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).
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:
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.