The Inadequate , Somatic Ghosting , Targum worn down, wearing out http://www.alansondheim.org/mohole.jpg http://www.alansondheim.org/mohole.mp4 I used to think the world is all that is the case. Whatever that world is, I thought it. The case was closed. The case fissured on the Planck constants. The case collapsed on the multiverse. That there was a world, that the word was embodied. The spread of the world-word is infinite dissipation. Infinite dissipation might as well collapse. The word was replete, fecund. That there was ontology. Ontology is a useless myth, only good with temporary constructs. Look around. That there were ontologies. Same as above, cases, structures, patterns, arguments. That information was everywhere among the world. Stop idolizing the digital and its local pooling. That there was a case. Set up your brackets and saw-horses, chain your language. It seems that rupture and disintegration of world and mind interfere with any imminent assessment. That now, what is ontology carries little meaning, that the world is far too fluid, too immense for any generalities. The world is my failure, of it, mine, all otherness. That there are streams of particles and their decompositions. Somatic ghostings, flesh, who's wryting this, readerless? That there are commonalities among them. My definition by the set of their intersections of descriptions. That ontology itself is suspect. Ontology tends, no?, towards the fundamental; the fundamental tends towards containers; containers tend towards exclusions; failures everywhere, plug the leak, leak the plugs! That the hardening of objects is a simulacrum. That they soften into somatic ghosts, what invisible and fragile histories among us. That for organisms, projections and negations occur. For nothing at all, or moments of inadequacy, most likely failure. As if they occurred within or without them. Always as if, failure of this and every other analysis. That slipping away is generated from within. Slipping away is generated nowhere, is the arena of the real, the chora, the arena and chora slipping away, already ... That the tenuous appears falsely as stasis. That it is always all the moment of inextricable decay. That these livings and their labels are disappearing. That this is always that, somatic ghosting. That there are no replacements for replacements. That somatic ghosting is the basin slipping away. That there are no places or moments of origins. That somatic ghosting is the slipping away of somatic ghosting. That song has always already disappeared. That ghosts of all soundings are always present, prescient. That song which is the open circumlocution of consonants. That the song is always tuneless, out of tune, ghosting. That my I is useless and has always been useless. Nothing is of use in the chasmos of the cosmos. That the complexity of the world is the complexity of complexity. That nothing escapes tensors. That there is no you who must follow there is no me into the lack of wilderness and wildness. That nothing escapes tensors. Sometime early I divided the world into MAP, material- abstract-phenomenological ontologies, stratifications, and interrelationships. Sometime I considered nothing more than particles as processes and their epistemologies. Nothing more is nothing less, somatic ghosting, perhaps 'as far as we're concerned,' there's that concern, that failure, that impetus. It's all in there, structures and their forgotten existences and ontologies. Nothing's in their, fissures and absence of annotations. So much seemed unnecessary. So much seemed unnecessary. Now the language, languaging itself seems inadequate, nor is the world a simulacrum which just removes the participant a step beyond its current inadequacy. Dying, I'm giving up the ghost, giving up my ghost, giving my ghost to you; dying, my failure as well is incomplete. Always a reach, as if the inadequate were itself organic, organism releasing the beyond as an adequate horizon. Inadequacy is just a term with nothing left to lose, nothing, insipid horizon. Nothing is fundamental, the blooming buzzing confusing lies at the heart of the case-loads of ontologies. There's no fundamental because no structure, no patterns, except what exacerbates at the level of thinging and ringing, always nothing to be mined there. It's everywhere the wrong question, wrong solution. It's saturation, continuous and creeping annihilation. It's everywhere the wrong language, wrong substrate. Particulate matter, nothing matters, 'nothing matters, anymore.' It's everywhere deflection and the inadequacy of reach. It's catatonic failure, ptsd failure, burrowing failure, somatic ghosting, clinician's depression, loss of absent affect... It's everywhere the inadequacy of thought and language. I e t i o t a l. Philosophy resides in the rubble of the world, walks in the rubble of the world, produces, in the rubble of the world. The inadequacy of reach. The failure. The failure as a category. The failure as the falling away of evanescent delineations. The failure as the shadow and thoughtlessness of the body. The failure is not a category, failure ghosts category, failure splatters, denudes category, failure corrupts, corrodes, category. There is no world that is the case, no case. Failure leaves nothing behind but also leaves nothing before. That that is inadequacy. Would be emptied of dreamwork. That philosophy is always already failure, that philosophy is always ready. Would be emptied of ghosts and the flesh of ghosts, of the ghosts of flesh and bodies, of accountancies buried in the desert. Open sets and the dimensions of thought always ragged at the