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Disclaimer: This writing is obscure because my mind is obscure since I fail to grasp “the role of convention in constituting the truth” . Error happens to find a space here. This exposition performs an instance of anxiety before a definition. A space that appears empty but lacks emptiness, a μηspace (mespace). This space is purely fictional and utterly excessive. A space that is not pointing a way but translates something into existence. This writing aspires to move away from a formulation of theory and towards an exhaustion of thought. Time is not of the essence to this performance, but its essence is addressed. This exposition may act as an introduction to the concept of μηspace. I use the research catalogue both as a μηspace and as a space for reflection. This is an exposition that records an intense present, offers various points of entry to texts and exercises performing μηspace. It is a space for exploration and for thinking together.
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To cross a line
Mosquitoes
Nothing makes sense. Nothing becomes the subject of the writing. Sense is an exercise in repeat. Sense is an act of recognition.
Aren’t there already many words between us?
- Maurice Blanchot, the one who was standing apart from me
Aren’t there already many words
between us?
- Maurice Blanchot, the one who was standing apart from me
This text is an utterance with no illocutionary force.
