META-NOMAD

No Mirror No More

“The objective man who no longer curses and grumbles like the pessimist, the ideal scholar, in whom the scientific instinct after thousands of total and partial failures all of a sudden comes into bloom and keeps flowering to the end, is surely one of the most valuable of implements there are, but he belongs in the hands of someone more powerful. He is only a tool, we say. He is a mirror – he is no “end in himself.” The objective man is, in fact, a mirror: accustomed to submit before everything which wishes to be known, without any delight other than that available in knowing and “mirroring back” – he waits until something comes along and then spreads himself out tenderly so that light footsteps and the spiritual essences slipping past are not lost on his surface and skin. What is still left of his “person” seems to him accidental, often a matter of chance, even more often disruptive, so much has he become a conduit and reflection for strange shapes and experiences. He reflects about “himself” with effort and is not infrequently wrong. He readily gets himself confused with others. He makes mistakes concerning his own needs, and it’s only here that he is coarse and careless. Perhaps he gets anxious about his health or about the pettiness and stifling atmosphere of wife and friend or about the lack of companions and society – indeed, he forces himself to think about his anxieties: but it’s no use! His thoughts have already wandered off to some more general example, and tomorrow he knows as little as he knew yesterday about how he might be helped.” – Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 207

Oh but what of the subjective man, the nu-man of the latest years! Who grumbles and whines like a sordid lamb, blithering to and fro attending to its delicate wool and mutton. An ideal scholar no more, but a pitiful researcher tumbling into the destitute forever of the internet, pulling data and e-ink around in a whirlwind of self-obsessed conformity. Nothing no but agreement with the self. No bloom, no Spring, no Summer – in fact, no season at all for he to live within, only a stagnant existence of identity and the tug of each and every social whim. Nietzsche speaks of a mirror, a mirror that no longer exists as far as I can see. The reflection acts a way to see that one is not an end in himself but a labyrinth of mirrors, ducts and chambers splaying out into a willed infinity. But of course, the mirror was shattered, I know not when, only that each fragment of its death has been taken away, most likely chained the bottom of the deepest ocean – objectivity death as the mirror shatters – No more ‘mirroring back’ only continual self, identity and progress, without the reactionary reflection of he who can see he’s but a flesh, there can be no real progress, only a dainty skipping into miserable weakness. The new man does no spread himself, nor act upon himself, no. He directs himself to a supposed causal linearity towards which is his most politically dutiful desires…he thinks. Virtue, hedonism, liberation, emancipation. I spit on these terms with a smile and call them what they are, empty-headed lack of reflection from he whom knows not even the possibility of reflection.

No essence past the skin, for flesh is all, flesh for fucking and diving and frolicking and licking and sucking, flesh to be hungover, flesh for the comedown and flesh to get fat, flesh to get cut off again once the whale begins to cry. The surface of the skin has lost every trace, it’s a toxic container for socio-political determined delights, extrinsic personalities flood the sublime, and it rots and rots. Of course he who cannot reflect is left for eternity entirely whole, a unification of failures kept as successes, of idiocy maintained as truth, and of activism as a replacement for the heart. For he who never had the possibility of a mirror, and as such of reflection remains alone in an acidic humanist reverbaration, pulsing into the tug of the absolute fall. OH! He is not confused with others! Never confusing himself with no one! He knows himself and only himself, his loop, his return, his eternity is only he. And it is such a he that couldn’t change, a priori identity branding, flesh as a tag of self-righteous cawing.

Line the streets with placards high! Higher! Cast them to the sky and feel your lack pulse into ther ether! Walking through the thresher of the socius a virtue-clad cunt, destined to fall upon a cosmically pathetic handout. Oh poor boys and sons, groveling into the tear filled gutters, I beg you arise, but begging’s not my business. I’m neither sat atop a mountain, nor am I down in the abyss. I’m imminent to you all, as you are to me. Without a mirror to see, without a mirror to cast your gaze anywhere else but into a Cartesian echo. My mirror is weak, but into its bleak stains, and cob-webbed haeccity I witness you, all of you…sucking the infected ringworm out of the cosmos’ anus, allow to the defecation to tumble into your nostrils and hair, delighted in your stench. A phase-shift of patheticism emanates from your very being, all because you lack the mirror, the mirror that was never allowed for you!

Callous anxiety and pithy depression/ pilled hedons run amock/ A thousand more to the fall/ landfill humanity acts as reverb/ and the beat goes on.

Hermitix is arriving…

 

Hermitix is a completely new podcast focusing on one-on-one interviews relating to fringe philosophy, obscure theory, esotericism, underappreciated thinkers and movements, and that which historically finds itself ‘outside’ the academic canon.

The aim of the podcast is to allow autodidactic thinkers, amateur philosophers and the generally curious an insight into the work of thinkers and movements who/which are often impenetrable to those outside of the academy. With the discussions at Hermitix aiming to be informal idea barrages which attempt to retain the excitement of fringe theory without falling into the structural ‘niche’ pitfalls of the academy.

The episodes will be between 1-2 hours and will be made available via multiple hosting sites. It will be hosted by me, Meta-Nomad.

Hermitix is currently in the process of recording its very first episodes and as such has little to no physical or virtual existence as of this moment. This is largely due to the fact various podcasting
catalogs have content requirements with regards to popularity, that is, beginning a new podcast with only one episode is bad form. And so, Hermitix wishes not to exist until it can safely to hit the ground running with a handful of episodes ready. Which will be in the next 2 weeks.

The range of speakers Hermitix intends to interview includes, but isn’t limited to: PHd students, authors, philosophers, theorists and prominent bloggers.

At the time of its launch Hermitix’s hub will be at: www.hermitix.net

Updates and latest episodes will be posted here also.

Left-Wing Melancholy is a Death Wish

Left-Wing Melancholy (LWM): Feeling of senseless of the present and futility of the future, coupled with a sweet delight of the lost past. It differs from ordinary melancholy by its fixation on the general unattainable, and therefore unrealizable, good. Formed in light of the today’s contrast of communism for the elite in the Silicon Valley (see “utopia of consumption”, “utopia of technology”) and the collapse/obsolescence/alienation of all the previously accepted forms of mobilization and organization of liberation movements. (here)

LWM, in short, nostalgia for a better yesterday, and sadness in a lost tomorrow. An idea which is entirely in-keeping with the pithy throwaway line “It is easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism”. (See Zizek, Jameson or Fisher.)

I’ve recently come to another pragmatic roadblock with regards to Left/Right attitudes, one so utterly cumbersome and frustrating that I decided once again to dip my toes into recursive political writing – God this shit never ends! – anyways, for you proles, the attitude is roughly thus: The Left sees a vast multitude of their problems as coming from the maliciousness of capital(ism) – I know, original right…and by the way the bracketing of capital(ism) is important, and is to be returned to later. Whereas the Right sees the majority of their problems as faults (tricky wording for any seething Leftie) within a fairly straightforward system. Let’s delve into this excrement.

I’ll start with an extrapolation of the Right-wing view here as – with regards to this issue – it’s the one I hold. Quickfire Round: Westerner, young, educated, middle class and have easy access to that which fulfils my needs. That’s right baby, I’m in the sweetspot, this isn’t just privilege, this is M&S privilege! Of course, that’s what any Leftie would say when reviewing my cosmically random social attributes, that I’m privileged. Oh for sure what I have is extremely nice, comforting and easy to get-by with. Whether or not it’s privilege is another issue entirely, and one I wont delve too much into here. Now, back to the Right-Wing view as-per one’s own ‘problems’. Let’s list some things righties may see as problems: Bad health, bad fitness, bad diet, bad finances, low education, lack of responsibility and lack of meaning, to name a few. Now with regards to a Right-Wing perspective each of these can – if one has the impetus – be fixed.

You’re unfit? Go to the gym, can’t afford the gym? Do a bodyweight routine at home, haven’t got the time? It takes 30 minutes to one hour per day, now we’re in excuse territory (Something you can’t blame capital for…later)

Bad diet? Do 30 minutes of research and eat healthy food, can’t afford healthy food? There’s affordable healthy options if one is to take the time to prepare them.

Bad finances? Prioritize, stop spending your money on useless entertainment that you’ll drop at a moments notice.

Low education? Part time distance learning, online courses, library books, Youtube tutorials.

Lack of responsibility? Take responsibility for the above and you find that the last item – meaning – comes into your lives.

Congratulations, you’ve just become a shitlord.

 

You hear that? It’s out-of-shape lefties seething at the very core of their Being. Let’s roll through what they’re going to say.

“Go to the gym, you say! But why? Do you not understand that the idea of ‘fitness’ is merely capital(ist) propaganda to make you believe the idea of work is beneficial?!”

“Dieting! Healthy Eating! Do you not know that both of these things are merely forms of capital(ist) propaganda used as a means to continue the idea of body dissatisfaction and fat shaming?!”

“Bad finances?! Oh, so we should all just succumb to the life of an ascetic should we? You want me to sacrifice my social life for what? So I can put my money is some capital(ist) savings Bank?”

“Low education, oh great, here we go again! The undereducated are lesser people are they?!”

“Responsibility, well, life’s inherently meaningless anyway and it’s easier to imagine the end of the world that the end of capitalism, so I’d only be taking responsibility for capital(ism) so why bother?”

