SENSE AND AFFECT Table of Contents: PART I:The Modalizing Fatness of Experience 1.WHAT IS DECONSTRUCTION: On the Architecture of the Event as Contextual Pattern p. Unravelling the Momentary Structure of Configuration p. Violence and Radicalized Deconstruction p. 2.LESS THAN DECONSTRUCTION The Moodiness of Deconstructive Modalization p. Memory and Past as Negation p. Experience as Quasi-density P. Acceleration, Time and Measurement p. The Unaccountable Intimacy of Mathematics p. 3.PHILOSOPHICAL HISTORY AND THE DEVELOPMENTAL ILLUSION The Developmental Illusion as Affective Desubstantialization p. Kant as Affective-Ethical Depowerment p. From Kant to Hegel With Less Than a Concept p. From Idealist Violence to the Gentler Violence of Nietzsche p. Contingency and the Slanting Eddies of Progress p. 4.BLAME AND ETHICS Guilt and Anger as Intimate Violence p. Hostility as a Question p. Forgiveness as Acknowledgement of Transcendence p. Answering the Question:Before the Ethics of Disturbance p. Injustice and Disappointment as Anachronism p. Anachronism and Past as Future p. PART II:Unnameable Sense 1.BEFORE GATHERING AND DISPERSION Incipience and Further p. The Dream as Incipience p. Sense as Less-Than-Determinate Moreness p. We are the Text p. Better and Better, Worse and Worse p. Eventness as Less than Quasi-transcendental p. Less Than Repetition p. 2.OF CULTURE AND NOT BEING ABLE TO BEGIN A Future of Cultural Modes p. Anachronism and Modalization of Culture p. Of a Future of Art p. No Twoness p. PART I:The Modalizing Fatness of Experience 1.WHAT IS DECONSTRUCTION: What is the origin of knowing, thinking, meaning, being? What would it suggest to even ask such a question of an origin in the aftermath of ways of thinking which proclaim the undermining and displacement of a project in search of a simple origin or foundation? Names such as Nietzsche, Heidegger, Wittgenstein, Deleuze and Derrida mark some of these paths which move from a metaphysical transcendentalism which gave impetus to the Cartesian project, the rationalist basis of developments in the physical sciences and the idealisms of Kant and Hegel. Today we may locate communities of thought celebrating a Heidegger who left no possibility of locating a valuative basis for proceeding in culture that would not find itself transformed through its very incantation, a Nietzsche for whom the preconditions for being in the world are themselves utterly historically conditional, including the question of the direction of history itself. And among the heirs of Nietzsche and Heidegger, it is perhaps the work of Jacques Derrida that has challenged and furthered the implications of their thinking most rigorously. In the wake of Derrida's researches, questions of how we are to make our way in the world, how we are to understand the basis of our sciences, arts, politics and ethics, and more generally of what we are to expect from each other, lead us through issues pertaining to characterizations of difference, repetition, language. It is the questioning on this terrain which constitutes the aesthetic-politico-ethical stakes in our attempts to rethink notions of freedom and understanding after the demise of the centered subject. But even after the abandonment of talk of identity and its contradiction in favor of that of difference and its repetition, crucial assumptions remain for us to examine within Derrida's writings. If deconstructive thinking determines the essence of meaning as a mere spacing, tracing, or interval which can no longer be thought via the rubric of a consciousness or narrative agency encountering a world of phenomena, there remains to be uncovered within this thinking a faith in certain minimal conditions of sense, effect, force, mood. Meaning re-figured as a playful trace or spacing of experience, which reinvents itself and the world simultaneously with every new breath, is thinking which locates itself as a peculiar ethic of suffering and traumatism as well as joy. It is our provisional task to make explicit, from another vantage, this faith or ethic which functions as deconstruction and to reveal it to be shadowing a more and differently radical and elegant economy. Just as Heidegger transformed  to be' from a given to a question, we want to pursue a way of thinking about the double origin of `to have mood, sense, effect' that reveals a remaining solidity and rigidity within the opacity of post-foundational difference which characterizes discourses, in different ways, from Lyotard and Wittgenstein to Derrida. Occluded within the multiplicity constituted by a panoply of post-foundational writings, there remains to be explored a more and differently insubstantial structural-genesis of experience than the situating of meaning in a discursive sociality, an `older' thinking than the thinking of otherness, a more unformidable mark than even Derrida's deconstructive alterity, which questions not simply from beyond it but also from within it, which seeks not to escape or oppose it but move with it more intimately as a more imbecilic and insignificant mark than that offered by a thinking of the event as differance. There would be a tracing of experience beyond-within prayers and tears, guilt and anger, a tracing that would no longer (and never did) know what such terms could mean. Such a subliminal play would not be a retreat from the radicality of deconstruction, but an exquisitely intimate non-directional furthering of its desubstantializing gesture. In what follows we will reveal how deconstructive inventions of difference as otherness or `alterity', as effective as they are at subverting foundational claims to justice and truth, are still in their own subtle manner doomed to see in the world a certain irreducible blamefulness, guilt and violence. This lingering subtle harshness necessarily permeates their languages of justice and the ethical. On what basis do we claim that a reification of meaning still haunts, in destabilized form, a deconstructive textual reading? Isn't it precisely through Derrida's analyses that the playful origin of meaning is released from its enslavement as foundational essence by being allowed to question the heavy determinism of structuralist symbol-sign from within its own resources? Is it not also due to this thinking that a certain arbitrariness adhering in notions of the social relation as subject-object opposition is undermined? Let us examine what notions of consequence might remain unquestioned within such an account. Our intent is to push Derrida's articulations to their limit, in order to move where his own writing has not ventured. If we want to think after deconstruction, we should first offer an account of what deconstruction is, that is, what it effects. This is a difficult and complex issue. Although it is Derrida who is most closely associated with deconstruction as a philosophical orientation, there are a number of other writers who see their work as consonant with the aims of this approach. Since we view Derrida's thinking as perhaps closer to the direction which we want to pursue than that of these others, we may most specifically articulate the architectonics of Derridean differance by locating deconstruction with respect not only to the gathering of Derrida's writings available in English translation over the past decades, but also in relation to writings of authors who consider themselves friends of his approach. Let us situate our analysis of Derrida via a brief interweaving of his articulations with some of those whose proximity to his thinking has been recognized as or recognizes itself as close to Derridean differance. By touching upon features of Derrida's thinking which seem to set him apart from certain sympathetic writers, we will be able to achieve a more precise focus on what is at issue for us in Derrida. This concerns, first, aspects of his corpus that are underclarified, and, second and most importantly, those that are inadequately thought through. From one vantage, a range of poststructuralist thinking differentiates itself author to author, from Caputo and Lyotard to Nancy and Derrida, on the basis of a more or less effective problematizing and decentering of conceptual tropes. But seen from a more global vantage, they may be bound together by a common if heterogeneously expressed failure to penetrate a minimal configurative structurality assumed as the origin of experience. What do we mean by `configurative structurality'? Before we explain this proposition in greater detail with regard to Derrida's work, we will start out by sumarizing other writings supporting a deconstructive orientation. From within these accounts we will identify problems, or at least questions, that we will then address to Derrida. John Caputo's comprehensive treatment of Derridean thematics, ranging from the basis of interpretation to the genesis of the ethico-religious, provides us with a place to begin. According to Caputo, to radicalize the thinking of experience is to avoid the temptation to preempt the play of history by reifying it into formalisms. He cites many ways in which philosophy has attempted to force experience into such ungroundable universals, such as the Cartesian idea of truth as correspondence with an independent reality, with language acting as the pure vehicle of communication or mediation between an autonomous subject and an environment. Even as the more recent efforts of semiological structuralists (Saussure, Lacan, Chomsky, Levi-Strauss) broke