The mark opens thought by interrupting its flow. Everything, and nothing: at the impossible origin of language, there is the strange project of a proper classification — of noise.
Of grammatalogy we have still understood so little — and even less of the strange warnings of its’ foremost alchemists. As always the letter cannot help but open itself. It presents, in its “late” way, the entire process of language — geologically, and even, as it were transparently. A strange delusion, perhaps. Nonetheless, it is as though the noise organized itself. Not autopoesis, perhaps, but polyphony.
Why is a letter en-folded, why do we emphasize this openness, this self-opening of the letter — that it opens itself simply by being presented? The letter opens, and is folded back, because it produces a fault — it forbids comprehension, a mark. Demanding only precise resonance, articulation, repetition. And hence also perhaps nothing more than this hinge, this opaque window, an identification whose essence is rigorous exclusion. An ancient and rigorous discipline, and boundary upon which an imperceptible and unbelievable transformation takes place. Everything, and nothing…
A source, a scar. We glimpse in this strange “as one” a principle without principles. Nothing can become everything, and everything — nothing. There can never be enough joy, Spinoza said. So, perhaps this, too, is another opening of the letter, that message from me to you, so that “this” can begin — this becoming-human of the letter. A welcome, and perhaps an apology.
I would like to stop here and take a moment to thank Taylor Adkins, Sid Littlefield, and all the wonderful thinkers, artists, writers and engaged readers we’ve met during our time here at Fractal Ontology. Our joy for our work has been multiplied, and we could not begin to list all the sources, just as we could not begin to express our gratitude. Thank you.