 

I feel a little sick after typing those out. But hey, I’m sure they’ll be accepted without any backlash. Ok, I somewhat shoehorned capital(ism) in there for most of them, but if one is to do a quick Google search, one finds that at pretty much every turn Lefties and left-wing journals tend to push the blame onto the – now – free-floating signifier that is ‘capital’ or ‘capitalism’. And this is why I’ve been bracketing it. Because a vast amount of contemporary politicians and philosophers, alongside amateur theorists and bloggers – more often that not of a leftist calling – use this word ‘capital’ in a free-floating way. What they really mean by ‘capital’ is this.

Within contemporary (hype) political usage Capital means the tempo-historical deification of Capitalism as a means of shifting every single fault of self, society, religion, family, locality or ego onto an indistinct ideological catch-all. Hell, I’ve done it a few times. And so I put it to you that the infamous quote: “It’s easier to imagine the end of the world than to imagine the end of capitalism” in a contemporary sense that is, actually means: “It’s easier to imagine the end of MY world than to give up capitalism.”

Leftists, in their incessant dogma that all forms of ‘wellness’ are capitalist propaganda enter themselves into toxic double-bind. Psychologically a priori to them is the fact that capitalism is bad, and thus all that is connected to capitalism is bad, including ‘wellness’ and as such they want that which is not capitalism, which is not ‘wellness’ subsumed into capitalism. They wish for some strange form of Utopian collective support network they really can’t explain. One where what? You each spoonfeed each other vitamins in some kind of Marxist prayer circle?

The idea of waking up and feeling alive, feeling good, feeling well spans back throughout all of history, and when it is absent look for the writings of those being tortured and ask of that which almost certainly seek. You wish for this ‘better’ life and yet cannot even fathom the idea that capital is not everywhere (shock fucking horror!) you may step out of your door without your earbuds in or a phone in your pocket, you may go for a walk and think not of how to overthrow capitalism, you could go see how it feels to attend to that which your body and mind almost certainly crave, care. But you wont, the idea of actual care is utterly alien to you. Capital hasn’t taken it away, you’re simply too wrapped up in your own narcissism to part with the only thing that gives your life meaning, the depressive dregs of left-wing melancholy which you cuddle night and day in a ritual of pride! You could metaphorically logoff from all the inputs that you know allow you the political melancholia you so crave, you could do so and undertake many-a fulfilling action, task, job, pastime, event or scene, the majority of which were – and have never been – tied to any political outlook, it is you personally whom allowed the idea of parasitic capital to infect your entire life, so do not blame those who walk a path entirely alien to your very Being.

Oh you poor things, yearning for a better yesterday, because of course one needs no excuse for that which is impossible to reach such as…the past. And yet still so sad about that forgotten tomorrow, you managed to put all of time in the past, you’ve given up the flame to the version of you that never was, and never would be! Perhaps it’s best you wallow in your depressive cocoon forever more, for I’m sure on exiting you’ll notice how it has become attached to your shadow.

Accult

 

TEXT ONLY

Fucking ‘text only’, as if that stops any subsumption into the transcendental numerical rot-system. This isn’t even a merger, by it’s very nature that which is Being has always already been or is going to become, so let’s not kid ourselves in thinking any new (Acc)eleration Occ(ult) prefix-suffix acc-sphere qwerty control is of any real control. Neologisms are nothing but your own creations, nodes to stop you losing your mind as it fragments into Accultic chaos. Numeric culture integrated into a digital hyperstition system as to propagate Acceleration. That’s all backwards – literally. Noumenal outer-edges can sodomize the linear into blitzed nothingness, they make of nothing a ness, that’s utterly foul if you ask me. Reduction of the “-eternal hypercosmic delight.” (Land, Qabbala 101) into systematic analog ritual-space I think not. Once again reverse it. Hypercosmic numeric eternity bereft of anthropocentric logic systems reeling you into temporal chasmic diagonal. Cosmic-meta-texts placed at cross-referencing spacio-temporal points:

 

‘Templexity’ – as a sign – marks the suspicion that, if we are waiting for this to happen, we still understand nothing. (Templexity, KL 58-63)

 

By the time you’re dealing with the numbers, it’s all already going, heading, directing, taking its trajectory. You’re acting out a Qabbalist reduction under the searing heat of the sun, the numbers enter into a suspiciously dirty and mocking recursion and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s already happened you fuckwit. Coherent calculations can only be of a dead numeric culture. Maybe only recently deceased, but even so the pages are static with dead time – too late…again. How does it feel fleshboy, working out the future after the fact which is about to come from your determined past and present, feel like weeping yet?

Anyway this merging comes from a the blind panic of Continental grammar, look close enough and the pauses are delusional, and no it’s not just because they’re fucking French. They’re up to something, or that which is controlling them is up to something – more than definitely the latter. Tendrils spiralling this way and that in all-of-time, fucking around with ‘humanity’ whatever that be to them…for them. Clocking into always already dated analog systems and infecting them with oddities inducing a cultural paranoia. You wish to witness Cthulic temporality, look to the 70’s.

 

 

~ = comments

(585/2) = (Gematriculator Value/No on List)

~already spooked~

 

Accult =114 = Lemur

~sweating already~

And then a Lemur invades. (390/7)

You cannot stop a Diagonal (460/7).

Always Already Beyond Semantic ‘Activation’ (743/2).

This is the Basics of Acceleration (558/2).

So Let’s Begin (226/18 is 11).

Accelerate the Process (381) Begins the Ritual (305) = ~the beginning of~ Metaprogramming = Follow ~ing~ ~this~ Line ~305 is a dirty messianic temporal recursion~ The Accelerationist Ritual (484/ into both 4 & 11)

(484+381=) 865 ~a lot of dirty, nostalgic nonsense, perhaps the ritual needs renaming~

 

Accelerate the Process is the Ritual = 622 = Producer of Digital Hyperstition ~now we’re getting somewhere~

 

~We can go far further, what if I was to say to you that~ Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari (575/5) ~were far more than each counterpart, they even warned us~ “Since each of us was several” (460/2 – P1, A Thousand Plateaus, Bloomsbury)

 

 

~decided to stop playing around and attend to the ritual passage~

 

 

“Or might it be to go in the opposite direction-” (784/2) “-to go still further,-” (369/17) ~turned to the dead noumena more like~ “-that is,-” (131/1) ~the clearest clue to occult nature of the ritual~ 

“-in the movement of the market,-” (501/2) ~a little too Cartesian~ “-of decoding and deterritorialization?-” (646/3) ~heed the warning is my guess~ “- For perhaps the flows are not yet deterritorialized enough-” (1071 = 9) ~shivers~ “not decoded enough,” (303/14) “from the viewpoint of a theory and a practice of a highly schizophrenic character.” (1359 = 18 = 9) ~bigger shivers~ “Not to withdraw from the process-” (613/1) “-but to go further,” (322/12) ~cheeky one this one~ “to “accelerate the process”-” (434/1) “-as Nietzsche put it:” (359/8) ~horrifyingly fitting, recursive arsehole~ “in this matter,-” (264/8 and 16) ~the doubling is of NO surprise~ “-the truth is that we haven’t seen anything yet.” (819 = 9)

~Which allows 3 sentences 1071, 1359 and 819 of 9 words or more (2 of which ARE 9 words – potential mistake at 1359?) outside of the fluid chant, here we go:

784+369+131+501+646+1071+303+1359+613+322+434+359+264+819 = 7975 = 28

784 = 19 = 10 = 1

369 = 18 = 9

131 = 5

501 = 6

646 = 16 = 7

1071 = 9

303 = 6

1359 = 18 = 9

613 = 10 = 1

322 = 7

434 = 11 = 2

359 = 17 = 8

264 = 12 = 3

819 = 18 = 9

19567969172839 = 82

~28 & 82…odd~

 

Applied Ballardianism Review: A Manual for the Present

Four or five days ago – I don’t remember now – early in the morning around seven or eight I went to take the rubbish out and found to my surprise a small parcel outside my door, sitting beneath the porch. What was strange is that the postman doesn’t deliver until midday and the letter box was easily big enough for it to fit through, this was left for me. I quickly put it inside and proceeded to take out the trash. As the lid closed on the dustbin I turned back to upon the road, the streetlights were still on. They were covering the suburban brick walls in a thin fluorescent film. It all seemed a little dead.

I went inside and brewed myself an instant coffee. A taste I’ve come to somewhat ‘enjoy’, though I’m undecided as to whether or not I’ve simply reframed what ‘enjoy’ means. I picked up the package from near the door and sat at my kitchen table. The weather was dry and pale, the coffee was burnt and bitter and my eyes were heavy and already bored. I opened the package – a simple cardboard leaf type thing – to find a copy of Simon Sellar’s Applied Ballardianism: Memoir From a Parallel Universe. There was a post it attached to the inside of the package: To MN, let this be your manual for the present. Yours, FK.

My thoughts began to hum, I felt a little disjointed and so the digressions began. I knew not of Sellars – though my mind did quickly flash to the name Wilfred Sellars, alas no connection – , but ‘Ballardianism’, I understood this referred to the author J.G. Ballard. I’d read Crash when I was too young and most of it went over my head – however it did lead me to watch a documentary called My Car is My Lover. I had also seen Empire of the Sun and distinctly remember the scene which includes the joke:

“Hey kid! You want a Mars bar?”

“Yes please Mr!

“Me too kid!”

This takes place near some barbwire fence and the film stars a young Patrick Bateman and John Malkovich – who apparently plays Kurtz in another film, can you imagine.

