the letter lost

hear me now–> simulation

“In presenting itself it becomes effaced, in being sounded it dies away…[thus language] admit[s] a game where whoever loses wins and where one wins and loses each time.” (derrida, “differance”)

collision the crossing a simulation and sand

i am so broken hearted over simulation. you will come to know it if you listen to me. me, i sure do love to swim, but i tire so easily in the tumultuous sea. the ocean’s beauty to me is the laying together of pile and wave. the sand lies under the water but does not support it, in fact the sand is crushed in the relationship. in to bits. soft bits. these soft bits watch toss and lay with the ocean water, which crashes and slides, and even in places might float suspended on the sand. there is sand with out water and water with out sand, both nice. but their joining is beauty.

i take refuge on the sand from my thrashings handed me by the sea.

simulation is a sea. along the ontological shoreline of existence, our axes of sand and those of water, i wander. take off my cover, to take swim.

–
a good reader acts
is feeling an act?

when reading especially aloud i feel it and then express it more clearly. less like an automaton. can feeling be harnessed so easily?

is it all a pretense? might very well all be this set of set of electrical pulses. baudrillard’s //simulation// in //the matrix//. a film which predicts our tech-turn pretty well. walk down a street, sit in a room, live in a love life with person who exist through the screen. i mean sounds like a “residual self image, mental perception of digital self” what morpheus speaks from. the revolution now must use the segmentary lines of the regime to hack it, to phreak it, to scramble the symbol. to re-territorialise the digital pretense.

but is pretense a part of the reterritorialization? of course. keanu reeves THE ONE, is not a signal to honesty, an orientation sans pretense. but he wants to touch ground back on the sand from the sea. we need firm ground from which to leap. else we would experience constant free fall. …is vertigo the fear of constant free fall, the leap…

is feeling an act? devotion always bears with it doubt. the doubt confronts our anxiety over pretense…the illusion that is ever-present. one cannot be bothered by our acting. but how is it that we act?
what ethics of jouissance will propagate a society of these actors? what is at stake is not the way we desire things–always doubt and devotion, ocean and sand, simulation and baring…
what is at stake is what we take joy in.

–

our deserted apparition and suspended architecture

when we take joi in the veil, simulation.

from baudrillard’s, “simulations simulacra,” we find language and concepts:

-desert of the real, that we value the map over against its origination. follows a fable, so let’s agree the starting place is in borges. his “exactitude in science” tells when the cartographers perfected geography to eliminate the scale. no longer must you read a map by first translating your map, through its scale, to the experience it sought to explain and dissect. e.g. enplace mile markers and inform you like a scout what’s behind the bend beyond where your eyes cannot see out ahead. they created a map that matched the coordinates, the where of their living point for point. life-sized. difficult to fold,

in borges’ fable, the succeeding generations are not seduced, they find this map cumbersome to carry. they dismiss it “for the rigors of sun and rain”

but in baudrillard’s representation, it is reality (avant map) that crumbles. the authentic loses conceptual ground. our world-space becomes a process of resignification. gps mapping devices, personal profiles, let me google that for you, –the accedence of the map, marks a slide

-this sliding is consumption, “a manipulation of signs”

which can be beautiful. it is the recreative ability, the fertility of our being, transfigured through language. it is a fundamental aspect of language, to evolve. but there is more than our ability to simply regenerate a sign. our ontology is not language alone. but what in language we are attempting to signify.

in the minefield, where there is no obligation for our utterances, expressions to reference any thing practicable, beyond the next moment–except of course on a server’s amass of cached sites–human relations are replaced almost hysterically with a relation to objets. i say hysterical in the way that a commodity’s concrete appearance, its tangibility, serves as a temporary (and always inadequate) stand in for the solid human connection that is gone. our expression of what we want is hiding some thing.

hiding some thing, though, often works if we do not care to probe deeper. like the cover up of guernica. when colin powell spoke the the u.n. attempting to convince them to aid a new u.s.-iraqi war, the decision was made to place a sheet over picasso’s anti-way mural which initially hung in the television frame of his speech. in our culture of consumption, to cover up an objet that is known to be there in effect does cancel out its existence–if we cease to see it, touch it, sense it–that is, to know that it is there without investing effort in its interpretation/revelation/analysis. so, unless it is there only per routinized modes of expression and interpretation–it ceases to be there.
better to let the news story of its cover-up get out; “cover up” doesnt matter in the ethos that asserts and encourages all, that all is a cover-up…for nothing exists but our covers.

this is the victory of consumption logic.
that we are only our covers.

but i know we are more than our covers.

–

i am quite weak for the question. to question asserts at least a temporary position. i am intrigued as in attracted to your position. may be this is narcissism. to wish for glimpses of the material. chew on the side of your cheek to know it is there. pinch your self, this is real.

the pressure of the hypermodern is to deny the material irruption of our selves (i.e. our position) that challenges the capital vision of somnambulent living

in that consumption no longer places any obligation for our language/actions to reference any thing, we swim unendingly. our waves crashing against the sand, deterritorialization-cum-reterritorialization never comes to be. suspended in the sea, all waters turn eternally. without end. what is never de- and not re- is but an undetermined (certainly un self-determined) entity

the intensification of our voidal vacuum on one virtual hand and the vertiginous comportment from such rapid re-spinning… gives one fever. the pressure builds and as hughes warns in “harlem” about the dream deferred, we set our selves to explode.