away from this atomistic tradition by positing language as a system of signs regulated by the unity of a schematic center, Caputo recognizes that these writers failed to address the historical genesis of such structures. He re-iterates the poststructuralist realization that larger structures and conventions of language are as ungroundable and contingent as the particulars which they presumably regulate. Against these tendencies, Caputo argues there would be no infinite which steers or commands all things, no center or origin which is the key to a system of signs. Instead, there would be a differential system of signifiers without signified. Caputo says "Repetition and representation cut into the very essence of signs, and it is never possible to separate out an original and a representative element within them" (RH133). Caputo affirms that language transforms what it embraces; in representing thought it always represents differently-disruptively. There would be no metavocabulary to arrive at, only a continual recontextualization of language conventions and practices. If we create the world through speech rather than approximate it, this is not a unidirectional endeavor. We don't invent words for our purposes, we are invented and reinvented, along with our purposes, by the contingent vocabularies that we participate in as cultural beings, and these vocabularies are transient. Not the autonomous self-conscious subject intimate with her goals, but the heteronymous subject always at a distance from herself, losing and gaining her identity differently through history. Caputo refers to this repetition of becoming as flux, and also as an ethics of dissemination, borrowing the term from Derrida. For Caputo, the conventions of language and culture which lay claim to us as individuals are utterly without permanence. The very basis of experience in its radical contingency guarantees the inevitable dispersal of all power structures(RH288) which would try to persist in their selfsameness; to understand this is to actively and endlessly participate in a critical emancipation from certainties. Caputo says that the instability in personal experience that this implies requires a jettisoning of a notion of `self' in favor of a site of `non-identity, difference'(RH289), flux, a place of "disruption, irruption, solicitation"(RH289). We want now to concentrate on the supposed mechanics of this flux or play of differences as the moment of the contingent sign and its dislocation. We might be tempted to assume that, by making non-dialectical movement and becoming the central ethic of experience, the hold of foundational metaphysics has been broken. But there is still so much that can be said concerning the relative substantiveness and power of the in-between of relational experience, in its guise as content as well as its function as separation. This book is dedicated to investigating a range of implications, from the interpretive to the aesthetic, the religious to the ethico-political, arising from the precise sorts of commitments that are made with regard to the internal structuring of the beingwith of contingent experience. On the Architecture of Event as Contextual Pattern: At issue in this conversation concerning the in-between of meaning's exposition is precisely what is meant by an event not being `present to itself'. Caputo may believe an event is not present to itself by virtue of its absolute dependence on other events for its very determination. And this would seem to be a reasonable (if at this point still unspecific) argument to make about the ungroundability of conventions of meaning, an argument which puts Caputo in the company of writers like Glendinning and Wittgenstein. For instance, Glendinning offers up a contrast between "a supposedly essential (and thus indefinitely repeatable-as-the-same) identity or content"(OBWO79) and a content which depends for its very essence on the effacing substitution by another content. According to this account, to be self-present is to have a fixed meaning that transcends immediate context, justified traditionally by what Glendinning calls the `thesis of ideal conceptual exactness'. Contrary to this, he insists that "we cannot independently identify a determinate `something' which might be set up as an `in which' that determines and contains the play of concepts. If a meaning only exists as itself for the instant of its appearance, "each `singular event' of `writing' is not what it is except in view of another such `singular event', an event that is not what it is except in view of another such `singular event', an event...And so on"(OBWO122). What appears and passes away as a signifier, then, is not an independently existing perceptual datum received by a consciousness, not a phenomenal entity imposing its structures on a passive subject. There is no private realm of ownness or otherness; the subject or self is not protected from, and is in fact nothing but, the contingency and plurality of eventness itself. Wittgenstein's analyses in the Philosophical Investigations rigorously elaborate the notion of a dissimulated basis of the sign. When he asks, "What is the meaning of the words:`THIS image? How does one point to an image? How does one point twice to the same image"(PI118)?, Wittgenstein is putting into doubt the meaningfulness of a meaning which simply `is' as a selfreferential unit. In example after example, he leads us to see that, if an entity is a having of something, in `having' a something, we are showing it, and in showing, we are submitted to alteration, to an other. To inhabit is to ex-hibit, to use. To simply have a word, meaning, sign, self, is to affirm it and give it up inseparably. The signalling word or gesture is between ourselves and another, a bifurcation, and in this sense a language game. Meaning is always a public secret, an indissociable interaction. The intrinsic is undecidable when its having is always in its transgressing. This is what Wittgenstein means by `essence as grammar'. He recognizes that a notion of sign as intrinsic presence, reflection, representation, implies the thinking of imagination, the seeing of an image. It is the possibility of having something that no one else has, a private experience. "There is here no question of a `seeing'-and therefore none of a `having'-nor of a subject, nor therefore of `I' either..."(PI120). "Every sign BY ITSELF seems dead. What gives it its life?-In use it is ALIVE. Is life breathed into it there?-Or is the USE its life?" (PI128) The use isn't the content of the sign, as if we could return to this sense again briefly. The sign has no intrinsic content. It is only itself as a new use, a new application, a new game. A `string' of such signs need not be thought as being separated by displacements, when the displacing is coextensive with the novelty of the use. No cleansing moment is needed to absolve us of the sin of redundancy when the self is itself NOW in self-effacing motion. To think `this thing' or `this same thing' or `this is this same thing' or `this new thing' ; all three examples involve both effacement and presence together in the gesture of new application. If a pointing is an altering, not a return but an affirmation-in-transformation, then how do we ever know that there is an original, even as the temporary, fleeting event-in-context? The answer is that we don't. There is no center, no transcendental or privileged signified, only endless substitutions. The contingent original as momentary sign is undecidable; it is being-in-transit. Thus, in the sense that the context instantiated by any particular sign does not repeat itself identically into the next moment, it is true that a sign thought this way is not purely present to itself. However, let us make our questioning of the transitive dynamic of signification more specific. We must ask, in the play of moments, what is the status or justification of the  this' and the `that' supposedly giving sense to the spacing between this and that sign? In Caputo's work, for instance, how does the singular function in the instant of its being-with-an-other? Even after the transcendingly enduring self-presence of an event has been placed in doubt, we might locate a different and more radical sort of self-presencing of meaning, a self-presencing which thinks itself only as the very instant of the quasi-transcendental. The issue amounts to what it is that is left of the structurality of the sign BEFORE (not temporally but meaningfully) it is affected, disrupted and effaced by another meaning. Even if we do not know HOW an event of meaning functions except by our repeating and therefore transforming that meaning, there is something we can say  in general' which holds from event to event as the very condition of eventness. This would be the quasitranscendental (a term popularized by Gasche in `Tain of the Mirror') , functioning in Derrida as differance, which effects as a self-reflexive trope the necessary possibility of impossibility of an event, the nature of eventness as simultaneously formal and contingent. In this light, let us examine more closely Caputo's delineation of the quasi-transcendental infrastructure or architecture of the eventness of meaning. The flux, play or dissemination which he attributes to Derrida is articulated as a fold between signifiers. Marks or traces make: ...nominal unities called `words' or concepts or meaning...not merely and not primarily in virtue of the