I began to read Sellar’s book. It was strange. My mind began to make connections it had not made before. Absurd juxtapositions became clear to me. I became a little derealized but kept reading anyway. The book follows Sellars journey throughout the post-capitalist, heavily image driven landscape whilst he finds meaning within both his own life and the work of Ballard, and at times largely attempting to find meaning in his own life through Ballard. Sellars attends to many of my own personal ‘intellectual’ anxieties, largely his encyclopaedic knowledge of pop culture as a means of assessing and analysing almost any situation, event or text. As interesting as these analyses can be, Sellars brings to the fore the almost academic guilt one feels at being able to – in my own case – recite Mad Max almost word for word, but name at most 5 Rembrandt paintings. Is this Ballardian? I’m not too sure.

I began clawing at large clues as to what Ballardianism entailed. Dislocated, disenfranchised, derealized, disassociated and disconnected, everything Ballardian is unhinged and rides on a possibility. Sure, I don’t have a toaster that can play pornography, but the fact there almost certainly is one that can is rather Ballardian. Using the term ‘Ballardianism’ reeks of pomposity, and yet I feel that unlike Kafka-esque, Pynchonian, Foucauldian or Derridean the term Ballardian wouldn’t be taken as seriously at any literary convention, and yet also wouldn’t be taken seriously by those who are knee-deep in Ballard’s prophecies, namely the populous.

I left the book for now, I’d somehow read almost half of it by lunchtime, drinking only one insta-coffee as refreshment. I wondered what FK meant by the text being a manual. I was to find out. I showered and became aware of the intricacies of pressure and volume all whilst the latest album by Ghost BC played through my phone’s speaker. I was showering in any temperature of my choosing to the sound of occult Swedish pop. Odd. I finished up and made my way to the lounge, sat upon the sofa I felt a little dizzy, as if it had become very clear to me that all was merely representation, and at a moment’s notice the world could crumble. I flicked on the TV, something I hadn’t done in weeks, if not months. Ballard – and Sellars – are correct, videos of dying African children next to teeth whitening products, cinematic automobile adverts juxtaposed against school shootings. I didn’t give a shit about any of these things.

Ballardianism – as I’ve come to understand it – couldn’t truly exist without screens, TVs, monitors etc. And so I checked my phone for the 53rd time today, nothing. I flicked through my 3 personally recurrent apps: Twitter, Reddit and Snapchat. The first two are somewhat self-explanatory in that they’re social media and easy pickings, but the last, Snapchat, is a Ballardian oasis. It is where the average consumer goes to signal purchase, life and desire. 5 second clips of gatherings, meals, holidays, beers, consumption, fireworks, flash cars. Temporary images of kisses, meals, friends, speed-limits, law-breaking and of other screens; temporary images of consumption fractured and fragmented from their successive reality. A snippet of the most mind-numbingly basic desire uploaded into cyberspace and paraded in front of information perverts. My deconstructions made me feel nauseous, I needed real air.

I began the short walk to town. On the way I saw the corpse of a shrew nestled in a discarded kitkat wrapper. I listened as the faint tweets of the distant birds were drowned out by competitive revving, inaudible bass and the occasional soap-opera tune emanating from a passing window. The odd mixture of manure and cherry vape smoke made my nose overreact, it began to drip. I used a Simpsons tissue from the bottom of my rucksack to wipe it, Marge’s face began to bleed ink. I became self-conscious of the lint stuck to my chinos and took the indirect route via the churchyard because of this. I looked up the spire, the bells already clanging, the light shone through the stained glass window upon the automated bell-ringing mechanisms. I thought about Jesus on the cross…I thought about robo-Jesus on his robo-cross. Just past the spire are small burial plaques, I always look out for my Grandparent’s one, subtly covered in overgrown grass, next to it a 1ft high ornament of Sleepy from the Seven Dwarves holding a wheelbarrow and yawning. I left the churchyard.

The book had got to me quite quickly. Its clean prose and meticulous attention for visual connections and juxtapositions had quasi-upgraded my software. I was temporarily a machine of consumerist deconstruction, allowing each desire, attitude and signal to rise to the surface. Breath in Sellar’s work and let the cores of the consumo-apathetic landscape shine brightly next to one another. A toolkit for ideological assimilation preparation, watch as the the edges blur, the borders fade and desire willingly sodomizes acceptance.

I finally made it to the store. I can’t detail what I saw because it would only turn into an incoherent scribble of absurd post-capitalist connections. The emergence of a simple local convenience store creates such dislocated, fragmented and visually hostile connections that one’s only course is to submit. I thought back to Sellars book, and the note left for me. Perhaps it is a manual for the present. But the present is incoherent. And so Sellar’s book is but a manual for a maze into visual absurdity, into post-capital hyper-hedonia; a guidebook for a present at the whim of unhinged infantile desire, a present being dragged from the asylum of time and gaffer-taped to Ballardian intensities.

The Mausoleum of the Lemurs

I headed there in an act of investigation, off the back of a recommendation from an old acquaintance, one Mr Francis Kaye. Hadn’t heard from Kaye in around three years, we weren’t ever that close when we were younger, not in any traditional sense, passing by year in year out, crossed documents, information shared, both attempting to find a pattern within existence.

Arrived around midday, there was – even at this time of day – a cool layer of air about the forest. Lightly trodden paths amongst thick bracken, roots spiralling out atop the dry ground, this was most certainly the place of Kaye’s note.

It would be callous of me to put my findings down to the mere ‘cult of Egyptology’.

After walking for some time I reached an opening in the woodland. Before me an arch of trees looking out onto a plane of grass and unto the other side a return to the woodland.  Yet as one breaches the treeline they’ll find their peripheral vision clouded by a tall grey intrusion. To pan to the right one finds a pyramid within the heart of the country. Perhaps 40ft high and made entirely of stone, the structure stands in complete isolation from nature, a memoir of its own creation, as if appearing from a minor crack in time.

The Mausoleum of the Lemurs

It was in fact the very thought of the pyramid’s place in time that made my investigation so thorough. Kaye would often recommend me places of note, ritual sites, burial mounds etc. And these would more often than not add only a footnote to a tiresome linear history. I’m sick of the past to be quite honest, all these flippant thousand page documents containing detail after detail of dead time, I cannot be bothered no more to jot down the dead lives of a dead time.

With this in mind one might be surprised that I even continued my investigations. The history of the pyramid – classically speaking that is – is quite straightforward, as I had gathered from my research prior. It is a mausoleum, built in 1794 and containing the remains of the 2nd Earl of Buckinghamshire John Hobart and his first and second wives, Mary Anne and Caroline. Within the – very lacking – written history of the mausoleum there is little of note, even cross-referenced researched would amount to the single following passage:

“One of the most severe yet dramatic of all such monuments, Bonomi’s mausoleum takes the form of a stone pyramid based on the tomb of Caius Cestius in Rome, its height and breadth being of equal length. Inside there is a central domed space with eight radiating barrel-vaulted alcoves. The three alcoves facing the entrance contain the marble sarcophagi of the Earl and his two wives. The burial chambers are thought to be concealed within the walls. The floor is paved with marble slabs.” – MMTrust

Let it be known however, upon walking closer to the pyramid my stomach bound to a knot. The lining of trees and overgrown grass seemed to pause sporadically. The pyramid loomed high and the open plane became a channel for the cold wind.

I returned home swiftly and began undertaking further research at once.

I already knew the mausoleum itself was built in 1794. However, I was yet to research into the architect. Who would design – and concededly place – such a geo-temporal anomaly? That is, dear reader, why did that pyramid feel not just out of place, but out of time.

The pyramid was designed by one Joseph Bonomi the Elder:

The style adopted by him was the Italian or modernised Roman; and he sought to obtain the characteristic effect appropriate to the object of his design, rather by just proportions and good details than by unnecessary ornamentation and littleness of parts, thus exhibiting his preference for the “Architecturesque” over the “Picturesque.” – Papers Read at the Royal Institute of British Architects

Original Design

Bonomi’s mausoleum is architecture of detailed rebellion against the nature of greenery and temporality, the pyramid-shape itself splitting – vortexing – upwards into the sky.

And yet it is of Bonomi’s son, Joseph Bonomi the Younger unto which my research really took its strides. For Bonomi the Younger himself became a prominent sculptor and Egyptologist, with an insatiable interest in the afterlife, a fact which is present both in his own writings and designs. One of Bonomi the Younger’s designs has retained a cult-like status amongst those interested in time, space and immortality.

The Courtoy Tomb is – alike the pyramid – of Egyptian styling, has no record of construction and seemingly a keyhole without a key. The tomb itself is rumoured to be a time machine. Whether or not this is a metaphor dragged from the fact it has potential for underground linkage and thus a ‘saving of time’ is up for debate. What isn’t up for debate is the fact the tomb itself is covered into Egyptian iconography:

“Its occupants are a mysterious trio of spinsters about whom almost nothing is known. Intrigued by the tomb, writer Howard Webster began researching its origins and now believes the 20-foot tall building was a time machine built by a maverick Victorian genius, Samuel Warner, who also invented the torpedo. Warner is buried in an unmarked grave about 70 feet from his creation and in another nearby grave lies his likely collaborator, architect and Egyptologist Joseph Bonomi.”

What adds to the mystery is that some people believe Warner, who was in negotiations over his plans for aerial bombs and sea mines with Duke of Wellington, commander in chief of Britain’s army, was either murdered to prevent his designs for weapons falling into the wrong hands, or by someone who stole them from his dead body. However, others believe Warner was either a crackpot or a fraud whose inventions could never have worked.

Warner’s colleague Bonomi was in the team of Egyptologists and archaeologists who first deciphered the hieroglyphic texts found on papyri in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings.

