Pure expenditure.

The tremor, the libration . . . (even a drum sounds melodious
from afar)

Only motion is real,
creatures are but its changing phases.
My impulsion, for a liquidation of the principle of identity.
My lavishness, for a transgression into the telematic…

Excess floats on the ebb of that flow.



Text from : "Telematic Beings (and I) . . . "