intrinsic "substance" of the "signifier" but in terms of the "differential" relationship-the "space"between the signifiers(WTD157). If it is not merely and primarily the `intrinsic substance' of a sign which effects meaning, is there not still something of the intrinsic, immanent, interiorized, implied in this discourse of referential movement? Caputo says that "the things we do with words will come UNDONE"(WTD157), implying a temporary duration to the doing before an undoing intervenes. Caputo says, "I take it from Derrida that there is a kind of unresolved dialectic, a rhythmic alternation, between tentative schemes and their disruption"(RH196), "structures which evolve, linger for a while and pass"(RH198). These structures would be "contingent arrangements of signs"(RH220), figures which must "eventually turn to ash"(DN34). Notice here that a vocabulary is chosen consisting of structures, arrangements, schemes that linger, that EVENTUALLY turn to ash. And: The easy rhythms and rote rotations of the circle, the gramophone effect of the program, must be regularly interrupted and disrupted by unprogrammable ("grammatological") irruptions, originary events of various scale(DN199). Irruptions are those events which interrupt a program, a circle. But what might be implied by a notion of configuration, scheme, pattern, program as the irreducible basis of being-betweenprograms? It is possible to think the formal aspect or element of the quasi-transcendental condition of an event in terms of the contingent regulating or idealizing function of a scheme or configuration and still justifiably claim to be preventing the self-presencing of the sign. But in its iterative transformation from one passing formation to another, such an attempt may be considered to escape one kind of self-presencing (repeatable identity) only to succumb to a more fundamental selfpresencing. This is because the infrastructural basis of eventness evinces itself as foundational, not just when a meaning is presumed to repeat itself identically `over time', but when the many is supposed to be thinkable as one `contingent' synthetic figure in differential relation to other synthetic figures. To claim that the syntactical-contextual finitude of a meaning destroys its attempted ideality is in no way to unravel the presumed structural integrity of experience if experience originates in the play between structuralisms or gestalts. This is the case EVEN WHEN, instead of lingering in its self-sameness from one repetition of experience to the next, a paradigmatic structure only exists for a contextual moment as synthetic constellation or configuration of elements, never to be recovered or asymptotically approached as itself. Writers endorsing a general account of meaning as non-recuperable or non-coincidental from one instantiation to the next may nonetheless treat the heterogeneous contacts between instants of experience as transformations of fleeting forms, states, logics, outlines, surfaces, patterns, procedures. When thought as pattern, the structural-transcendental moment of eventness upholds a certain logic of internal relation; the elements of the configuration mutually signify each other and the structure presents itself as a fleeting identity, a gathered field or relational procedure determined by its differential and contextual relation to other such fields, procedures or patterns. The particularity of eventness is not allowed to split the presumed (temporary) identity of the internal configuration that frames the event; its framing is altered AS A WHOLE moment to moment. The radical inseparability of an event from what is other than it is thus expressed as the endless reframing of a frame, the infinite shifting from paradigm to paradigm. For instance, let us say that the transit from event to event is like the shifting texture of a fabric blown by the breeze (without the implied phenomenality of a `natural' origin). Let us then imagine a singular instance of this self-transforming process as a momentary textural configuration of the cloth, never to repeat itself identically. We can say that this momentary texture only determines its sense, and in fact only has its existence in its differential relation to a prior and subsequent configuration of the fabric. But what is it we are experiencing as this or that instant? Is a singularity-in-relation experienced all at once as a network of folds and lines, a pattern or procedure? We want to suggest that Caputo's temporary patterns, configurations, arrangements, schemes may assume themselves this way as a simultaneous plurality in differential relation to other internally gathered pluralities, procedures, programs. It is this presumed schematic internality of eventness, the power of abstractive multiplicity given to the sign for the fleeting moment of its actuality, which causes experience to be treated as resistant to its dislocation, as a lingering or resistant form, pattern, configuration, infrastructure. A hermeneutic of interpretation, radical or not, depends on the idea of such an infrastructure. If the comments from Caputo that we have quoted thus far hint at a notion of Being-with as a contingent play of internal schematisms, an examination of Lyotard's writing reveals a detailed depiction of such dynamics. Since Lyotard has been mentioned by at least one supporter of Derrida's (Bennington) as having a close proximity to deconstructive thought, let us examine a sample of his writing. In `The Inhuman' , Lyotard makes use of a style of explication not generally seen in his other writings. Here he translates his concepts into terminology compatible with recent strands of psychological research. He explains that thinking is a constructed product of the Erde;the mind is a self-organizing system. "Any material system is technological if it filters information useful to its survival, if it memorizes and processes that information and makes inferences based on the regulating effect of behavior, that is, if it intervenes on and impacts its environment so as to assure its perpetuation at least." He says the human being "has a regulating system (codes and rules of processing) that's more differentiated and a storage capacity for its memory that's greater than those of other living things. Most of all: it's equipped with a symbolic system that's both arbitrary (in semantics and syntax), letting it be less dependent on an immediate environment, and also `recursive'(Hofstadter), allowing it to take into account (above and beyond raw data) the way it has of processing such data. That is, itself"(TI12). Motifs such as the force of desire and phrase universe, seen in previous Lyotardian works, re-emerge here within the context of a more stark, and perhaps in some ways, more revealing, language. The contingent functioning of regimes of phrases and genres of discourse can be seen as deriving from the symbolic recursiveness of a human information processing system, as Lyotard describes it here, wherein pre-established criteria do not determine in advance what's appropriate to choose. Human thought doesn't "work with units of information (bits), but with intuitive, hypothetical configurations. It accepts imprecise, ambiguous data that don't seem to be selected according to pre-established codes of readability"(TI15). Lyotard touches on terrain here pertaining to the researches of second order cybernetics, autopeiotic self-organizing systems theory and radical constructivism (See Maturana), recent approaches within the larger field of cognitive science. Gergen characterizes their central themes thusly: Knowledge is not passively received either through the senses or by way of communication, but is actively built up by the cognizing subject. In effect, the individual never makes direct contact with the world as it is; there is nothing to be said about a world that is unconstructed by the mind(RR68). At the same time we can acknowledge Lyotard's post-structuralist recognition of the fact that meaning is a function of continually self-transforming constructive activity, we may also note that the notion of a self-organizing system he borrows from cybernetics depends on the rubric of an agential internal schematism (algorithmic pattern) as its irreducible basis. Notwithstanding Bennington's (ID117) embrace of Lyotard's work as having much in common with Derrida's, we do not mean to suggest that the quasi-transcendental architecture of the Derridean trace is necessarilyclosely comparable to that which may organize Lyotard's (or Caputo's) thinking. Derrida(PA), Deleuze (AO243) and Nancy(DI) have each, in different ways, pointed to foundationalist tendencies in Lyotard's work, which arguments we support, as far as they go. Nancy, for instance, has written against Lyotard: "Being" is here understood not as a substance nor as a substrate, even less as a result or a product, neither as a state, nor as a property... Rather it is understood as an act, and hence equivalent to a "doing"...This being is as incommensurable with any given as with any operation which presupposes a given put to work (and an operative agent)(DI268). The gist of this objection (among others) of Nancy's would seem to be that Lyotard allows the presencing of an event to be thought as something potentially applied or derived from another element, rather than as a being-with, an `ex-nihilo', that is always strictly its own end and measure, an underivable and unassimilable repetition of co-existent