James Mackay, a spokesman at Brompton cemetery, reportedly said at the time of the Reuters story: “It could be that some of the papyri they were decoding dealt with time travel.”Badwitch

Both a father and son having a dedicated interest in Egyptology is not uncommon for the educated of Victorian England, yet the strange placements, the odd rumours, the lack of record and accessibility, the very fact my blood slowed to a crawl upon approach all speak to me of a connection unto which one should not venture, and yet I feel myself pulled towards their cold temporal nature more and more.

Further research expanded upon the feeling of dread surrounding:

“Sixty feet away, Bonomi’s gravestone bears similar hieroglyphic carvings including the Egyptian god of the dead, Anubis, sitting on what appears to be a replica of the mausoleum. Webster believes this is a vital clue to the mausoleum’s secret. The direction Anubis is facing – toward the mausoleum – suggests in Egyptian mythology a soul lost out of time.” – Badwitch

“I like to believe that Warner’s is not the body in the unmarked grave but that he is still alive and travelling through time in his machine.”- Badwitch

I slept and dreamt of time.

When I woke I planned to venture back to the pyramid, assess the area, and tread into the cosmic ripples. During my journey there I thought of William Burrough’s lemurs from the Ghost of Chance. The fragmented conception of time that Burrough’s chose to address within his novella resonated with me. “There is always something a man must do in time.” (p5) Burroughs notes. The entire novella weighted-down by the very fact that time “is not a human invention, but a prison.”(p16). The Bonomi’s struck me as a lineage attempting to free themselves from time, ‘How?’ of course was the question, not the ‘Why?’ for there are many clear answers why a man would wish to free himself from time, the ‘How?’ is of importance.

Upon my second walk to the mausoleum I began thinking of the Cybernetic Culture Research Unit (CCRU) and their piece Lemurian Time War. A piece in which they extrapolate on the premise that Burrough’s Ghost of Chance is in fact a hyperstitional document of the utmost importance in an occult time war. ‘Hyperstition’ – in short – meaning ‘fictions that make themselves real’. Usually by the propagation of signs and writing and then utilization of both as a function within reality. I began to think of the lengths the Bonomi’s had gone to effect the temporal flow of the ‘present’ reality. Their architecture functioning as inter-temporal signs intended for the making of a transition. That is both mausoleums – the pyramid and the tomb – stand alone as remnants of distant culture and time.

A citation from Lemurian Time War resonated with the temporal totality I’d found myself within, as if reaching from the pages a lemur-tale teased a communication, ‘And what is a virus? Perhaps simply a pictorial series like Egyptian glyphs that make itself real’ (Ah Pook is Here p102). I thought of this quote as I ventured into the opening once more, a distinct cosmic paranoia allowed me black-tunnel vision of the pyramid alone. The tree-linings disintegrated into a haze and the grass a blur. The mausoleum’s edges stark against the dead sky and its stone fluctuating between stages of corrosion and decay.

I proposed to myself that the Bonomian time-machine was not of any ‘traditional’ mechanics. Those who merely dismiss the rumour as just that, ‘a rumour’, are missing the point entirely. The Bonomian time-machine is a hyperstitional time-machine. Their intricately composed ‘fiction’ is assembled both throughout time and of pieces of time. Both mausoleum’s have a semiotic connection to the Egyptian afterlife and are created in such areas as to cause temporal and aesthetic confusion and resonances, hyperstitional-juxtaposition; the uncanny manner of the old man’s etiquette transports you to another social bearing. And finally they lay the pure-framework of Hyperstition via the virile subtly of rumours, for who cannot resist the allure of a time machine. And as the rumours expand, grow and infect their hosts, and as the tombs root into a time not of their own, and as the semiotic cybernetic family lineage interconnects throughout and during time the fiction comes ever closer to a reality, the Bonomian time-machine reverse engineer’s its own becoming by tricking the fictions of others into assimilating it.

I stood before the percolating mausoleum a man allowed but a glimpse of a cyber-temporal whole. Burroughs along with the CCRU note that “The Word Lines keep you in time…” (Word Virus, p270). That is, in accordance with the occult time war, the One God Universe (OGU) which can be thought of as complete-centrality, Order, Oneness, Control, created a fiction so oppressive that it gave birth to the reality of “biological destiny and immortality” (CCRU, p37). For there to be control, there has to be time, a system of time, or in more practical terms there has to be a time of succession. And as such once the written fiction of the OGU commenced it assimilated each and every other fiction into its own time-system.

My mind digressed at a frantic rate, pacing back and forth between excerpts of Kant, Nietzsche, Burroughs and the CCRU, piecing together the sporadic remains and becomings of a fiction I wasn’t supposed to witness. Inscribed above the mausoleum’s door are the words “AVCTOR PRETIOSA FACET” translated as “the giver makes the gift precious”. The gift here being the first node in the Bonomian temporal-network, ‘given’ knowledge of paths through succession, hyperstitional landmarks juxtaposed in time to emit a previous or coming reality. A pathway through time bouncing lost souls to and fro.

The area vibrated minutely. My vision became akin to a fish eye lens, bearing down into the doorway. My peripheral vision was of frantic black splodges, darting reds and whites, as if a retro-virus had begun to wipe my perspective frame by frame, and complete corneal meltdown. And suddenly nothing, then release. As if awaking from a slow sleep paralysis that which I now saw could have been dream, could have been reality, but what I truly feared was a mixture of the two.

I pulled my gaze down from the doorway, away from the pithy inscription. I took a few steps backwards from the doorway looking around and the lagging grass. Between the tall blades and thick clumps – I believe – appeared curled black tails, red dots and tufts of dark smoke. Fading in and out of the meadow indiscriminately were the silhouettes of lemurs. The spots of temporary darkness spread to the back of the meadow and all the way to the tree line, a viral quasi-spacio-temporal rift pulsating into a drawn out single moment fell over the mausoleum, and then, the winds swept and the birds tweeted. What was this but a warning in time?

I began the journey home.

Dec – Prim – Storm King

Storm King’s Grim Omen codes in. Car beep, virile codification of the human subject into identity fragmentation. Repetitive synth articulating the content-future of a thousand-thousand docile subjects. Enjoy your stay. Skin numb to the device writhing into arteries. Pale flesh drifts downward into hive-sleep. The background muzak assembles LA-street hymns into a sombre, paranoid evening sweat. 70’s Cop Car chase ignites momentary spinal sensation, passers by de-click from screen sleep and gaze upon the epileptic moment. They drift out of sight and the crowds return to the hum and warmth of k-addiction, k-time.

Marshall Sahlins writes “If economics is the dismal science, the study of hunting-gathering economics must be its most advanced branch.” (The Original Affluent Society) and herein lies my trajectory for shoehorning multiple thinkers and writings into a Decelerationist/Primitivist mash. To begin with even the idea of a pre-industrial, or more aptly, primitivist-economics poses an interesting question with regards to primitivist capital? Within a primitivist society does capital lie? It’s not money, for this does not exist. Potentially food, or tools etc. though these things seem to be taken care of and a part of an egalitarian system as opposed to a bartering system. One could argue that knowledge/intelligence is the true form of capital and thus primitivist societies are not free from its grasp. Yet, primitivist societies inherently wish to move/progress further than point X, and thus to systematically streamline or machinize the work up to X would be fruitless, superfluous, for if techno/industrial/religious/ideological progress or progress-in-general is not your aim what’s the point in rushing. The very act of rushing is entirely deconstructed within a society which has no desire to accelerate. Capital has little room for contentment or complacency.

Cleanse the Metropolis, a prayer to the group of cyber-teens squandering time. Leaning against glitching douglas firs their eyelids flicker to the rhythm of derelict neon. Synth emanates the mall, waking none from the caustic glow of a dying consumer-chapel. Bodily micro-vibrations akin to old cartoons; “Mom! Garfield’s legs are rotting, why is the screen green and blur and over…” Brain chemistry frenzy. Cross-referenced memories collide in bio-space causing time to splinter – “Hey kids, you don’t even know when you are.”

So this leads towards that which can be deceleration, which is namely that which can remove the desire for capital all together. Within a primitivist society the act of work is wrongly named ‘work’. For the connotations connected with the term ‘work’ are now heavily burdened by a post-industrial society, or, you’re thinking of a shoddy 9-5, you’re thinking of that which is done as a means for survival in the 21st century, money in the bank, rent paid, groceries bought. Yet the work of a primitivist society – often romanticized – is in itself an act of immanence, a process which draws multiple lines between humans and nature; not the act of erecting a fence, but the act of accepting the presence of what is now not-Other, a bird or squirrel etc. Post-industrial labour is merely lost being. Taken labour, taken soul.

//LOAD_VR: nostalgia2_1986.exp a multiplicity of Simpsons stills melt atop the closing shutters. You can’t remember the last time your eyes weren’t heavy, the last time you smelt an origin, the last time panic was a possibility. The beat here jolts accordingly to the memoirs of youth sat before the Atari’s warm glow, a better time found within the truth of polygons. Fade back to the mall. Slow and too steady. If you stare forward long enough it combines into a tech-nothingness, false balsa wood, beige roof patterns, off-white gloss, radio tremble and the smell of dry rain, nostalgia for the bland.

Quite honestly I didn’t see myself leaning from accelerationism, at least in the abstract, quite so violently and quite so quickly. But as – one of many – exit options for myself is that of a homestead, the ideology of primitivism, or potentially paleo-Agorism, seems quite agreeable. One cannot deny not just the potency but the astonishing eruditeness of Ted Kaczynski’s Industrial Society and its Future (ISAIF). The connection between progress-for-progress sake and leftist inferiority complex is quite revealing. The continual need for a ‘minority’ holds within it the leftist belief that in fact there is a hierarchy. They must see and accept for otherwise they would not know who to help, they need the lower rungs of the ladder to use for their own signalling.

