This page was created to record the static noises of my becomings. I’m many things, loose patches vaguely put together in a body. An anarchist, feminist, a proletarian enby during the sunlight, a poet and an edgerunner during the moonlight. In this blog you’ll find my struggle to create a new kind of language: a minor language, a cyborg language. Donna Haraway states in The Cyborg Manifesto (1985):
“Cyborg writing must not be about the Fall, the imagination of a once-upon-a-time wholeness before language, before writing, before Man. Cyborg writing is about the power to survive, not on the basis of original innocence, but on the basis of seizing the tools to mark the world that marked them as other.“
I’m living on the edge; balancing on the boundaries of thought itself. In one sense, I’m an edgerunner, not because I want to, but because I am forced to be one. There is no “I”, no transcendental self that has been placed in a body. I can’t recognize where you end and I begin. And we need a new language. It’s a matter of survival.
I don’t know what will emerge on this blog. Deleuze and Guattari, Haraway, Stirner and Fisher. There’s a lot of people out there that says things better than I do, dead or not. I’m not one of those. I just scrabble around for new chrome. And I scream.
As you read this, I’m afraid it’s already too late. The territories have already left. There’s only traces left in the ground. Ghosts wandering aimlessly in cyberspace.