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Exposing the detachment ID, in formation: an Ark Codex 0, folio 0 excerpt

For a while there, i was too close to the entity known as 'Ark Codex' to speak about it coherently. Ark Codex is someone i first met in Nairobi in 2008, though in Nairobi it was masked as a writer (i hate saying 'it' to refer to someone with unspecified gender, but the English language leaves us no other option). It followed us back to Brooklyn where it evolved, but suffered an identity crisis of sorts & didn't know what to call itself, still urging me to take credit for it as author. It kept obsessively erasing its own footsteps in its wake & any trace it left on a page, until all the rubbed-out erasure become what it was becoming. When we landed here in Rome last year, Ark Codex had stowed away in our shipping container, though once here it manifested itself in different ways, suffering a language crisis, perhaps egged on by immersion in an ancient culture where nothing made sense to it (perhaps adding a fish-out-of-water element to the story, if there is one).

As a publisher, it is my responsibility to get what Ark Codex wants to say onto paper & into book form & as such Ark Codex was telling me it wanted to form (or inform) itself on recycled paper—not just recycled as in from discarded & reprocessed waste pulp, but pages from old books & whatnot that could be repurposed by Ark Codex. So i made frequent trips to the nearby flea market in Porta Portese & gathered some old books & paper objects for Ark Codex to cut up & repurpose for its own devices. I also purchased a typewriter at the flea market for Ark Codex, since my printer was on the skids & Ark Codex preferred writing on a real machine without any digital relays between the fingertips (though it does have a weakness for scanners). Sometimes i even brought uncleaned calamari home for Ark Codex so it could use the ink, since this ink was purest, closest to the source & something that seemed to jive well with the press name (not to mention that it was tasty to eat, after Ark Codex had made use of it).

Ark Codex

Anyway, this is another progress report of sorts. Ark Codex saved the first section (the 0th section) to do last. Here's where we stand:

folio 0:0:0—8: all 9 pages realized (5 of which, with the abstract & running text, are posted below)
folio 0:1:0—21: all 22 pages realized (6 of which are here)
folio 0:2:0—55: all 56 pages realized (6 of which posted here)
folio 0:3:0—34: all 35 pages realized (3 of which are here)
folio 0:5:0—21: 9 of 22 pages realized (6 of which are posted here)
                    : 131 of 144 pages (91%) realized

As an expository afterthought, Ark Codex is providing me with "abstracts" for each folio—a sort of summary of intent, in a scientific sense. For what it's worth. Ark Codex is also providing me with 5-line footnote/captions for each image (though thus far has only provided these up to folio 1). Here's the abstract & a few pages from folio 0 of Ark Codex 0, in webbed format:


Abstract: Exponential sensitivity to the initial conditions of flooding systems is established by first negating the existence of an apocalyptic flood, nor even beings to cull. The variable of mobility is then introduced to bifurcate 'sense' detectors from the otherwise barnacle-crusted bedrock (if only as an escape mechanism). In the end, we find that said flood-waiting inevitably spurs noisy irreversible generation towards an all-or-nothing committing tree, at t0 = 0, embedding the blueprinted lexicon of each ontological thought process in a phylogenic tongue bank (wherein the event of flooding, this very book can be used as a flotation device). Reversing in genes only anchors our tongues in more methodological nodes than one, in 'blackbody cavities' where plankton is said to take root. Reproducing competitive material conditions begets luminous seeds to stalk a sheep-cumulus being for to herd in our sleep, but purely as a stopgap conceptual recourse. When these alternate 'kumquats' take root in the ice it is only to 'break bread' polemically—to 'make it count' reiteratively. With no sun circling overhead, our blood color is indistinguishable from the primal sea. Applying an artificially induced current increases potential risk—elevating the dormant ark to an excited collective sleep-state. An «all-hands-on-deck animal orgy» is how it is recorded by diorama surveillance—ghosts, frozen in our fixed pleasure positions all night in this museum of natural history. Nothing could be further from the truth except knowing the truth—a hypocritical auguring to inherit & simultaneously extinguish a familiar genie by natural selection. When we break ground by rubbing the words: «When we break ground by rubbing the words: « ... »» we set the juggernautical ark in a feedback loop for inevitable mass suicide.

Ark Codex

0:0:0: In the end (0th inning) there is no beginning—is the unfolding interpretation. Just a sea of sound—a white noise re(as)sembling (m)an(imal)i-fold destiny (not even a nested blueprint for plankton) begg(et)ing re:assembly. There is no language—only the sound of kumquat falling into the ever-black evening. Reckoning the sound of a kumquat fallen is (k)nowing now. The sound of a qumkuat fallen is forg(et)ing before. In the beg(et|inn)ing (0th) there is no difference between knowing & forgetting—only blackness for eve(r).



Ark Codex

0:0:1: (After a summation of error) the noise forever takes the shape of a tongue. Yet there is no ear to hear the tongue nor tuna for to feed. There is no cavity to tongue the ear—to call out «dear» to all the animal nearby. No address nor anchor holes (weighted with possibility) to turn the sea into a grid of formation—a tonnage of tuna. The 1st chord acts as in (a) vested dorsal fin, honing home. There’s no mo(u)rning so there’s nothing to ænc(h)or(e) eve(ning). The noise sets on/for the terrain & «i» stake no claim to post.



[ ... ]



Ark Codex

0:0:6: The 3rd cavity drowns the 1st & sticks the tongue in the 2nd cavity’s ear, forming another 3rd. Each interpretative iteration compounds the previous (with speculative interest) & at once deconstructs with frequency 1/f. The proliferating cavities manifest arbitrarily as cum-«lamp» which when rubbed at angle f° gives rise to «lampRey» genes. An f-hole is carved from V then planted in soil—posting claim (aurally) to «fucking». Anima l = «mole» is collectively assigned to 5 x 1023 iterations of said fucking.



Ark Codex

0:0:7: Resetting the altimeter to 0, the 2nd 3rd drowns out the 1st 3rd, but not before the 1st 3rd & the 2nd creates a 5th f-holed hollow-bodied cavity to receive the noise. Do not insert tongue. The 5th forms a chord with the 1st & 3rd uddering a sound beyond what each lampRey or mole tongue could fashion on it’s own accord. The ‘i’ in genie is reassigned to oversee the evolution of anima l. Anemone (with l = 1 in/out hole) is a subset of lampRey (with a forward hole for in & a rear hole for out) urging f-hole digging. ‘Chaos’ reiterates ‘discord’ in situ.



Ark Codex

0:0:8: In general l = fn yet for all intents & purposes (as a herd, at t0 = 0) we can only comprehend the species l = 1 when called upon to speak. Like lampRey we all possess a vestigial pineal gland to facilitate sleep despite the perpetual evening (a coping mechanism to postpone inevitable suicide) & dormant ark. The interpretation (of the interpretation) is that (for l = 2, 3, ... , 8 sub-masts) the cumulated clustering amounts to a tendering of sense shared via direct lineage—recorded as «black—ma, radioing 0»). This is ever the beginning of the end.



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