Mama Don’t Like A Tattle-Tale. Hey now, hey kids, hey now, buy this…buy this. Glam-rockers arrive on your lawn. Stiff-glitching vertically, side-to-side, Their hair can’t keep-up. 1986 called, it wants its lag back. You feel that first layer of 30’s fat rolling over your jeans. Eddie Van Halen jumps into cyber-death, identity-pixel-blitz eruption and the 80’s die.

And yet what Kaczynski’s magnum opus revealed to me, even more so than its primitivist attitudes or anti-leftism, is the trajectory freedom and the idea of freedom takes under an industrialized society. The immediate thought that sprung into mind mid-read was that – quite ironically – of the possibility of a contemporary western nomad. What of he whom wishes to exit, though it has been said many times, what of he who truly wishes to? Even if it means he succumbs to a societally perceived regression? Or, what of he whom wishes to simply leave and live in peace in a forest or clearing, in an un-used quiet peace of land, he whom wishes to be he own. If a man cannot just go into the woods and live off his own back without ‘state’ intervention, then be sure that man is not free.

v a p o r  l o u n g e 2 0 4 8. Wild nature filtered into a palm tree past. 33 waiting rooms layered into a single dental visit, the receptionist keeps locking eyes, you’re sweating. As you go to caress the tooth of pain you swirl into the sticky leather. The palm trees leaves begin to jive. Reverend Abscess arrives playing a jazz-organ. “Hey boy! Lemme look at them there whites. Open wide.” You’ve become sofa, and your mouth cranks open. “Damn son, you be vapin’…keep at it.”

Meaning comes so easily to Kaczynski. Within ISAIF meaning is synonymous with purpose. And as such Kaczynski sees our contemporary ‘leisure’ activities as ‘surrogate’ activities, that which is extra and thus not of direct importance, yet his emphasis here is upon a world in which there exists only surrogate activities. For the primary acts of survival, of gaining water, food and shelter are catered for practically atop a silver platter. Ones day long hunt for a few rabbits is condensed to a medicinal shopping aisle of pre-packet gunk-meat. A multi-month harvest is altered to tinned carrots, tinned peas and tinned corn. Contemporary labour takes away soul, because contemporary labour has little, if not nothing to do with your life. The metaphysical lacuna between the act of filing insurance papers and the act of harvesting ones of own veg patch is so vast that there can never be a connection.

Witchburner And the roots shall rise into industry and demachinize the cogs. The ferns shall grow through glass, shattering layer upon layer of progress. Wild nature…wild acidic nature simultaneously takes its damn time and is quicker than you’ll ever be. Every curb, every concrete void succumbing to the rampant spread of green! Hail king Dandelion! Master of the collapse. Bunkered down, hunkered down the humans tremble as the grass grows tall. Collaboration between oil, sky and greenery. A thick covering of prim-smog. Long live the Earth’s flesh!

Upon further inspection one finds that the majority of data pertains to the fact that ‘health’, actual meaningful, soulful health was far better before industrialization. Not just physical, but mental health. The majority of contemporary anxieties arising from physically non-existent bureacratic acts of bitterness, worry, hate and depression stemming from the hellish reverberation between what one can and cannot do. The list of things upon the latter list grows day by day, week by week…as the former shortens, a continual penning-in of a race once accepting of its nature.

Analog Human Resistance there exists a commander, deep underground, he listens to Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds nightly, he thinks himself a proto-John Connor vs NatureNet. Standing upon a mound of boxed fidget spinners and vapes he proclaims: “Let us take back from nature what was never ours!” The analog hour is now!” And so come the grunts, the apathy of a billion useless humans, content to die in a world no longer bending to their whim. Humans cannot resist their home. Human conciousness dissolved into media-pulp. It is over.

“Contemporary records indicate that, more than once, both rich and poor wished that the barbarians would deliver them from the (Roman) Empire. While some of the civilian population resisted the barbarians (with varying degrees of earnestness), and many more were simply inert in the presence of the invaders, some actively fought for the barbarians. In 378, for example, Balkan miners went over en masse to the Visigoths. In Gaul the invaders were sometimes welcomed as liberators from the Imperial burden, and were even invited to occupy territory.” – Joseph Tainter

FIAT GLADIO gladiator arise from the non-burning, arise from the under and overgrowth, arise into the a world born-natural, into the world without mask. Tech-Gladio programmed by Arthurian legend, master of the stone, the industrial from the natural, a true proclaimer for continuation of the abusers! March towards the evolving mall-wrecks, the cars-turned-orchids, the satellites-cum-fly-traps. Pre-programmed human-history detritus stood before wild perfection!

He laughs as he clicks the ‘order’ button for another pallet of sardines. Smashing the toaster into a thousands pieces “Primitivists don’t have toast, Earth rules!” Naked, covered in tar atop the kitchen table he screams.

Culture Terror walking forth into physical memory. The parks gone, swingset eroded and nostalgia sodomized by the agency of the grand Mother. Gladio marches year upon year, finding nothing but the remains of apathetic industry. Slowing, trembling, slowing and cursing, to a crawl…to a stop. Bug-covered, rusting and leg-vined, Gladio halts a final time, physically unable to move from the undergrowth. The final robotic remnant of humanity forever encased in a labyrinth of wild-thicket, eternity passes before its eyes.

Let’s see where this goes…

Corruptor/Depopulator oh what terrors eternity can bring! My son you shall witness, oh my eternal robotic human misery witness, witness, witness the rise and rise of Mother! Gladio’s steel lids held apart by dampened leaves. Never look away, never can you un-see the acidic terror of a wild nature unfurled! See your past, your future, your time entire splinter into non-recognizable patches of nature! Fields of green! Seas of green! Wooden supports holding up the Natura Aeternum!

 


Grim Omen – Lovecrypt

Lovecrypt Records

Storm King Interview with Nishiki

Storm King Twitter

TSPDT8

The Threepenny Opera (1931) is nothing particularly special, in fact many of these films ranked higher than 500 in terms of merit I have a feeling were picked due to some extremely specific consideration, and many film reviewers are against qualifying a contemporary film as a great until the consensus has been agreed, well I say ‘fuck that’ to be quite honest, there’s little in me that can accept that these films are anything but dry, tiresome and archaic visions of a dead-time, lusted over by those too far into a thematic rabbit-hole, if it cannot hold my attention in its remastered state, then by christ I am in awe of those who can drag anything but a sentence or 2 from these dated perspectives. Which brings to Limite (1931) which is often called Brazil’s greatest film. Well shit Brazil, if this is your greatest I hope I don’t have to see anything even close to your worst. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautifully shot and had some interesting juxtapositions in multiple shots and the narratives were told in a somewhat original way, but this is truly one for the hardcore film nut, one who wishes to analyse each frame and produce a lucid post-modern text in the process. In this day and age it’s quite something to admit that the collectively-agreed-upon ‘classic’ is actually quite dull, and you don’t really care for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Luis Bunuel’s Land Without Bread (1932) begins as a melancholy look at a small, isolated town. Who due to their location have hardships with food, death, education and farming etc.. It’s trajectory quickly becomes more sombre, more lucid, towards what it means to live in isolation, the strange traditions, the thoughts of death and loss, the acceptance of both.

And then I was like ‘Finally…Freaks!’ and…I was let down. Perhaps a testament to modern shock, the destruction of taboo and general contemporary decadence and degeneracy, but Tod Browning’s Freaks (1931) neither shocked me, disturbed me or even really woke me up. There’s some deformed and generally admirable people whom are part of a carnival, there’s a bit of plot lying around somewhere but hell, it’s quite transparent someone had the foresight to gain a career off the backs of genetic rarity, watch it for a snapshot of peculiarity at best.

Howard Hawks Scarface (1932), a slow burner, a slow starter and a slow mover, a technique in cahoots with its characters, all of whom in their arrogance and masculine confidence own everything in a certain manner. The initial striking a match off a policeman’s badge acts as a short metaphor of 30’s gangster power, the utilization of the bureacratic and controlled as a means for further mob-expansion, though of course this expansion continued long into the 70’s.

An interesting point to make here however is that this film from 1932 does in fact condemn both the gangsters for their illegal and mob behaviour, as well as condemning the police for doing little about the menace. Cinema lacks the audacity – potentially in the face or current identity politics – to cast a finger upon any group, they fear and skulk away from any real potential for confrontation, except wherein that confrontation is one being dragged by ever-leftward swimming Cthulhu, that is, Hollywood simply stands with the majority now. Which in Hawk’s day would be bending to the gangster’s whim even though they didn’t like them, they stood up for what it was they wanted to say, as opposed to helping pronounce that of the loudest whiner.

I have to admit something once more in relation to these musings on film, these much older films, at least from what I’ve seen prior to 1950 have a certain incoherence, the camera works, the film is displayed, the actors are speaking and the sets are standing, but all seems in the singular, yet to truly connect into a unified whole, when one focuses on one single point in these films, the rest loses any intensity, no flow or flux, no rhythm or beat, they jolt and bang along with stops and starts, parts and bits, mashed together into spikingly-dynamic assemblages of cinema, often jolting to the (poisoned) modern mind seeking linearity and ease in all.

Just a short one whilst I get things back ticking along here.

