07
unoccupied working (reading contours) [day-night]

Writing is so tiring. So done with. The going over and over a certain sort of suffering that seems to be integral to our human condition. The 'so done with' is never done, never finished, comple(a)ted. There is always something, a moment, just a second, an event, or non-event that draws one back again to writing, to writing out from, to thinking this force of writing with a 'wounded language - the scar of the impossible'. (Caputo 1-2)  
  "If the literature of electronic culture can be located in the works of Phillip K. Dick or William Gibson, in the imaginings of a cyberpunk projection, or a reserve of virtual reality, then it is probable that electronic culture shares a crucial project with drug culture. This project should be understood in Jean-Luc Nancy's and Blanchot's sense of désoeuvrement - a project without end or program, an unworking that nevertheless occurs, and whose contours we can begin to read." (Ronell 1992:68)
Désoeuvrement is a sense of the unoccupied, the leisurely. (Spiers & Surenne 190) Rather than a writing in service of speech, idealist thought, program and project, this way of writing, thinking and making is devoted solely to itself as writing, 'that remains without identity, and little by little [byte by byte] brings forth possibilities that are entirely other.'(Blanchot 1993:xii) The possible impossible, invention. Writing without wait/weight, or wishing without object. The literature of electronic culture is 'located' in the writing of Phillip K. Dick and William Gibson in a way that relies on a certain shared understanding of metaphor and order-words.

There's another sort of writing in and of electronic culture, and it is this sense of 'no-trajectory', rather, a working out, in tiny increments, with a particular sort of care and attention to language that uses words as material for making thinking. See for example "Wishing" (Walker & Ulmer 1997) and here, (from there), Linda Marie Walker writes an email reply to Gregory Ulmer;
  "When I wrote to you a day or so ago, to see if you were 'home', I called this work, writing, that we are doing 'The Wishing Way'. I had translated 'why' as 'way'. Andthis seems so, that why is a way. That wishing is a way, that wishing is an act, albeit secret, the secrecy being central to the act, upon longing. To dance,
with someone, or alone, is to be somewhere, perhaps, one would like/prefer to be, or to be someone one is not, and yet 'is' then, in that moment, for a moment. To be the dance."
 
 
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