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Imagine a team of African archaeologists from the future—some silicon, some carbon, some wet, some dry—excavating a site, a museum from their past: a museum whose ruined documents and leaking discs are identifiable as belonging to our present, the early twenty-first century. Sifting patiently through the rubble, our archaeologists from the United States of Africa, the USAF, would be struck by how much Afrodiasporic subjectivity in the twentieth century constituted itself through the cultural project of recovery. In their Age of Total Recall, memory is never lost. Only the art of forgetting. Imagine them reconstructing the conceptual framework of our cultural moment from those fragments. What are the parameters of that moment, the edge of that framework? —Kodwo Eshun “Further Considerations on Afrofuturism”

 

{ficto-travail:in’s: figure class= drop down content <space t()revealing travails>

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<comment 1> Nice pair of traveling shoes

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<comment 33> “The hull(?)(see below) of the organ/space-ship in Jessie Cox’s Space Travel from Home Episode 3 is not “warm and safe” for travail: i:::n: the Home isn’t either. Both are weaponized by imagining Space precisely as diffraction(s) o(f)fing metaphors – and at the level of the Image especially – not a metamorphosis from, for example, Page 02894 to Page 02894 Yesterday: the {{{{living}}}}} like feeling like {{{{apprehending}}}} ({{{{of}}}}read::::ing: like o(f)fing: like FEAR:ing like Moses i:::n Sanai! or Messiaen i:::n Utah!: the diffractions of water i:::n the sight of YAH!): these materialize as an intractable REALING Symbol in the (w)hole of the Home: space cannot become Jessie’s room, and home cannot become Space. Likewise sound does not become mood – what we shear is not precisely becoming inter-imago-action. It is a disjunction and thus diffraction of inner Relations (i.e. hyper-spatial-relation movements): a living, suspending, apprehending and stabling (i.e. formally/symbolically non-disrupting) internal disjuncting that require a space (t)revealer (in this case you, me and the televised-recording/dream-condensation of Jessie Cox and his various drum-organs

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) to be re(image)ing-ing immanently and emergently and hence, dangerously.

This is the “Silent” (see upper portion of the drop down score; or f(h)(i)n(d)(e) your drop-down Awe) fearing of a particular flavor of (t)revealing i.e. it is always I(:::)N (a?) different (to a?) kind of apprehensh{{{{d}}}}(i:::[o}n)[g] – another feeling than that of, what say the Kid(d) realized “early” (or “la(d)er on” depending on various personal considerations) as those “unexpected” feelings seen and heard “before or accidentally revealed behind.” What we apprehend is insubstantial as “a disjunction of the soul” SEE: Samuel Delany, Dhalgren, page (7 – and <>).

Hence, the sound of this Space is not a massage (message or information {added by Jessie Cox})! To hear it as such is to willfully repress our deepest Living Apprehensions (read: Living[[perdiod]ing] or again the awe-full diffractions of pre-Eden water-fear). It is a stable :i:::n:-g-:i:::n:-g-:i:::n:-g-:i:::n:-g-:i:::n:-g- (a Messaging…e.g.:{{{{:::::}}}}) of Fear (or does Massage [of] Fearing {{{living!}}} work after all?) – a constant, F:REAL:I:::N:-G- of television-wind blowing through the leaky space of Bedroom Walls (and Screen-i:::ns!). It is important that this apprehend:i:::n: and these symbol:i:::ns: are intractably i:::ns, arising from intractabl:i:::n:, delusional confrontat:i:::ns: with Real:i:::n:-g- (or if you prefer, Eshun’s Museum Ru-:i:::n:-s-): we are hulls too (hulls :with-:i:::n: hulls) and the disjunctions of our souls are as liv-i:::n:-g- as always; there is an i:::n:ternal disjunction – not an external prior or future {{{eternal}}} difference – between the hull of our slave ship and the hull of our space ship, between the imagi-realing hull and the imagi-realing “continent”-hull (both comprovise: neither are merely human or merely not): our apprehension (at our (w)hole) allows us to confuse the boundary between who we are and who we Will(-i:::n-gly) become.” Sam Yulsman, yesterday </comment 33>

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