singularities. However, even if we grant that the structurality of the structure of eventness is of this non-agential order of the `ex-nihilo', we will still not have not fully addressed the central issue we began with, namely, the question of the justification of the singular event as minimally patterned or configured. It would be possible to satisfy Nancy's conditions concerning the exorbitancy of an event of meaning while still allowing events to function as irreducible schemes. It would be a matter of thinking the being-with of meaning constituted by the relation of one singular to the next as the relation between configurational structures, each one being non-representable and non-identically reproducible except via its own effacing transformation. In this way, the internally patterned structurality of a singular element, while implied, could never be analyzed, delineated, or decomposed. Nor could it function as the substrate of an applied or derived product. The following passage from Nancy suggests how his own deconstructive work may begin from such a notion of a non-reproducible schematic play. "From faces to voices, gestures, attitudes, dress, and conduct, whatever the "typical" traits are, everyone distinguishes himself by a sort of sudden and headlong precipitation where the strangeness of a singularity is concentrated...As for singular differences, they are not only "individual", but infraindividual. It is never the case that I have met Pierre or Marie per se, but I have met him or her in such and such a "form", in such and such a "state", in such and such a "mood", and so on(p.8)...""..what is an affect, if not each time a sketch? A comportment, if not each time a pattern? A voice, if not each time a faint outline? What is a singularity, if not each time its "own" clearing, its "own" imminence, the imminence of a "propriety" or propriety itself as imminence, always touched upon, always lightly touched:revealing itself beside, always beside.(BSP7)." For Nancy, the being-with of meaning would seem to originate with the co-existence of singular `forms', `states', `patterns',`sketches', `outlines'. Now, even though, as we have said, Nancy clearly does not want such entities to be thought as anything other than utterly contextual and non-derivable elements-in-relation, we are left puzzled concerning what it is that is supposed to be imminent as the moment of the singular itself, even in its inseparable co-existence with other singulars. Does Nancy think the irreducible double scene of eventness as the differential spacing between momentary paradigmatic fields or programs, as we have represented the minimal condition of these structures? The least we can say is that we find in Nancy's writing a lack of attention given to the sort of inquiry which would allow us to answer this question in the negative. At most, we can suspect that he has failed to unravel a certain self-presencing remnant lurking within the body of the singular as pattern. What can we say of Derrida's corpus? We are finally ready to turn to his work and address to him these questions we have opened up in Caputo, Lyotard and Nancy. When we examine Derrida's writing we find that the repetition of differance modalizes itself as regions of inscription. Derrida speaks of differentiated configurations, bodies of work, ensembles, masses, tissues, complexes, modes, codes, networks, motifs, registers, voices, trajectories, discursive zones, contextual constraints, thematics. And what is the irreducible basis of these programs and systems? Derrida tells us such groupings do not have an identity which survives as itself moment to moment, a persisting conceptual center that would control, define or regulate its particular instantiations. On the contrary, the experiencing of each heterogeneous particular re-invents the sense of a group. A thematics or style is at every moment in the process of undoing itself, expropriating itself, falling to pieces without ever collecting itself together in a signature... its consistency would be the repetition of not-collecting itself, its being the same differently or otherwise...Perhaps you will say that there is a way of not collecting oneself that is consistently recognizable, what used to be called a `style'(PT354). A collectivity is always itself differently, not only from one individual to the next but from one event to the next; as Derrida says, there would be no common measure, no simple resemblance, sharing, counting of instances. We can trace the origin of this instability to the structural-genetic basis of an event itself as a spacing, tracing, referral, differance between elements of meaning. Derrida writes, "...an element functions and signifies, takes on or conveys meaning, only by referring to another past or future element in an economy of traces"(P29). He adds: The play of differences supposes, in effect, syntheses and referrals which forbid at any moment, or in any sense, that a simple element be present in and of itself, referring only to itself(P26) If the force or formidability of an event of meaning is a function of an irreducible tension between elements, what structural figure is contributed by a `simple element' in its inseparable coexistence with another element? If a social formation or a textual work is a heterogeneous, always shifting field of singularities, one might get the impression from reading Derrida a certain way that for him the figure of the element `itself', when examined in its inseparable relation to other elements (whether encountered as literary, political, philosophical modality), originates as a certain synthetic architecture. For instance, in `Between Brackets I' and `Ja, or the faux-bond II', Derrida says the closure of a program or code must be deformed and displaced. One transforms "the code, to upset the translation in order to flush slumbering investments out of their cover(19PT)." One alters "the scene, the frame, and the relations of force(PT16)". In resisting a program, "the resistance creates a symptom and is set to work on the body, transforming, deforming it and the corpus from head to toe--down to its very name"(PT17). In "Passages-from Traumatism to Promise", Derrida writes "...all of history being a conflictual field of forces in which it is a matter of making unreadable, excluding, of positing by excluding, of imposing a dominant force by excluding...(PT389)". And elsewhere he writes "For it is necessary that we learn to detect, in order then to resist, new forms of cultural takeover"(OH54). In these comments, Derrida appears to be locating discrete (if non-identically repeatable) moments of structurality in a world alongside their disruption. One resists `a given program, a system of expectations'. "The historicity proper to philosophy is located and constituted in the transition, the dialogue between hyperbole and the finite structure, between history and historicity...(WD60)." Based on these and many other comments scattered throughout his work, we are prompted to wonder if perhaps Derrida thinks of the interval between `simple elements' at the core of the referential dynamics of deconstruction as the transformation of elemental PATTERN. It would not be as if Derrida, anymore than does Nancy, means this patterning as a repeatable, definable, analysable substrate. But with Derrida, as with Nancy, we find ourselves searching for an analysis of the `structurality of structure' that might unambiguously allow us to conclude that he recognizes a more intricate origin of the trace than that which points to an irreducibly configurational dynamic. That we have not as yet found such clarity, due to either an inadequacy in the texts or in our reading of them, is less important to our present concerns than the crucial import of the distinction we are making between a patterned and a less-than-patterned double origin of meaning. Unravelling the Momentary Structure of Configuration At this point we need to make clearer the nature of this more intricate deconstructive origin we have in mind. What alternative would there be to (or within) formulations of the movement of experience as the relational transit between patterned forces? Must not an event have a minimally configurational way or mode of being-in-relation in order to make any sense at all, given that it has been prevented from prevailing as a recoverable essence moment to moment? How do we think of this imprinting or marking of the event if not via an at least minimal contextual thematicity or procedurality? Our investigation of deconstruction at its limit offers the following: the structuralgenesis of eventness can be understood as both utterly particular and indeterminate, as just that imbecilic gesture which, together with the breath of the empirical, performs the tension or transit which is the experience, the intrinsic mobility of eventness. If what we think of as `this matter' is simultaneously elsewhere in the instant of our embrace of it, then certainly we must recognize the existence of `this matter' as the self-effacing interval between elements rather than as simply a present entity. But we must go further that this, and say that this between-elements must not be assumed as the dislocating spacing of a schema, procedure, arrangement, pattern. An element thought via such pluralistic tropes would not be an element at all but already a multiplicity of events. It would need to be understood that pattern-form could constitute no simple element