–

the serpentine slippage

my dream goes beyond differance…

differance, derrida’s, with an “a”.

his new word creates this concept. he is deconstructing the structure that de saussure built for our successive studiers of linguistics. he blasts metaphysics for its violent demanding of us a presence. presence, here and now, has just left the building. in language, presence is impossible.

this is due to differ a nce. which he explains as constitutive of two processes, time and space. he highlights how language manipulates time and space.

let us start with space. there is difference in language. this is de saussure’s principle that language is valued through negation. we know clearer in language when we know not. this is our k-n-o-t. we signal better with a word to a hearer who sees clearly how this word is not an other word; when i hear you say love i might understand you closer if i know love in relational difference to lust, for example. our signalling itself, is most effective the more we recognize a difference between the signal and the concept it signifies. for example, ever talk to a child in early language development? the point is key to expression–that is, the child needs a material, physical connection (the finger point) to the objet/concept which she is expressing (the breast). both speaker and hearer in this relationship are often challenged in frustration; the speaker does not yet perceive most clearly a difference between signal and concept, the hearer is unable to interpret the objet signalled in the speaker’s pointing with out their spatial proximity.

we lose spatial proximity in language. when we speak here is displaced.

differ -ance affects time and space. and so on to time, there is deferral in language. our understanding, from speaking to hearer, takes a linearity to unfold. this linerarity is the passage of moments in succession. this is de saussure’s second principle of linguistics. unlike the nautical flags on a ship, which must not be read in any particular order to get it, our language requires left to right, right to left, order, our phonemes are heard in their unsounding. the sounds all at once we could not comprehend. thus, when i speak “now,” it has always already passed.

–

let not this virtuality trick us to yearn for an ever-present moment.

BUT also let us not instantiate a lack, a cut, to cruelly set our incompleteness into a rehearsal.

AND what if difference is a simulation. and so it is present in presence. presence is also distance.

AND
what if deferral is a lie. we seem to wait. to understand. but may be this is our reluctance to embrace a wisdom that does not stand on top (understand), that cannot be proved. we seem to wait, but tralfalmodorians don’t think so. instead of our procession of beginnings and endings, these moments, they can see moments all at once, forming giant collage. in //slaughterhouse 5// vonnegut writes of the tralfalmadorians,
“It is an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone it is gone forever….When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in bad condition in that particular moment, but that same person is just fine in plenty of other moments.”

might eternal recurrence lead us to vigor and not a tralfalmodorian, ‘So it goes.’

i can open my self to the beautiful indifference of the world. unlike camus says, this indifference is not gentle. if i let it master me, i will be taken for quite a ride. if i try to master it, i will lead a life of constant consumption in my simulation. i want instead to walk hand in hand along the shoreline.
–

some might think that when the sight of the world dims, we reach to the spark of dream

n’est pas tout pres, mais loin… veux dire, que on voit est imaginaire,
like derrida writes, “In presenting itself it becomes effaced, in being sounded it dies away.”
with out you, things are different now,
but as now as i can make it said

a sight before drowning

–
i am looking for some thing. where is it. i will search until i find thee. this is the lack that propels endless desire. endless until it ends. you hold it, have stolen it. must i chase you across the world and beyond.

it’s not you unless it is you. who long to pretend that it is until the simulation becomes all that we do.

can’t suspend the disbelief that the coincidences mean some thing. can’t stop doubting the simulation, the pretense is present. (derrida’s whole insight with differance is that the present, presence, is a simulation of objet petit a in our language–that is, presence is impossible in language, yet we chase it in our history of metaphysics. this chase is violent.)

that the coincidences mean some thing. well, they do. they mean you are thinking. you are there, observing. it is your concept, your dunes which note the space of one moment to an other–to demarcate a measure to be an incident, an event is told, past tense, an object dead; it is your concept of time, your marking of beginning and end, to think duration is a parade of men.

but this meaning, even if it is moored-yours, is there. affects and effects. the world is dialectical. own your meaning, your simulations. else, untethered, simulation is dangerous. it apes and plays the villain in a nihilistic drive to destroy and depress.

now yours, you, are not some transcendental principle of unity. unshifting, nor god; you are a phantom. better, the sand castle. you easily wash away when meeting ocean. precisely, in order to be built, the sand needs water to be applied. simulation is a part of me. you. but too much water and you and me fall away indistinguishably into the sea.

that the coincidences mean some thing. they do, they mean we connect in accidental and willful ways. their complex intertwining is impossible to be untwined.

pour pincer au rayons festonnant les arbres aux abois.
to pluck at the rays festooning the baying trees
the sound is subtle and soft
like wind in the leaves that it lost

in their loss they can’t rustle or whip
the wind’s fickleness misses its chime
and the light sits eluding your grip,
the wood a warm fabric too brittle to untwine.

that the coincidences mean some thing. so why do i doubt that they do? well, i don’t know. but the point is that i’m broken hearted. and this is not from doubt, which is beautifully terrifying. devotion will always bear with it doubt. but true love does not mean a broken heart. i am broken hearted that you leave me on the sand to jump into the sea. stay with me.

may be this seems a preposterous offense. well, i am not judging you for any crime. i am a weak fearful creature. under the sand, i will be unable to rescue you from the waves, goodbye.