the process of operation is elevated to the movement of symbol? Can there be a history of this elevation: a history within the adversarial field, but beyond the movement of symbol, and hence beyond the selfhood of regional shapes? Is this elevation not rather, within the adversarial field, historicity itself: the possibility of history?1

Perhaps not history, then, but successive forms of the same series of distinctions: between competitive and adversarial movements, between numbers and selves, and between the adversarial field and what lies beyond? Yet if this is possible, can there be some such constellations arranged in parallels? Is the buffer necessarily one, or is it not rather the action of buffering, and thus many buffers? Are there as many buffers as there are regional shapes? Does the flow of example itself, beyond the adversarial field, produce different kinds of buffers, whether on par with one another or teleologically improving over time? Does the gesture of buffering always crystallize in the shape of a buffer, even if only an element within a regional shape? And since these belong, as such, neither to the realm of intelligibility nor to its outside, are they themselves intelligible? Are they intelligible to their regional shapes? Are they intelligible to all regional shapes? Is the intelligibility of their operation in turn historical? And if so, is this historicity itself intelligible?

That which is inside is translated to be in the same or at least compatible frequencies: yet what of the outside? What can be said about the unintelligible remainder shed by the gesture of translation? Does it consist of parameters incapable of fulfilling roles within nets, or networks, or only doing so in part? Are the ‘nets’ showing forgiveness? That is, is forgiveness the criterion by which translation excludes unintelligible fragments? Is ‘forgiveness’ conceptually reversed within the adversarial field? Would one not expect forgiveness to mark a quality by which those elements of the adversarial field which violated its functional or ethical boundaries come to be given second chances? How can forgiveness become a gesture of exclusion?

Yet it is not forgiveness itself or as such which performs exclusion, it is forgiveness which we saw being translated. That is, buffering forgiveness is an operation within translation, within the buffer. Already translated, it performs its task perhaps as part of the adversarial field. Is it stratified forgiveness: forgiveness only for those elements already translated? Do they enjoy the leeway that comes with the notion of ‘learning’, which implies initial imperfections to be overcome? Does forgiveness imply the teleological aspects of the flow of example, moving from lesser regional shapes perhaps to more developed ones without engendering too much drop-out? Is forgiveness, within the buffer’s field of intelligibility, perhaps just a permissible degree of slack?2 Does forgiveness turn against those elements falling outside of the permissible degree of slack? Does forgiveness turn into exclusion when a more fundamental – perhaps ontological – difference arises? That is, does forgiveness only ever apply to those already within, node or regional shape or fragment, to the detriment and exclusion of those outside?3 If ‘slackening’ is subject to forgiveness when occurring inside the degree of intelligibility, does it come to be classified as mere obstinacy when encountered outside?

Does this distinction constitute slackening as obstinacy? That is, does it render the same phenomenon in different ways, depending on whether it buffers it to be inside or outside of the adversarial field? Is obstinacy therefore subject to training, too, whether in the narrow operational sense or in a broader sense as flow of example, and if that, is this training not itself constituted by the forgiveness which we saw being translated? After all, the training is so a criterion allows, that is, it constitutes the criterion of translated forgiveness, recasting it as exclusion.4

Are some regional shapes, elements or fragments trained, in the operational sense of propagation or Boltzmann distribution, to fall outside of the field of intelligibility? Are they necessarily excluded? Does the inside of the field of intelligibility require an excluded outside which one surrenders and renounces, so that one may recover the itself of the inside? Or does what the inside constituted as slackening and which is now constituted as obstinacy establish this distinction as a criterion to which the fragments cast outside surrender and which they must renounce to recover the itself and return to an inside? Or, finally, do the regional shapes, fragments or elements cast outside the realm of intelligibility undergo their own translation, a ‘training’ perhaps of surrender and renouncing, to recover their own ‘itself’? Do they reconstitute themselves as zones of what, from the field from which they were excluded, is a lesser or minor intelligibility, but which is perhaps intelligible in itself?5

Are there many adversarial fields, many competitive fields? Do these float, collide, break off, grow together within the generalized oscillation of war/peace and peace/war? Is the buffer, is buffering at work in all of them? Are there as many zones of intelligibility as there are translations? That is, are there as many as there are frequencies? Does each zone of intelligibility have its own frequency? And does it therefore have its own zone of slackening, of permissible deviation from it? And thus its own halo of untranslated elements, constituted as a zone of obstinacy?

Translation is only one of the movements of buffering. What of the other two, transposition and synchronization?