edges, these words written as lettered particles, already releasing the inhering failure of the word. The word neither success nor failure, the word wounded, dying, the word beside itself, language extinct, musculature and genetic coding no longer working, having never worked. Or rather, nothing touching anything because nothing reaches, among the ragged, the rubble, the baroque interconnections and failures among the material, the abstract, the phenomenological, all of which, even now this one thinks, these schemes are processes, fractal at best, chaotic at better, murmur, and then stillness, inadequate, out of reaching, inadequacy, failure, reaching, open sets, and open. The rococo with the pressure on the eyes, tinnitus explanation of the real. A gesture is always open. a gesture is always thrown. An aphorism succeeds to the extent it fails. The gesture succeeds to the extent it fails to beckon. The aphorism and gesture fail in the sense of proper names. The gesture and aphorisms are the lines of last defense, trench warfare losing the ground it's attempted to dig up - corpses, bodies, bones, head and mouths, what you want, you're already on the side of the somatic ghost, disappearance before ontology. New categories of the thwarted, the forgotten, the absent. Useless categories, useless structures, patterns. New categories of the failed, the unreachable, the untoward. The idiotic real, yes, but the obscenity of that from the last breath. Rewritten categories of the spilled chora. The choral ghost, choral steam, choral diffusion, think of them out there, unimaginable, inadequate, failures, unreturning. The chora of steam, the diffused chora. The chorus of death in steam and diffusion, the hearkening of the eyes. The unfulfillment of thirst and hunger. Precise fulfillment of thirst and hunger. The world is all that is the category of the unnameable. There is no category. Nothing is beyond the categories of the ungraspable. There are no categories. Nothing beckons the categories. There is nothing to be categorized. That their ontology is diffuse, uncategorical. That there is no ontology. That their ontology is beyond their grasp. That there is no grasp. The failure of inadequacy, the inadequacy of failure. Diffusion of inadequacy, you can almost smell it. Diffusion of failure, you can almost taste it. The diffuse failure of ontology and ontologies. We don't know that. The collapse of the copula and inadequate identifications. We don't know that. We were used to there used to be a world. The gesture which points across and towards plateaus and denuded forests, meadows, oceans, and deserts. The gesture which thoughtlessly pointed around a hill towards game on the other side, the megafauna gone as well. The brutality of broken philosophies. The dullness of philosophies and philosophers. The brutality of the copula. The inadequacy of computation. ontology: the k-not of the inadequate. epistemology: the inadequacy of the k-not. the k-not of: the possession. the grasp. the maw. Forget these categories, they slink around each other. Maws devouring maws, useless enumerations. Failures because we're somewhere in the world we think or thoughtless, think. for if it's definable, it's definable qua immersive. and if it's immersive, it's inadequate. what is left behind is fossils in transit. what has occurred is the trace of a trace, a fossil. the tendency of the fractured fossil, its annihilation. its annihilation as a trace of a trace of absence. information has always been lost; what is preserved is the inadequate. The inadequate preserved? As what? somatic ghost? Surely you're kidding? The gap sutured by the rumble of thunder? The bound gap? the gap is sutured by rubble; rubble decoheres by virtue of the gap. The gap which is all there is, no fissure, no walls, no potential wells, no annihilations. there is always the coherer of the spectral radio. the upwelling of noise is the exhaustion and spread of power; the structure of noise is the reconstruction of sinter. what hardens, dissolves; what dissolves is dissolute; what is dissolute is soluble; what is soluble decoheres. Because: "I used to think I used to think. "That there were worlds and cases; that there were cases and scaffolds. "That whoever understands this recognizes neither this nor that. "That neti neti, recognizes not both this nor that. "That not other among others. For a moment there are ladders. "That For a moment we are gone among non-existent worlds." Among the rubble of the incalculable. There are problems with identities, equivalences, zeros and ones, Among the poverty and annihilation of the word. Among the destroyed ontology of the word, all this for us is immersed in all-this for-us. All this is always already gone, the world is always already, is never ready, was never so much as that striation of becoming or transformation. Incalculable, irretrievable, non-existent, the thud of here. Non-existent no more than any non-other, the thud of here and there. We are decompositions among other decompositions. As if there were compositions. We are already gone in the gap, the spectral, the incalculable, the rubble, the non-existent, the useless ladders, the lack, the reachlessness, the inadequate - As if there were spectra, gaps, calculations, earthworks, existences, ladders and patterns and structures, fulfillments, sutures, the inadequate - as if there were inadequacies or failures - "Our brutality of the copula, our couplings, being uncoupled, our uncoupling of being, our simulacra of simulacra of possessions, our failure of misunderstanding." 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