of meaning, anywhere. The configurational structure of something like a woven fabric of text would be the experience of the repeated transition of an event existing, each time, only as the play of a singular hinge, the articulation of a mark or trace in its simultaneous presencing and absencing. This mark or trace would have its entire effect exhausted in its being just barely other than itself, as just the most insignificant whiff, feel, tinge of novelty. Not yet an interval between procedures or schemes, but instead the referential play between minuscule and non-plural aspects (not of any prior whole), variations, accents in continual self-alteration and transit. A play between singulars could be a relation between no such ELEMENTAL thing as a pattern, scheme, synthesis. A supposed patterned or configured element-in-tension would instead be the ongoing effect of a multiple repetition, the repeated knot or tie of a less-than-schematic between, the interval between a ` this' and an other `this'. The  this' and the  this' constituting an interval of meaning would not form a relation between two or more bodies, materials, particles, regions, states, enclosures, codes. Not meaning as the dislocating co-existence of two or more abstractive `these' enclosed by the circle of  this pattern' and `that body', but the transit from the barest hint of simple sense to the barest hint of new sense. In consisting as the structurality of internal procedural plurality, meaning as the spacing accomplished by the reframing of contextual frame would unknowingly succumb to a destabilization before it could even think a single instance of its decentering gesture. An internally gathered procedure could not justify itself as such a system or body, and so the supposed determinativeness of the event as an internal structure-in-relation-with-an-other reveals itself as phantasm repressing a more intimate, unformidable series of effects. What we are trying to convey here may be a world unavailable to much current deconstructive writing. It is not simply a matter of pointing to `smaller particles' than that of disseminative patterns, but of revealing an entirely different notion of the structurality of an element and thus a different notion of meaning as spacing or tracing between elements. The bleeding of the sense of the world from one instant to the next is of a vibratory immediacy, dynamism and relational inconsequentiality that may be obscured by the clumsy, constraining tropes of deconstructive forces and their dissemination. But perhaps we are misreading Derrida in suspecting him of attributing too much of a structural thickness to the elemental play of meaning. Derrida has said that the Being of eventness is simultaneously singular-plural not just by virtue of the fact that each singular event is inseparably determined by its differential relation to other events. The play of sense is to be found not only between elements but within each singular as the equivocity of a presenting and an absencing. Differance is not simply the tension between-one-another. A singular event is paradoxical, double within-itself even before its existence as the passion, tension and responsivity of being-with another event. Derrida writes The iterability of an element divides its own identity a priori, even without taking into account that this identity can only determine or delimit itself through differential relations to other elements and hence that it bears the mark of this difference. It is because this iterability is differential, within each individual "element" as well as between "elements", because it splits each element while constituting it, because it marks it with an articulatory break, that the remainder, although indispensable, is never that of a full or fulfilling presence; it is a differential structure escaping the logic of presence..(LI53). This paragraph lends itself to at least two distinct readings. On the one hand, the differential split between elements may be read as a play between non-reproducible registers or bodies. On the other hand, perhaps Derrida does not mean differance to perform as the in-between of heterogeneous configurations, and instead begins from a different and more primordial hinge. Perhaps he means the differential relation between an element and itself to be of the order of an extraordinarily simple gesture of novelty. Certainly, without the limitation on significance posed bya radically intimate and insubstantial self-duplicity within an event of meaning, too much authority may be claimed for the contingent force of what lurks in the `between', in the space of apparent sense opened by relation of one element to another. Violence and Radicalized Deconstruction Herein lies the ethico-political import of the distinction we are making between a reading of the Derridean trace of meaning as the transformation of the moment of configuration, and the trace as less-than-schematic hinge. Event as irreducible pattern is a force of violence in its belief in the fatness of the singular. In the case of Caputo and Lyotard, experience is assumed to hold onto an authoritarian force when its designation as structured form is delineated with and against its transformation-disruption. For instance, Caputo's radical hermeneutic treatment of meaning as a play between contingent programs may be intrinsically single-mindedly violent in this sense not because it defends the event against its dissolution, but to the extent that there is the faith in the first place in such a thing as the intention-mindfulness of the moment of a program. Compared with the thinking of an intricate implicative iteration, this architecture of positing-and-negation is always, by its own definition, wrenching and forceful. It forces the stamp of temporary thickness over a subliminal play, and then, too late, notices and endorses a displacement that it reifies as disruptiondisplacement-communication. It is too busy being caught up in this bumper car ride of the parade of moments to notice that a quieter, more mobile and intimate tension has been proceeding (repeating) all along, buried within-on the margins of the lurching play of constructs and their alteration. The deconstructive trace, pushed to its more radical implications, can teach us to be suspicious of any account of self-effacing meaning which finds it necessary to claim spacing as a traumatic distance between elements. Such a radicalized thinking of differance should place in question a comment of Derrida's like the following: "When it is alive in some way, when it is not sclerotically enclosed in its mechanics, the philosophical discourse goes from jolt to jolt, from traumatism to traumatism"(PT381). We wonder again if it is the assumption of an irreducible, minimal mechanics of synthetic form-in-transformation that makes Derrida assume that the movement of experience is necessarily a `traumatism'. We are even more troubled by Nancy's characterization of the being-with of experience as `surprise', the `shock of meaning', `discord', a `jolt', the "irreducible strangeness of each one of these touches to the other (BSP6)",  odd',  curious', `disconcerting', `bizzare', the com-passion of Being-with as "the disturbance of violent relatedness"(BSPxiii). As a most insignificant differance, the pivot of sense does not have the substantive (configurative) power to shock or jolt; if there is no form to be transformed, there is no jolt; each of these terms is reciprocally implied by the other. When the `force' of an element is seen as utterly imbecilic, as impossibly simple in its insignificance, the cut of its appearancedisappearance is less than a trauma. An event's pole of presence doesn't know or do anything in and of itself; its only claim to existence in any `form', as any effect, is that it is the barely discernible simultaneous other or partner of an utterly insubstantial moment of absence, and vice-versa. Caputo's schematized other who surprises and disturbs me is presumed to come at me from a substantial distance. But the intimate other who intervenes at the very origin of thinking doesn't come AT me; the other is impossibly close to me, it comes from or WITHIN me. It is true that we cannot go back and gather or confirm, act on, express, declare, our preference without our attempted return to `what we want' simultaneously but subtly forgetting and displacing its motive. However, if the transitioning impetus of the relation with the other is the imbecilic gesture we have represented it as, then this tension of being-with is profoundly gentle in a sense. Because the `what' that is displaced amounts to very little, less than the fatness of pattern, the gesture of `disturbing' otherness co-determining its essence is hardly a disturbance at all, but instead has the character of a radical implicate continuity. This implicate integrity is not of the order of a derivation or application depending on an originary substrate or construct. There are only derivations of derivations, endlessly. I can only speak of another person or concept because my experience is alreadyoriented ahead of itself, but now `person' and `concept' lose their meaning as forms or bodies. The social world has already begun (and ended) with the iteration of a differance preceding the machinations of procedures, norms and bodies. This is a more fundamental origin than that of interpersonal relation, not because it resists the otherness of community, but because it is already