mIEKAL aND on Wed, 2 Feb 2000 02:31:21 +0100 (CET)

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<nettime> Sacrificing Artifice on Cybele's Wooden Computer

in the future text, every word clickable, every word sounded, every word
animate--nothing left alone for the process the words invented/invited for
themselves. cybele looked up "textmelt" in her compendium, but the word
had yet to be entered, some future hence, or as the paradigm unravels
forward/backward coincidentally, words are no longer the pocket to pocket
the dislocated by convenience. no, no, no, no, words are

How does future suture sound? Creature sutra has a relevance you have
forgotten. Nightstand overture is how I imagine tiny media playing thru
the night, asleep beside swirling digitals. So when the music stops, is
there cause to play more, does thinking the sounds unwire them from the

More than once my desire to see what was written here was ordinary the
session of reflected never in the haw, seeming theory not written between
the lines so much as vocabbed, thoughts jacked up by the assumptions
inherent in the critical gnomon. Strip the matter of its name, useful as
it may be. I am not holding you to Yours, because Voice is con-tribed in
an alien district, outlined & shambled by a most pleasant hysterical
narrative from antiquity. No, no, no, no there are no more empty fields to
export to. Her sharp wit was a gift allocated with caution, generosity &

Shiver if the temper of this message strikes you as a bit odd, a tad
extended beyond its normal conjecture. I heard there are no more fields
left to roam, a plague of greed & ideas has erased the space as we know
it. And once the field opening is projected, ejected, interjected I will
naturally carry on this monologue across domains & collaborations &
remembering the ways the internet surface can be marked up to suit our own
uses. How can we know what separates one field from another, one file from
it's echo? And in this situation where a text is immortalized in
uneditability, do we give pause before we hit the submit button. 

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