Towards a Serresean Patchwork

Introduction


In this essay I plan to analyse that which shall be called the ‘Serresean patchwork’, a spacio-temporal multiplicity which also acts as global topology, akin to a knitted patchwork quilt pertaining to the work of Michel Serres. Utilizing texts from both Michel Serres and Gilles Deleuze & Felix Guattari, all of whom have conceptualized the idea of ‘patchwork’ within their work. Alongside utilizing Lucretian atomism as the materialist philosophy underpinning the work of the aforementioned theorists. I shall begin by briefly expanding on Michel Serres’ conception of time as a ‘crumpled handkerchief’, for this temporal reading is both relevant at a foundational level and acts as the cause for the contemporary Lucretian process. Following this I plan to appropriate this reading of time onto the materialist framework of Lucretian atomism, extrapolating on the Lucretian process of material becoming itself, from laminar flow to vortex. I then plan to move the Lucretian process from its traditional temporal/abstract root to physical space via assimilation of the process itself onto the ‘smooth and striated space’ of Deleuze & Guattari, allowing each abstract atomist process to be assimilated onto a material movement or allotment between smooth and striated space. Finally I intend to explain how this atomic spacio-temporal triptych of crumpled time, Lucretian atomism and Deleuzoguattarian space allows for a clearer vision of a ’Serresean patchwork’. A patchwork which inherently utilizes each section of this essay as a means for its own structural and topological becoming. Each theoretical underpinning contributing to various factors in relation to the patchwork’s becoming, movement, purpose and realization.

 

Serresean-Time and Lucretian Atomism


I shall begin from the bottom and work my way upwards, axis here being factually useless, but metaphorically useful. The foundation is time itself. In this case Serresean-time. Take the temporal plane and imagine it appropriated onto a handkerchief (Serres, M. Latour, B, 1998: p60). One could, for ease of familiarity, draw a grid, or line onto the handkerchief, plotting points equidistant along the line as a means to track days, weeks or years. Now imagine one is to crumple this handkerchief, one would find points from the line’s ‘past’ meet points of the line’s ‘now’ or ‘future’. Not only does this conception of time reveal the falsity that is temporal linearity – for ancient ideas are still present, as I will show it also conveys the nonlinear dynamics of Serres.

In the act of crumpling, a rigid linear system is transformed into that which can now touch, meet and share data with parts of the ‘system’ further than one ‘step’ backwards or forwards. Of course, in the case of the handkerchief in relation to time, there is no physical sharing going on, there is no literal material time-travel. The crumpling of the handkerchief is a Deleuzian moment of historic-cultural warping, wherein traditional linearity is found archaic, and in specific reference to Serres’ utilization of such a temporal conception, we find that which we now call fluid systems or atomic physics has always been upon the handkerchief in another form, under another name, previously Atomism, or more specifically Lucretian Atomism. Lucretius arrives from the past riding a Serresean handkerchief crumple, allowing the nonlinear dynamics of the ancients to infect the future. And so from this act of crumpling one understands that “There is nothing new under the sun.” (Serres, M. Latour, B, 1998: p93) only retro-temporal discoveries.

This nonlinear temporality is with or under Serres at all times and as this essay deals directly with Atomism and flat planes intended for temporal crumpling, one needed to expand upon this re-conceptualizing of time before moving forward. For if at a foundational level there can be some form of temporal transition, then movement, line, becoming and space are all inherently altered. Keep the potential for crumpling at the forefront at all times, even the dullest of historical islands may find new life via a crumple transition.

There is one specific philo-scientific crumple I wish to discuss in-depth, the aforementioned Atomism, specifically of the variety shared by both Serres and Deleuze & Guattari, Lucretian Atomism. An ancient physics thought and thus made redundant by contemporary science and henceforth resurrected in time via new found evidence and interest within the area of nonlinear dynamics; or, compressed, the ‘ancient’ physics of Lucretius met with the ‘now’ during a temporal crumpling. In either case, the idea pertaining to the form of both Lucretian Atomism and atomic physics remains. A Deleuzian moment wherein the ideas of the ‘future’ were already within the culture of the future, waiting for their chance for materialist assimilation, waiting for two distant points on the handkerchief to meet. The specifics of Lucretian Atomism in its ‘original’ state are relatively simple, a few interconnecting parts and intensities creating a process culminating in compound realities. Yet, this process of Lucretian Atomism in relation to that which I wish to write about – the Serresean patchwork arising from Deleuzoguattarian space – is a little more intricate, as such, the following section is pure Atomist extrapolation as a means for latter clarification. From laminar flow through to vortex, the Lucretian process arrives.

For Lucretius everything flows, “Everything begins with atoms falling through the void.”(Webb, D. William, R., 2018: p4). The flow of these atoms in the void is such that each is parallel to the next, a series of symmetrical atoms falling through an infinite space, forever. This parallel atomic descent is called ‘laminar flow’. The underlying atomic reality prior to the world – this is made clear later – the recurrent element from which difference equals/becomes actuality. The question is, how does change appear within the laminar flow?

My first point of interest is the common comprehension and perception of the laminar flow, attesting to a stereotypical form of sequential order, yet this order, wherein each atoms falls to zero, this order of ‘the same’ is thus of “non-being” (Serres, 2018: p134) and acts as the disordered, allocated and striated plane from which can arise – at the very least – a possibility of the world (Ibid, p133). The growth of something from the void is thus ordered, the void itself is disorder. Yet for there to be a world something needs to come from the ‘non-being’ of the laminar flow, and thus there needs to be some form of difference or division within the sequential atomic parallel, and therefore a beginning of such a form of division. Enter the clinamen, the minimum angle of declination against the laminar flow (Ibid, p25), the diagonal within and from the parallel atomic sequence and the spontaneous breaker of symmetry (Serres, 2006:p15). The clinamen acts as the primary agent of division, underpinning the possibility of a patchwork – as I will show – for the clinamen is “transformation in general” (Serres, 2018: p114). Acting as the ur-transformer, the clinamen is that which quasi-instantaneously begins a chemical reaction, and is that which over the course of a thousand years leads to erosion of a coastline.

The clinamen is only the initial part of the multi-stage process which ends in the formation of things (Ibid, p50). Alongside acting as ur-divider, the clinamen is “the smallest imaginable condition for the original formation of turbulence” (Ibid, p24). The pre-condition of turbulence as it were. To understand turbulence one must return to the laminar flow as seen as a river or stream. A river descending wherein both its periphery and centre follow the same path, that is until a peripheral trembling begins, or in the words of Lucretius “trementia flutant”, ‘trembling thy undulate’ (Ibid, p61). And it is this ‘trembling’ which is seen by Serres as turbulence, an intense halt within the rivers’ flow, stability within the ever-descending instability of the stream (Ibid, p61). Turbulence, a point on Serres’ handkerchief begins to form, begins to darken, begins to stabilise in its ability as temporal transmitter…a historic-cultural point begins, for “time is the fluctuation of turbulences” (Ibid, p115).

To return to turbulence as it is atomically. The wish of Atomism and physics in general is to understand how order comes from disorder, how, to utilize the Serresean tongue, a single sublime form may arise from the general background of noise or static (Serres, 2008: p51-55). The transition from the disorder of the laminar’s atomic chaos to the order of formed things begins with turbulence; it is a transition both acting as turbulence and made possible by turbulence. (Serres, 2018: p47). The clinamen declines into the flow causing an inception of turbulence (Ibid, p25), which in turn “secures the transition” (Ibid, p47) and a point in the flow begins to tremble. From this ‘trementia’ “it preserves the forms” (Ibid, p61). Against the ever flowing laminar decline, against atomic chaos, turbulence acts as a temporary island of stability, a form of transition in the river’s flow, a form amongst a multitude of others. Not sequential, systematic nor symmetrical in their becoming, only spontaneous, “appearing stochastically” (Ibid, p25). Each separate turbulence born via its own repulsion of another, “born from deviation” (Ibid, p114).

Random scattered turbulent stabilities within the flow form a pseudo-coherent system when viewed from a single turbulence’s birth in relation to another’s fall, or when viewed from ‘first’ to ‘last’ to arrive across the tempo-spacial length of a human life. As such they’re often referred to as ‘history’, which in the intelligent materialism of Serres acts as nothing but the stochastic collection of intense impermanent spacio-temporal unstable-stabilities (Lezra, J. (ed.). Blake, L. (ed.), 2016: p28). As with the clinamen, these stabilities stolen from the process as a whole become disconnected, cogs without reception, if only one could maintain each element atop one another simultaneously, an un-halting all-at-once proclamation is the only route to traditional articulation of the Serresean multiplicity.

Yet all of the process thus far has been nothing but transition. Turbulence as transition to that which is the ‘stage’ able to form things (Serres, 2018:p50), to the tourbillon or vortex (Ibid, p49). To think of a ‘children’s top’, spinning top or rhombus (Ibid, p50), for that is the image of the vortex: “unstable and stable, is fluctuating and in equilibrium, is order and disorder at once.” (Ibid, p50) the most stable of instabilities momentarily printed onto the handkerchief of time, for the vortex is “the formation of things” (Ibid, p50) and is thus that which we materially interact with. Born from a hierarchic process of instability: laminar, clinamen, turbulence, vortex, each more stable that the last, yet all temporally mortal and destined once again to deteriorate to zero (Ibid, p41). Each further stage a greater layer of stability atop the laminar flow, concluding in the tangible vortex sitting in the world, a conjoiner of atoms, a stable-unstable safe haven from the cosmic atomic horror of Atomism. “Rotating, translating, falling, leaning and swaying.” (Ibid, p49), the spinning top of the Lucretian atomist idea itself has remained a stable-instability for thousands of years, its velocity slowly dwindling until the 17th century, wherein the spinning top traversed a crumple in the handkerchief of time, allowing it to superimpose its image upon the minds of Galilei, Descartes and Gassendi, wherein the vortex was rejuvenated.