structured as such, although in a way which requires a more insubstantial, unformidable, intimate notion of the social. We cannot agree with Gergen when he says, in a reading of the later Wittgenstein: Languages are essentially shared activities. Indeed, until the sounds or markings come to be shared within a community, it is inappropriate to speak of language at all. In effect, we may cease inquiry into the psychological basis of language (which account would inevitably form but a subtext or miniature language) and focus on the performative use of language in human affairs(RR270). In apparent disagreement with such a view, Derrida writes: ...there is no self-relation, no relation to oneself, no identification with oneself, without culture, but a culture of oneself as a culture of the other, a culture of the double genitive and of the difference to oneself"(OH,10). And One is always calculating with what one perceives of the cultural field. But even if this calculation negotiates in a very cunning fashion, it always consents to serve a more unruly, disarmed, naive desire, or in any case another culture that no longer calculates, and certainly not according to the norms of "present" culture or politics. One is coming to terms with someone, with someone other, dead or alive, with some others who have no identity in this cultural scene(PT353). We support these comments of Derrida. And in the spirit of a deconstruction pushed to the limit, we want to emphasize the scene of this play of self and other as less than a jolting, disturbing leap from configuration to configuration. Events could not be said to do as much as disturb or resist their surrounding context; they would BE their surroundings in an intensely intricate, implicit and anticipative way. As Gendlin says, In sensing itself the body functions as our sense of each situation. It is not a perceived object before you or even behind you. The body-sense IS the situation, inherently an interaction, not a mix of two things (PB347, See also TBP). Language, as all experience, is sensate in the most unformidable way that there could be sense, not to be distinguished from or located as one modality among others within some categorical spectrum which might include cognition, feeling, perceiving, sensation, acting. These supposed `psychological agencies' have no basis as internal structures presumedly processing or interacting with an external milieu. All such modes are already implied by, and in fact are to be seen as only unstable, less than definable effects of, a movement which is less than the meeting of a formed inside and a formidable outside. Meaning as sense is already spoken for prior to reactivity. What is `within me' is `other than me' not because it is exposed to the response of another living interlocutor or perceived entity, but simply because it is exposed to itself as a most evanescent coloration of preschematic novelty. My `private' conversation with myself is already at the same time public prior to any notion of interchange with other human beings or semantic-syntactic schemes. Whether I contemplate `myself' or another, the variations of sense are immediately my culture, subverting the self-sameness of my identity. They don't come at me, they tumble out of me, as an integrally unfolding re-invention of me. They (and myself) only ex-ist in the transcendent-empirico instant of differance as delicate accent on accent, patternless variation of variation, implication of implication, anticipation of anticipation. I become myself anew in and through sense, and sense is born anew as response, interlocutor, to its own inquiry, being itself in being always just barely ahead of itself. In this fashion, the structure of my desire is that of sense's return to itself differently-but-integrally, as a carrying-forward which re-invents its direction every moment without tearing the delicate fabric of its anticipative continuity. To find oneself in desire is to find oneself (and at the same time lose oneself) sensing, without this finding and losing bearing the heaviness indicated by terms like surprise and mourning. And what about animals, plants and rocks? Do these `entities' relate to a world in the same way that we have characterized as the experience of an individual, or are such living and non-living things in some sense lacking (poor or absent in world, as Heidegger has said)? They could not be said to be excluded in any way from the process of intricate movement we have been describing, not because they would be presumed to function this way on their own account, from within their own resources as we imagine them, but only because they could have no existence in the first place independent of their function as concepts generated in our thought. And to say that they are concepts is to say that the sense of their meaning instantiates-differentiates itself moment to moment for us as always a less than schematic hinge or transit. And who or what is this `I', this `self' that experiences such changing senses of terms like animal and rock? As this ever-changing production of a self-transforming experiencing, could the very idea of an `animal' or `rock' then be said to be the invention of a human subject? No, such a thing as a human subject must itself be considered, along with terms like animal and rock, as only a constantly transforming, or spacing-temporalizing, invention of an underlying dynamic. That which generates itself as the intricate process of experiencing is not yet identifiably human, not yet living thing, not yet recognizable as anyparticular form, gathering, self, subject or `I', and never can become one (as Derrida apparently realizes). This divided-dividing origin, as not yet a producing form, substrate or gathered essence, is `itself', `IS' only as contingent history, as the differentiating repetition of a presencing-absencing hinge of sense. We distinguish the effect of sense as experiential intricacy from Merleau-Ponty's fleshly boundary, as well as other phenomemological accounts. For Merleau-Ponty, perception is the chiasmic mediation between phenomenally real elements of self and world, the irreducible communication between an inside and an outside. It is far from our intent to think the sensate articulation of a trace as the subjective-objective encounter or assimilation of a phenomenal entity with its own supposed semiological contribution. The being of traces with each other is not a mediation or encounter of phenomenal bodies or signs, nor is it the tension or resistance between post-phenomenological singulars, a Being-with as Being-surprised. As imbecilic hinged sense, it is more accurate to say that an element of experience implicitly GENERATES another element which effaces it than that it is SURPRISED or DISTURBED by this effacement. Caputo might fear that the failure to have the temporary stability of schematic form between the cracks of the flux amounts to the jettisoning of all reason (He says, "Without the signifier, the thing itself slips away altogether, right down the drain"(RH191). However, the deconstructed signifier doesn't disappear; instead it loses its assumed internally structured unity as temporary `master name', subject, scheme. Far from an anarchy, the deconstructive gesture conceived this way consists in a play more (and differently) intricate than an alternation of contingent reason and its disruption, of briefly lingering abstractive master names and their dissipation. Rather than this being an `anything goes' accounting of experience, it is one of an exquisitely intricate connectivitydisconnectivity of experience, history as a textualizing so intimately and insignificantly woven as to render notions of location and dislocation found in a discourse of arrangements of signs and their dislodgment to be at the same time too substantive and too violent. No theological moment of emancipation on the order of a gestalt shift could be localized within a community or individual when thinking never has the chance to form a gestalt, even for an instant. The to-come could not `shatter our horizon of expectation', `regimes of presence', `law of the present', as Caputo says. Instead of a horizon of expectation, there would be an excessiveness within expectation keeping it mobile with respect to itself, carrying it forward. its supposed horizonline would really be a strange spiral dislodging me ever so slightly from myself and my community in my moment of intention. This is the case whether experience seems to meet my expectations or not. To understand most fundamentally the basis of social dynamics is thus to be brought back again and again differently, but intricately, to the double gesture of the instancing of meaning. The ethical import of a deconstructive thinking would not be in the encouragement of a hope of emancipation from repressive schemes. Its import would be in demonstrating the minimal tension inherent in desire as profoundly gentle in relation to the harshness which issues from the rhetoric of schematizing, forceful signs in dispersal. This minimal tension stemming from the bifurcated origin of experience as radically mobile and intimate would determine that to intervene within a site of social endeavor is to further differently what is already an ongoing, if plodding, self-transformative movement working within even the most apparently rigid systems of power, at all levels. Such a deconstructive intervention would not be a matter of forcing a culture