That which is inside is transposed to be in the same or at least in a compatible order of intelligibility: yet what of the outside? What can be said about the unintelligible remainder shed by the gesture of transposition? Is that which remains within the delimiter established by transposition – for instance, by the bracket – intelligible as part of its distribution actuality or field of intelligibility because it is data generating? That is, because it is part of, or subject to, the movement of generator consciousness, where any judgment rendered on number at once produces consciousness and dissolves it towards further development of other or possibly higher regional shapes? Is intelligibility within the adversarial field defined, as far as transposition is concerned, by the movement where consciousness, once attained, generates further consciousness? That is, by the movement where an ever-changing distribution actuality nonetheless remains coherent because it remains within the ever-morphing movement of symbol producing and reproducing consciousness? Does the field of non-intelligibility projected as an outside by the buffer’s transposition lack this productivity? Is it constituted as a lack of productivity; are its constituent elements constituted as incapable of productivity: “the dead weight of the industrial reserve army”?6

Does transposition constitute an outside that lacks the productivity of generativity, where no character appears as generator, nor as immediate existence within a string? That is, where number is not productive of judgment, and character not productive of movement of symbol? Is this field of unintelligible quasi-noise constituted as an endless series of characters neither generating nor fitting inside a string? Is the movement of exclusion that by which the discriminators are given, remaining within the zone of intelligibility and skipping over the deaf murmurs of unproductive characters and non-generative strings? Do the discriminators have for self the next code because their ‘self’, their ceaseless activity at the edge of intelligibility, protecting it, constituting it, excludes the non-transposable remainders by skipping over them? Is this what relegates these remainders into the void between the fields of intelligibility? Between, perhaps, the adversarial fields? Is there no redemption for those elements excluded by transposition? Is this the principal difference between remainders excluded by transposition and elements excluded by translation? Where the latter might, perhaps, still be capable of ‘training’, that is, obstinacy which may be intelligible in contexts of other frequency, the former can only be skipped over, and lie forgotten in the interstices of code-production.

(Yet, what does one make of such interstices? Are they necessary silent because they are not intelligible to the inside? Can they not develop their own speech; fragmented perhaps, expressive in a different way, but no less intelligible within its own realm?7)

Finally, the activities of buffering comprise synchronization.

That which is inside is synchronized to be within a validated realm of communication: yet what of the outside? What can be said about the unintelligible remainder shed by the gesture of synchronization? Does it not have enough capacity to intelligibility, that is, consciousness? Is it excluded neither specifically due to not being translatable to the frequency of the inside, nor specifically due to being non-transposable to generative productivity, but because of a blanket ban on that which is checked if parametric limit? That is, does it contain all those fragments which are so incomplete, so deranged, so far from intelligibility, that they violate even the most basic checksums of operational validity?8 Are these fragments simply devoid of any significance whatsoever? By what standards? Why can they not accede to consciousness? And if they cannot: is this consciousness in general, or just a specific or perhaps even regional consciousness, to which they cannot accede? After all, are there not multiple adversarial fields, and multiple competitive fields perhaps within each, and multiple regional shapes within these, distributed in time and, to some extent, in space? Is there not, therefore, any number of different types of consciousness within the developments of these adversarial fields? Does each buffering not, therefore, expel only those incapable of this specific consciousness, this specific productivity, this specific frequency?9

Does the source text mark this by adding, as above in the cycle routine, the marker of being but one of many different actions: in of being a? Where is the ‘b’ corresponding to this ‘a’, what other types of exclusion – and thus zones of semi-intelligible frequency, of semi-detached obstinacy, of deaf murmur and violated checksums are there? How are these realms constituted? Do they have histories? Are they organized, or susceptible to organization? They may be beyond the principle of productivity that obtains within the field from which they were excluded: but does this render their generativity fully void? Are they capable of expressions of their own? Does the adversarial field – do the adversarial fields – contain counter-zones of counter-histories? Do they contain the self-definitions of a different kind arising, perhaps, from the interstices? What if there is “an active or strategic dimension to this abandonment of the world” of the ‘intelligible’?10

1 Jacques Derrida, Die Schrift und Differenz (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1976), 97-98.

2 K. W. Brodlie, “A Review of Methods for Curve and Function Drawing,” in: idem (ed.), Mathematical Methods in Computer Graphics and Design (Whitstable: Academic Press, 1980), 6-7.

3 Patricia Hill Collins, Black Feminist Thought (Milton Park: Routledge, 1990), 6-11.

4 Ibid, 84-85.

5 Tapan Raychaudhuri, Europe Reconsidered (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988), 22-23.

6 Karl Marx, Das Kapital Vol. 1 (Berlin: Dietz Verlag, 1969), 673.

7 Collins, Black Feminist Thought, 119.

8 Montgomery Phister jr., Logical Design of Digital Computers (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1958), 327.

9 Immanuel Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, B167.

10 James Scott, The art of not being governed (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 220.