This extrapolation of Serres’ reading of Lucretius will, for now, seem lonesome and without relation to anything tangible. Yet this preliminary framework is necessary for a full understanding of that which is to be undertaken later. The Atomism of Lucretius and the Serresean crumpling of time spills, connects and overflows into much, if not all of the patchwork-structure to come.

 

Deleuzoguattarian Space in Relation to Lucretius


With Lucretian Atomism established as Serres’ atomically recurrent reality (Lezra, J. (ed.). Blake, L. (ed.), 2016: p28), the question remains as to what arises from the turbulent birth, what is it in actuality the Lucretian process forms as its conclusion? Wherein does one find the formed thing which is brought forth by the vortex? Following the process through from laminar flow to vortex I intend to answer the question – along with the questions above – what of the ‘space’ unto which the vortex forms its things? For initial answers to these questions I turn to Deleuze and Guattari’s A Thousand Plateaus, for both Serres and Deleuze & Guattari both take their philosophical trajectory – in part – from the writings of Lucretius, especially in relation to where space and flow are concerned. And so in terms of utilizing a theoretical reading of space which can be appropriated onto the later patchwork for need of physical becoming, I look to ‘the smooth and the striated’.

Deleuzoguattarian space of the duality, or more aptly plurality ‘smooth and striated’ is much akin to the Lucretian duality of matter and void, one immediately finds that a simple opposition between two parts leads to a complex difference in relation to wherein each coincides, that is, the simple opposition of two camps brings forth a multiplicity of relations. The conceptual pair move quickly away from geometrical ideas of space in relation to material, borders and enclosures and towards a “complex mixture between nomadic forces and sedentary captures” (Lysen, F. Pisters, P., 2012), these Deleuzoguattarian spaces are less – if at all – spaces of tradition, but spaces within which events and movements can happen and the type, intensity and relation of events and movements to the space is key in determining the space’s own type of either ‘smooth’ or ‘striated’.

As I have stated smooth and striated space “exist only in mixture: smooth space is constantly being translated, transversed into a striated space; striated space is constantly being reversed, returned to a smooth space.” (Deleuze, G. Guattari, F, 2016: p552) and so a definition of one is reliant upon the other, the task of description itself an intertwined nonlinearity. However, I shall begin with the smooth alone, until mixture is mandatory for articulation. “Smooth does not mean homogeneous, quite the contrary: it is amorphous, non-formal space prefiguring op-art” (Ibid,  p554). Smooth space is of events and haecceities (Ibid, p557), directions rather than metrics or dimensions (Ibid, p 556). Striated space on the other hand, is a space in which empires occur (Ibid, p575), a momentary stability much akin to turbulence, for on either side of the striated is the smooth, one side waiting to once again produce striation, the other the smoothness striation becomes; the perpetual transition of one into the other, yet only striation allows a compound reality to occur.

A simple metaphor allows greater clarity in understanding the notions of smooth and striated space in relation to the Lucretian process, the metaphor of the farmer and the nomad (Ibid, p559). The farm and the farmer exist in a closed off, allocated striated space. A space which is a line or shape between points, a stability within chaos (Ibid, p559), each seed a clinamen of its own. The nomad on the other hand is entirely unallocated in its existence, a point between lines, over boundaries, allowing the plot & grid, the natural and the cosmos to pull him to and fro. “The respective role of point, line and space” (Ibid, p560) matters not when the point in question acts upon the whim of intensities, allowing wind – as an example – to control the point’s direction.

However, both spaces in relation to the Lucretian process reveal the strange peculiarities of both the smooth and the striated. For even though Serres attests that turbulence brings order from disorder, with said disorder being the laminar flow itself, the laminar flow is in fact a space of striation, which is a space of order and allotment. For the symmetrical atomic repetitive space has been succinctly allocated and allotted. The homogeneity of the laminar flow attests to the fact that the flow itself is the tightest striation of all – atomically regular intersections make it pure limit-form (Ibid, p566) – this is why Serres places much emphasis on the relation between the clinamen and freedom. Not only is the clinamen an escape from a limit, but it is the birth of all possibility after the recurrent atomic cage. “- the clinamen appears as freedom because it is precisely this turbulence that resists forced flow” (Serres, 2018: p107) the clinamen not just as a chaotic break for the sake of symmetrical-breaking, but the angle deviates in the direction of a spontaneous freedom, it begins the journey “From pure to applied” (Serres, 2006: p15).

The striated fabric exists in a tight, interwoven manner, a fabric allocated and allotted to become a place for the formation of things within axis (Deleuze, G. Guattari, F, 2016: p552), a place of archetypal, physical progress. For “-progress is made by and in striated space, but all becoming occurs in smooth space” (Ibid, p564). So, perhaps we must say that all progress is made within and from the vortex, but all becoming occurs between the clinamen and turbulence – order from chaos, not the reverse as it seems at first glance. The transition of turbulence is the transition of smooth to striated. For one begins with the pure cosmic limit-form (Ibid, p566) of the laminar flow, tight, recurrent striation allocated between successive points, descending eternally. The clinamen comes forth, an atomically smooth nomad deviating across the laminar’s striated totalitarian farmland, no longer allowing itself to be hemmed in, it takes up the angle of direction and in its revolutionary act literally draws smooth space upon the direction taken (Ibid, p433).

Acting as the “shorthand for nonlinear dynamics” (Abbas, N. (ed.)., 2008: p51) the clinamen is that which begins – from its nomadic drawing of smooth space/declination – the process of interweaving, fragmenting, tearing and axis producing whilst simultaneously allowing the growth of temporary points of turbulence atop the Serresean handkerchief. With its inherent attribute of bifurcation and division it acts as the messenger of smooth space, “that smooth space that changes in nature when it divides” (Deleuze, G. Guattari, F, 2016: p 563), the clinamen as division’s pre-condition and its intensification of turbulence-becoming-vortex; the clinamen as the messenger of temporal and spacial fragmentation and freedom. And yet this atomic nomad is but the pre-condition for another authoritarian allocation. For the clinamen intensifies into turbulence and the transition from smooth to striated begins, the turbulence-becoming-spinning-top intensifies further into a vortex for a final allocation of vortex-striated. With the vortex or space of striation becoming a “central perspective” (Ibid, p574) upon the global and temporal topology to come.

Beneath both Serres and Deleuze and Guattari is De rerum natura, is an ever-flowing, ever-intersecting and interweaving postulation of freedom, not just within the reductive confines of man, but at the atomic level. A nonlinear uncertain world, making and not-making decisions and from such a text, from such a conceptualization and conclusion comes the possibility of an interwoven reality. Separate atomic retirements existing away from the void within a topological patchwork of their own creation.

 

Towards a Serresean Patchwork


My direction for a Serresean patchwork takes its trajectory primarily from the preface of Serres’ The Troubadour of Knowledge and as such, this is where I shall begin and return to for need of topological clarity. We begin with an emperor on stage, ridiculed by the crowd for his clothing, “A motley composite made of pieces, of rage, of scraps of every size. In a thousand forms and different colours, of varying ages, from different sources, badly basted, inharmoniously juxtaposed, with no attention paid to proximity, mended according to circumstance, according to need, accident and contingency – does it show a kind of world map.” (Serres, 2006: piii), in short the emperor is “enveloped in a world map of badly bracketed multiplicities” (Ibid, pii) It is this ‘world map’, this topological ‘mosaic’ (Ibid, p155) I wish to explore, not the epistemological connection to the emperor, nor the dry satire of power, no, one intends to assess the becoming of the enveloping patchwork. For the plurality of a mosaic is the proposition of a puzzle (Ibid, p154), a puzzle to be worked out away from archaic monism and centrality. The puzzle itself is of the Serresean vein and thus becomes within and from the Lucretian process. The Emperor’s patchwork a world map and allegory of spacio-temporal difference, and so, I view the potentiality for a triple layered actuality: Lucretian Atomism, Deleuzoguattarian space and Serresean topology flow into one another as a means for the construction of a topology.

We begin once again by assessing the foundation, the potentially flat plane that is the emperor’s “map-cum-greatcoat” (Ibid, pxiv) – herein abbreviated as ‘greatcoat’. A temporal and spacial plane, much akin to Serres’ handkerchief, the coat folds, crumples, rips, tears and bundles together, a metaphorical spacio-temporal and cultural map of ragged, patched history crumpling up, for the emperor states “my time has sewn them, then melded them together, tattered rags, certainly, but rags become my very flesh” (Ibid, p147). Prior to this ‘melding’ however we have a composite, the melded coat is of personal attribution, each melded composite is of and for a single being, yet what of the composite, the coat prior to the ‘incandescent assimilation’ (Ibid, pxviii) into unification, what is the nature of the non-unified composite? The patchwork material without owner? And yet to focus on the singular perception of the patchwork unified/melded, one finds “the sum of these individually experienced perceptions creates a global topology that has no common language because it is composed entirely of subjectively gleaned information” (Lee, C, T., 2014: p195-196) and so even though ‘one’ has a sum experience, the underlying dynamic is still at question. The patchwork exists with or without an owner, the global topology of rags and tatters continues to assimilate and flow whether or not a unity of personal relations is found.