from actual stagnation but rather of joining-rejoining with them, participating-otherwise with `their' already internally heterogeneous movement, in its extension-transformation, individual to individual, moment to moment, sense to sense. One would thus want to treat cautiously Derrida's depiction of history as a `conflictual field of forces', as well as the implication of his comment below: ...sometimes, to change something within the corporation, the intervention of some power outside frees the situation, is necessary. Sometimes-I know that in France-the current of philosophers is simply reproducing itself constantly, constantly, and if there is no intervention from the state, from the state, or from some who are outside, it will reproduce itself for centuries without accepting anything new. And I'm sure that if you don't impose on the philosopher that they appoint someone totally foreign to their own school of thought, nothing will change for centuries(OHP36). Given Derrida's articulation of differance as destabilizing the very concept of repeatable identity, we don't believe he means to suggest that there could be a `pure' repetition of a given program in the case of the status of institutionalized French philosophy, or in the analysis of any other history. In the first place, he recognizes that a dominant cultural formation would consist not as a single essence but as onlya relativelygathered, constantly shifting field of heterogeneous forces. There would never be perfect but only relative agreement among the participants in any normative apparatus concerning what is being excluded or opposed by that apparatus. Furthermore, if a hegemonic cultural formation functions (differently for each participant) by "imposing a dominant force by excluding(PT389)", it is also the case that "This rejection leaves marks (more or less deferred) which it would be hasty, I believe, to think of as simply negative or unproductive"(PT45). This comment suggests that Derrida acknowledges transformative movement to be implicit at the heart of the most ardent thinking of a status quo. Considered in this way, his mention of history as a `conflict of forces' may refer back to the fundamental dynamics of differance as a force of dislocation operating to prevent anymeaning from ever congealing into a self-preserving totality one minute to the next. Nevertheless, it is important to question the necessity for a language requiring the `forceful' or resistant' intervening in supposedly entrenched regions of power when a radical, subliminal and subversive weave of continuity-novelty already functions from within those communities to keep experience mobile. Even within the most supposedly foundational, fundamentalist community of belief or institution of power, each singular `individual', in reaffirming the so-called norms and programmatics of that community, is doing this differently each moment of experience, finding their own intention subtly exceeding itself from within in the `instant' of its affirmation. Given this intricately, constantly mobile relationship of individuals to a particular cultural institution, and more importantly, to themselves moment to moment, one could not in fact locate any aspect of institutional practice, regardless of how rigidly rule governed it intends its programmatics to be, which would not avail itself to continual, if subtle, re-formulation (or, more precisely, re-sensing) for each individual each instant, as a less-than-conflictual self-exceeding. A foundational choice, rule, mechanics, is always, for every individual and at every moment, reaffirmed differently, as the transit or carrying forward of something that in each instant is less than a mechanics. Perhaps, then, Derrida would agree that programmatics, mechanics, institutional repetitions and norms never actually mean anything except as terms of language favored by individuals who nevertheless, in their use of these terms, immediately and unknowingly multiply the terms' senses (in a referential movement of less-than-patterned-elements). In this light, we would want to qualify Derrida's observation that in attempting to oppose oneself dialectically to a point of view, this "reversal reproduces and confirms through inversion what it has struggled against"(PT84). From a too general vantage it can appear that one remains wedded to that system of thought which one wishes to overcome, dialectically or otherwise, `once and for all'. But, examined more closely, it becomes clear that one's opposition to a given way of thinking expresses a subtle transformative shift in one's relation to that which one remains attached-through-protest. One's faith in the reign of the concept would not freeze one's mutability but render it as a plodding and polarizing movement. It is only in this relative sense that a foundational thinking of any sort could be considered repressive or paralyzed. If an event of meaning is transit without schema, if desire is in-motion without stance, then what is the end of an ethics? If our desire does not project itself over time as a self-identical content, and does not even have the integrity for a singular moment of a transitivity between norms, forms, configurations, then can we still locate regions of greater or lesser cultural violence or injustice in the world? Because differance is not just a within-trace play but also a between-trace relationality, the utter singularity of each moment simultaneously speaks to the variable politico-ethical fortunes of our moment to moment experience. On top of the always ambivalent ethical play marking every event as doubled within itself, there would be an ability to make local, contingent, contextual ethical distinctions between more or less plodding or interruptive relational scenarios within political, philosophical, literary culture. There would be more or less just individuals (and only indirectly, communities) to the extent that our experiences of these textualities, as rendered and judged reinventively moment to moment, individual to individual, are more or less  in need of' deconstruction, but without there being a way to produce a lineage or hierarchy of ethical decadence, and without there being a way to ever locate a schematic instant of transitive Being. It would not be as if deconstructive thinking could claim to be better than the text it puts into question in any formal way; rather, it intervenes to accelerate the efficacy and intimacy of movement in a text already deconstructing itself naively, lugubriously, haltingly. What a deconstructive approach can be seen to question, then, would not be a realized thinking of totality but the claim for it. One `resists', that is to say, transforms the consequences of the illusory faith in conceptual dogmatisms, programmatics, norms and configurations. And what are those consequences? Even if belief in pure conceptual repetition, and even the brief stasis of scheme, is a `phantasm', those who subscribe to such an ideal suspect and resist, often violently, any assertion that questions its assumed hegemony. The enormous variety of thinking depending on myriad sorts and degrees of totalitarianism of the concept, on programmatic mechanisms, on the selfpresence of the intending subject, is in each case an internally decentering thinking which may be characterized by a relative impoverishment of experiential momentum, but never of an actual absence of movement. 2.LESS THAN DECONSTRUCTION The Essential Moodiness of Deconstructive Modalization: We have been concerned with questioning the necessity of a certain language of violence, otherness, disruption and pathos saturating Derrida's texts as well of those of others whose work we have mentioned in connection with deconstructionist orientations(Caputo, Nancy, Lyotard, Deleuze). Our method in this inquiry has thus far been to establish a connection between such tendencies and the assumed structurality attributed to the origination of experience. In furtherance of this aim, we have explored two alternative readings of deconstruction's characterization of meaning's decentering split within and between events. On the one hand, the mechanics of this play of differences as the locating-dislocating moment of the singular event could be rendered as the tension between patterned instances, and on the other hand, this interval could be thought as a less-than-schematic gesture. We showed that the first reading demands a terminology of a certain violence. The tension between configured events becomes a conflict of forces, a traumatism, a shock or jolt, and deconstructive reading is implicated as a weapon of resistance and disruption as well as continuation. Our second reading shows the event-to-event modulation of experience to be of an intricate and intimate character which cannot be justified as necessarily conflictual and disturbing, even by the anti-authoritarian, post-phenomenological standards of a post structuralist embrace of such terms. Even if we imagine Derrida to support this second, radicalized version, despite our suspicions, there is still much that needs to be said concerning the relative substantiveness and power of a less-than-configurative in-between originating experience. We would remain dissatisfied with Derrida's vocabulary of disturbance, trauma and loss even after re-reading his use of such terms in the sympathetic light of this second interpretation. But if this is the case for us, what further alteration would we want to make