The Auto-Logical Re-Mix Theory of Composition
nitrate version [with artificial preservative]

basically, cut in & over-dub.

an automatic inter-cut of contextualizing & decontextualizing, simulating orchestral strings and the like. interchange.

combining & re-combining, an on-going process of the mind.

re-mix video, one frame at a time. images overlapped & forbidden, blurring borders and boundaries, a bleeding back-stabbing blow to (my?) linear tape principles, a blurred & scratched over-exposure.
            flashing.
            flashing.
            flashing black&white&negativepositive

the ink should not soak through, but it does.

"To achieve a harmonious, gradual uniform sequence of chromatic themes we had removed the shutter action [of the projector], too; but this was exactly the reason for the failure [sic] of the experiment , and meant that in place of the expected marvellous harmony there exploded over the screen a cataclysm of incomprehensible colours."

"The aparent solidity of everyday objects is due to the play of electrical forces among atoms and molecules, not the substance of the material itself; in truth, substance is one of humanity’s most persistent illusions."

words is overlayed, ungrammatical, eccentric, out of their orbits. something spins round my head.

travelling among the girders & beams I begin to forget to think. my thoughts become fragmented, ill-formed; ideas fall to disassociated sentences, which fall to words, & then to letters, orts & scraps, lines, dots from some other alphabet, I....

no, no, the checkerboard is circles, circular, spiral radiating, but not quite right. splashes of paint & ink jets, memes (genes?), whatever the pieces are, cross-bars & serifs stretched pulled distorted [some other adjective] out of true and plumb, a digital distortion delay right-way linear narrative transform: everything (& then some) comes back again.

It can't be full of holes because there's nothing but (there's no thread, there's no strings, there ain't no in-betweens).

(the intervening chapters tell of the perils of the Mediterranean Sea and the specied of serpents to be found on its shores. After a further chapter on a plague of mice in 1127 Fulcher's narrative ends).

But even when my paragraphs began to bleed I had a hard-time taking it seriously. Word games, fragments, thick luminous black drops, filling the margins and end-papers with sticky coagulate.

I have a fever. My head is filled with light. My ears crackle and roar with the white pressure (I pull on the left lobe and a clear syrup drips out). My cheeks are taut, my eyes swell like potatoes in a fire. Soon my skin will burst, the ivory flesh foam out, the light shine forth, the phosphorescent fluid course down my face to pool on the floor, a cool, hot welcoming....