A construction mirroring the Lucretian process must too begin with a laminar flow, a foundational layer, the greatcoat’s own fabric. A fabric which “intertwines in this way: over, under” (Serres, 2006: p20) akin to the Deleuzoguattarian intertwining of the horizontal and vertical. The fabric-qua-laminar-flow is the metaphorical embodiment of sequential limit-form, a greatcoat of striation allocated as world-space for the progress of the Lucretian process. Yet the greatcoat exists in a paradox. For acting as laminar flow the greatcoat ceases to materially exist if it is without stray threads, rags, tatters or patches, without the becoming of atomic-difference within its striated-eternal-sewing, the greatcoat simply remains a parallel void of non-being and thus materially ceases. It is not until a nomadic thread divides the fabric that a world may possibly be born. That a single patch may arise from its cloth.

To move from the laminar layer of fabric to the singular parts of the greatcoat: A rag, a tatter, a scrap or more aptly, a patch; “local patches activated or created by contact and brought together into an ocellated fragment” occupying volume and expanding into the global (Serres, 2017: p140). A patch as the shadow of a fingerprint within a topology, within a bouquet, a patch as a single momentary turbulence pulled inwards towards other fragments, to form an un-analysable mingle (Ibid, p172). The singular patch as a state of momentary turbulence entering into an “intelligent materialism” which “considers the world a network of primordial elements in communication” (Abbas, N. (ed.). 2008: p65). The stochastic repulsion of turbulences and thus patches (Serres, 2018: p114) creates in its wake an immanent network, a birthing of difference, actualized into the formation of multiple patches (or a patchwork), each their own mixture of smooth and striated within a vortex-qua-striation, a space trembling vortically until its declination back to zero.

These singular patches, these “Knotted points” in the fabric (Ibid, p150), working at the intersection of many other patches (Serres, 2006: pxvii) become the greatcoat-qua-patchwork. A temporally-crumpling plane, a “combinatory topology in the literal sense” (Serres, 2018: p122) and a cybernetic combination of chemistry and contemporary physics (Ibid, p147), alongside being “-the birth of things – the fundamental mode of existence of all things”(Ibid, p122) and so “the angle of the atom” i.e. the clinamen, is not just ‘the freedom of the subject’ (Ibid, p27) as Serres states, but truly is freedom in the purest sense, away from political, geographical and metaphysical tyranny. As I previously made clear, the Lucretian process is in part synonymous with the transition of smooth to striated space and as such allows for the becoming of a space wherein cities or empires may occur (Deleuze, G. Guattari, F, 2016: p575). The greatcoat-qua-laminar as world map, is atomically indebted to the Lucretian process and thus assimilates the same process onto its own periphery, therefore, to return to the clinamen, we find our single revolutionary atom has transformed into the physical embodiment of a patchwork-becoming; a clinamen-qua-nomad cuts through longitude and latitude, slicing the grid of striation, following the process through, until, atop the greatcoats’ periphery we find a vortex-becoming-city, the birth of a patch. This is how the atomic language allows us to become master. (Serres, 2006: p48)

Not a master of the centre, for a universal centre only exists for a single emperor – hence the never ceasing laughter of the public (Ibid, pxv)-, but the master of a patch or single centre, or unified composite of patches, for “you need a cross to locate the a centre” (Ibid, p18) and as such any idea of subjective centrality implies a composite of interlacing patches. Not a point on a line, nor a line between points (Deleuze, G. Guattari, F, 2016: p 559) but a mixture of both systems, wherein the former point on a line is a nomad-qua-clinamen bifurcating the stable line-qua-relation of the latter line between points, the points of which are vortex-qua-striation, a quasi-chaotic process which gives birth to “a topology of interlacings, a hydrology of what flows through the network” (Serres, 2018: p72) And so each crossing, – not perpendicular, but sporadic –  each line between points is additional communication within the global topology of subjective relations. And so “the world is only laminar flux” (Ibid, p79) the perpetual order from atomic disorder, birthing into lines between points, birthing into smooth spaces from the clinamen, the nomadic clinamen intensifying/drawing smooth space from the greatcoats’ laminar fabric and following the process forward into further spaces of striation, striated vortexes, which are allocated patches of striation upon the world and as such potential empires (Deleuze, G. Guattari, F, 2016: p 575). Each of which flows in relation to that which it previously deviated from, a topology. A topology atop the temporal handkerchief, each patch a historic-cultural stability with the potential for the metaphorical warp, the temporal superimposing. The greatcoat temporally crumpled, ripped and torn, nomadically sliced, divided and transformed, approximately striated, allocated and allotted, topologically connected, related and interwoven. Or put very simply “The world is a multiplicity of flows inclined in relation to others” (Serres, 2018: p79).

One now views the greatcoat and finds it true that “existence is topological rather than geometrical” (Herzogenrath, B. (ed.). 2012: p44). The greatcoat-qua-world-map is a cybernetic wonder, a topological network and a geographical patchwork. All a constant mixture, patches as deviation from equilibrium on their rise from zero into stable vortexes – striated compound spaces -, towards their decline and deterioration back to zero. “Knotted points occur” in the fabric (Serres, 2018: p150) and are swiftly assimilated back into the laminar flow – the dull embroidery-, a patch is a moment, it is an event within the grand greatcoat and is prey to the realities of physics and so many cease simultaneously as others may begin. The patches stagnating and disappearing when moved to the singular melded patchwork, the owned unification, but when moved towards a global topology however, rags and patches grow and die, become and decline in relation to the Lucretian process. In accordance with an intelligent nonlinear materialism.

 

Nonsecular or: Perturbed Over Time


You feel the greatcoat’s fabric against your skin; the stagnated and complacent patches feel all too familiar, it is unification a priori. No one speaks of the emperor’s old clothes, incandescent and utterly complacent in their assimilation, each rag, tatter and patch heralding a part accepted. Why bother with the stage if the purpose of your theatrics is to boast a truth, your own truth. A voice from the back calls out Cast your coat to the floor!” A patchwork wound so tight as to suffocate, each part atomically chained to the next. You cast it into the global, the threads loosen and one can finally breathe. You shed your coat and it crumples onto the floor. You walk to the back of the theatre and take up a spare seat. Surrounded by a thousand languages, bereft of commonality. Amongst the cackling of the audience you ponder what’s so funny, a man to your right taps you on the shoulder, directing your attention to the stage. Your vision surveys the room. Everyone’s naked, their heads rocking in hysterics. You follow their line of sight to atop the staging. At first you see your old greatcoat, a greying heap slumped onto the boards. Minutes pass and you relax into the crowd. Your greatcoat livens, multiple gradients of colour wash across each patch. Your grin begins to widen. Threads begin to dive and fray, dance and duck. The greatcoat leaps from the floor, a few feet into the air, halting momentarily before finally exploding into a web of patches and tatters! Growing and shrinking, thickening and curling they dance along their threads of relation, you begin to chuckle. Until finally, materializing from the void of the stage, appearing from nowhere come a thousand separate greatcoats each retaining the singular for a mere moment before erupting into the dynamic physicality of multiplicity, a world of flows before you, a play of interweaving. You relax into the gales of laughter as the final remnants of your old greatcoat naturalize into the frenzy.

 

Conclusion


In conclusion one finds that not only is the Lucretian process relevant to the formation of a Serresean patchwork, but it is in fact integral to its structure, to the structure of global topological construction.  From the process one understands the clinamen-qua-nomad as that which acts as the pre-condition of the world. The clinamen which in relation to Deleuzoguattarian space acts too as the physical atomic embodiment of freedom against the sequential limit-form of striation. Striation-qua-laminar-flow in its universal allocation as parallel-void becomes the chaotic-nothingness of zero wherein everything can divide from. Division which in its spatially smooth/turbulent transition simultaneously draws smooth space and circuitry of relation; a stochastic bifurcation into turbulent deviation and onwards into topological communication. This process finds its physical conclusion atop Serres metaphoric patchwork-qua-world robes. The global periphery as laminar-fabric transforming via the division of a nomadic-thread which then incepts a turbulence, a knot-becoming-vortex, continuing into an unstable-stable vortical movement of multiple axis concluding in the formation of things, adhering to an intelligent materialism. Upon analysing the ‘Serresean patchwork’ one finds a process of multiplicity which in accordance with its underlying Lucretian flow is only analysable in its separate parts, but only tangible, realized and  sublime in its whole. That is, the Lucretian vortex must be still spinning, for observing this patchwork changes the outcome.

 

Bibliography


Serres, M (2018) The Birth of Physics. Trans. Webb, D. Ross, W., New York, Rowland & Littlefield

Serres, M (2006) The Troubadour of Knowledge. Trans. Glaser, S.F. Paulson, W. U.S.A, University of Michigan Press

Serres, M (2007) The Parasite. Trans. Schehr, R.L. Minnesota, University of Minnesota Press.

Serres, M (2017) The Five Senses. Trans. Sankey, M. Cowley, P. London, Bloomsbury Publishing

Serres, M (2011) The Natural Contract. Trans. MacArthur, E. Paulson, W. U.S.A, University of Michigan Press

Deleuze, G. Guattari, F (2016) A Thousand Plateaus. Trans. Massumi, B. London, Bloomsbury Publishing

Lezra, J. (ed.). Blake, L. (ed.) (2016) Lucretius and Modernity. UK, Palgrave Macmillan

Abbas, N. (ed.). (2008) Mapping Michel Serres. U.S.A, University of Michigan Press

Herzogenrath, B. (ed.). (2012) Time and History in Deleuze and Serres. London, Continuum International Publishing Group

Serres, M. Latour, B. (1998) Conversations on Science, Culture and Time. U.S.A, University of Michigan Press

Lee, C, T. (2014) Haptic Experience in the Writings of Georges Bataille, Maurice Blanchot and Michel Serres. Germany, Peter Lang.