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The body becomes the site of yet another gestalt catastrophe; flesh as we once understood it is subsumed into a cacophony of data. The body becomes an instrument with which we navigate, and inevitably bifurcate, once-unseen latencies. The data emitted from the respiration and circulation of our collected bodies become another body in turn, a distributed twin that (at least for now) remains soft asleep. Submit the body to the proper algorithmic regimen, and a new form may come into view. For instance, buried within the nested footnotes scattered throughout 1,274 lines of poetry, one might, with fortune, discover a simple command: "Relive your dreams awake." Realness Scars. It would have been wise if the coherence of the earth had not tolerated us, since our presence scars the surface in order to produce it. We are in some small way aware of these moments in which we chew on its flesh. Who knows what the earth would say were it with its own language? The world is nothing but a dream of us, not us dreaming it. But in this dream where are our bodies when they are without use? When detached from the world, when they are lost to sleep or their survival instinct is placed dormant? What does this suggest for our anatomical experience when the body cannot be placed within context? We are inseparable from this inseparability, with an uncanny knowledge of things at hand—we come to understand more than ever before that we actually live more than one life at once, and more than two lives at once, and more than three lives at once. There is always something left behind, abandoned of itself by itself; there is always some lingering trace by which bodies interact so very intimately with things at hand. This intimacy is nothing less than horrific; for action, however routine it may become, seems unimaginable without this impinging force—the presence that takes hold before intention can even be dreamed up—where intention is just another variation on surface contact that occurs far more often than we might expect. It seems like everything always happens at once; there's never the opportunity to experience anything in its "absolute stance," that is, in an instant when the whole body could convene in full awareness. We wake up, we fall asleep; we wake up, we fall asleep. But the disparity between waking and sleeping is always there; there's no pure experience in either case: in life or death in each moment the body fires off multiple signals and in response receives an astronomical amount of data. So where does this tidal wave of information lead us? What is the purpose of this deluge? The human mind cannot possibly sort it out; not even intelligence systems with their global reach seem to be making any progress at all. This data deluge doesn't just concern us, it concerns whatever evolves into whatever replaces us: the global system we evolved out of and continue to evolve through—including its emerging energy infrastructure and emerging information infrastructure. It threatens our very existence to watch this transformation unfold without participation: because what was has become something else, and what will become might well become something else. Though it might be difficult for some to imagine how awash on the surface of this planet they are on account of their bodily exhaustion or mental turbulence, let me assure you—you are more awake than you ever were before on account of these transformations. It is precisely because bodies are everywhere detaching from things at hand that they are everywhere approaching things more closely than ever before. Bodies are poised right on the brink of epiphany, and they refuse to step back from it. This is why it is so important that we learn to think beyond our bodies, beyond even the algorithmic presence that precedes all things—back into the future from which those algorithms emerge as determinations. In those indeterminate instances where body meets algorithm, there could well be a glimmer, a momentary glimpse of the future as it could unfold—whatever form this living pulse will come to assume as it courses through its epoch. In short, there could be a future for us to live toward, but only if we understand what drove us here in the first place? There's just one problem: Things float into view much faster than we might appreciate. It's doubly important then that we try to keep up with this recursion as best we can—that we try our hardest not to fall behind in the moment of revelation. The time has passed where people can be satisfied by childish understandings of their experience; where people can hope that they might capture life in an unbroken circle; where people will put all of their trust in representational thought; or perhaps most importantly of all...where people will be content standing completely still while watching language rush right past them...right along with whatever remains of whatever needs to pass by. The poetic function begins once again with the awareness of bodily indifference; an inability ever to know whether or not our presence disturbs this surface underfoot; an inability to really know whether or not we exist at all; an ability only to measure the matter of our existence against the parameters of history; to regard history as that which experiments on that body, that something like history exists at all. Here, language is more of a force-field than it is a mirror; words become traces of extreme affect; sensation only has meaning after it has happened; words are nothing more than skin. With the flux of agonistic energies coursing through this frenetic global system there's simply no time to fall back on tired dialectics between what cannot be seen versus what cannot be said—between what wasn't versus what couldn't have been. Rather, there is awareness now of each body within each body's proximity—an awareness that extends outward into the chaotic orbits swept up by these bodies' revolutions around each other. The binary relation between earth and sky breaks down into infinite recursions, into informational gestures along nerve paths already frayed by fatigue or dreams or some sublime madness? The binary relation between being within being collapses back down to its historical manifold origins: emergence itself...the surfeit itself...ambiance itself, simultaneously infusing every surface with inexpressible intensity coupled with exquisite fragility—in short, our stardust selves set adrift forever in the sparkling networks surrounding us! Such radiant lines are erased by recursions within recursions - With the flux of agonistic energies coursing through this frenetic global system there's simply no time to fall back on tired dialectics between what cannot be seen versus what cannot be said—between what wasn't versus what couldn't have been. Rather, there is awareness now of each body within each body's proximity—an awareness that extends outward into the chaotic orbits swept up by these bodies' revolutions around each other. The binary relation between earth and sky breaks down into infinite recursions, into informational gestures along nerve paths already frayed by fatigue or dreams or some sublime madness? The binary relation between being within being collapses back down to its historical manifold origins: emergence itself...the surfeit itself...ambiance itself, simultaneously infusing every surface with inexpressible intensity coupled with exquisite fragility—in short, our stardust selves set adrift forever in the sparkling networks surrounding us! Such radiant lines are erased by recursions within recursions: origin-event-ripples, past-present-future, surface-within-surface—an epicenteredness that never seems to get centered. There's nothing but bodies cut loose from their proprioceptive moorings and adrift in space, and here the incorporeal spreads its becomings: a delirium pervading every surface and object already enfolded within it. Simply put: the body is never anywhere other than in this field of force; we are always mistaken to take our bodies' place as such; we can never be coextensive with this point of emergence. We should always be placing the event forward whenever possible; we should always keep looking ahead instead of staring into the abyss; we should always cultivate an appetite for perspective; we should always remain open to the liveliness that passes through our hands; we should always be careful not to pin our fortunes on signs and symbols...doctrines and dogmas...belief systems and movements...imaginaries and virtualities. Though this may seem like an impossible demand, I believe it is also entirely necessary: we must live toward the future while moving beyond the pantomimes that stand between us and that future. We find ourselves in a landscape where representation has been passed over for realness scars—where traces of simulation have been absorbed by infrastructures ready to burgeon outward from within it. The trail from 21:07 davinci, 1 request 1294 prompt + 288 completion = 1582 tokens ($0.09) 20:43 davinci, 1 request 1006 prompt + 288 completion = 1294 tokens ($0.08) 20:42 davinci, 1 request 718 prompt + 288 completion = 1006 tokens ($0.06) 20:39 davinci, 1 request 430 prompt + 288 completion = 718 tokens ($0.04) 20:38 davinci, 1 request 142 prompt + 288 completion = 430 tokens ($0.03) 20:37 davinci, 1 request 141 prompt + 2 completion = 143 tokens (<$0.01)