in Derrida's systematics of the trace in order to address this remaining dissatisfaction? In order to go further in this investigation, we now need to make use of a more refined level of analysis than has thus far been available to us. We want to bring to the fore an aspect of meaning which determines in a most basic way the consequentiality of experience but whose origin till now has been allowed to remain partially invisible, not just within our present analysis, but across the larger expanse of philosophical-ethico-poltico-aesthetic inquiry. Rather than examining the affective implications of tinkering with structural architectonics of a philosophy of experience, we have now to examine the question of affectivity intensely, from within its own resources. If deconstructive avenues of thought were guided in part by Heidegger's transformation of `to be' from a given to a question, it is time now to consider what has been left unexamined within terms like sense, mood, affect. At issue now is the relative moodiness the modalization of experience is allowed to carry in its functioning as imbecilic play of traces. When we say moodiness, we are referring to the supposed palpable tension which determines meaning in its aspects as content and form, presence and absence. The importance of terms such as tension, paradox, alterity, resistance is that they deem my relation to a world, that is, meaning's relation to itself, as a play or duality which always is invested with a particular possibility-impossibility of affect, a particular irreducibility of sense, feel, mood, text, tension. From moment to moment, experience as the repetition of differance modalizes itself potentially and variously as joyful, bored, suffering, angry, mournful. To the extent that the iterative origin of experience carries with it this spacing of sense, the modalization of meaning is intrinsically `moodalizing'. To say that Derridean differance (or our radicalized version of it) moodalizes itself is to be able to show that there would be an unexamined `thickness' to the space of self-dividing eventness. There would be a certain irreducible `fatness' inhering in the dynamic which comprises the double movement of Derridean dissemination. Even our radicalized account of deconstruction, which questioned and unravelled the depiction of relational experience as a disturbing play of momentarily patterned or programmatic forces, had nothing further to say and uncover beneath its own assumptions of a `gentle' thickness of mood adhering in the instancing of experience. We are ready now to question from a more fundamental vantage the justification of beingwith as minimally sensible, moody, affective, so as to reveal deconstructive thinking, even in the radicalized reading we have presented, as clinging to a too-substantive notion of experience via its embrace of an irreducible substrate of affect. How do we reconcile this claim of a fatness of contentdifference with comments from Derrida which would seem to argue the contrary? He has said differance would be an "imperceptible difference. This exit from the identical into the same remains very slight, weighs nothing itself, thinks and weighs the book AS SUCH (WD, p.295)." Derrida has offered that the disseminative trace of meaning is a mark with so little force or consequence that it is scarcely enough to allow the iteration of a world as same-other, presence-absence. Differance would be "very gentle, foreign to threats and wars" (PY61). Nevertheless, there would be a way to reveal the insignificant play of traces as retaining a certain consequentiality, a guiltymourning-joyful tension. Even as a presence-absence which is not simply present or absent to itself, differance retains enough of a substance, power, effect, in order to imply a minimal faith in suffering and blame. Even as it invests meaning's self-divided edge with a gentler because more insignificant effect than that which would be hypostatized as intentional epoche or the gathering of Dasein, differance retains a certain substantiveness or neuroticism; the `alterity' of the play of the trace implies a subtle, irreducible ambivalence, anxiety, violence, anger as well as a playful laughter. Derrida writes "... writing [differance] cannot be thought outside of the horizon of intersubjective violence" (P49). His diatribe against his critics in `Biodegradables'(B812-873) evinces the use of deconstruction as a weapon of blame and anger. It admits to being bitter, resentful, angry, shocked (as it accuses its accusers of being abusive, arrogant, murderous, indecent, dishonest, aberrant, obscene, venomous). Deconstruction sees these moody othernesses in the texts it unravels because, most fundamentally, it sees them in itself. "I have had in the history of humanity no idea of anyone, wait, wait, anyone who has been happier than I, and luckier, euphoric, this is a priori true, isn't it?, drunk with uninterrupted enjoyment,...but that if, beyond any comparison, I have remained, me the counterexample of myself, as constantly sad, deprived, destitute, disappointed, impatient, jealous, desperate, negative and neurotic, and that if in the end the two certainties do not exclude one another for I am sure they are as true as each other, simultaneously and from every angle, then I do not know how still to risk the slightest sentence without letting it fall to the ground in silence..."(JD270). The different moods of deconstructive writing emanate from the vissicitudes of the modalization of experience inventing itself, singular event to singular event, into and between condensations and gatherings. Differance is surprised, disappointed and saddened by the texts it encounters which attempt to slow the play of eventness by repressing and paralyzing otherness within their various illusory conceptual programs; it is angry in its resistance to such repressive thinking as it forces an exhausted hegemony back to work. It enjoys the thematic momentum of the inventing and reinventing of its own implications (Derrida remarks:"By means of this simultaneously faithful and violent circulation between the inside and the outside of philosophy...there is produced a textual work that gives great pleasure"(PT6)). Finally, underlying all these momenta of movement of experience (disappointing, hostile, pleasurable) is the minimally violent, guilty mourning (and euphoria) intrinsic to each duplicitous event in its performativity as self-inadequacy. To read through and beyond-within Derrida is to explore the further implications of a thinking of utter insignificance of eventness, wherein the particularity of experience is of so little importance as to no longer justify a vocabulary of moody sense which perceives itself as tension, guilt, hostility. It is not the articulation of a restive, passionate, anxious or disseminative otherness lurking at what would be the `heart' of knowing which we want to reveal. We want to slip underneath such a moody limit so as to begin to think a more (differently) rigorously insubstantial, non-foundational notion of `more' than would be overtly discernible by those who understand terms like anger, guilt, blame, and suffering within a circle of alterity. To proceed in this way is to experience a world in which, however their particular senses are unravelled, guilt and blameful justice (in fact, as we will see, all notions of justice can be revealed as blameful and guilty in a certain way) are terms which, in a most extraordinary manner, are now with almost no resonance left in them. It is to know that the gesture which projects a world of differences invokes a peculiarly radical, and not yet positive, sense of intimacy, intricacy and gentleness arising from a most profound insubstantiality of contentdifference, whose ethical implications are of the most peaceful (because inconsequential) order. To re-think and reduce the playful force of absence and presence within the trace is to alter the landscape of experience even before we take the radical step (which will happen later in this book) of putting into question a distinction between the split within the trace and the split between traces which supposedly justifies a language of gatherings and concentrations, dispersions and breaks. Even if we allow ourselves to remain for a while within the thinking of variations in momentum or density of novelty, we can detect an important effect of questioning the emotive meatiness of a modalizing trace. Instead of a contentful more and less that litters the playing field of deconstructive experience with shifting concatenations (from one singular to the next) of suffering, guilty, mourning, violent, joyful heterogeneities, there would be a more-and-less with (almost) no content beyond an ability to be more or less. There would be a momentum just barely beyond the phantasy of a self-identicality of numeric acceleration-deceleration. The force of eventness would be (almost) entirely exhausted in its effect as this variable more or less, leaving any notion of otherness with profoundly little basis and power. Rather than being a sterile exercise, this dynamic expresses a fundamental (gentle) shift in the experience of a world. To move after-within Derrida is to question from meaning's bi-originary dissymmetry. Before there would be such a thing as `a' meaning, there would first be a bivalence; to be is to enact a boundary, an edge, to be two. It would seem to be inescapable that the structural-genetic dynamic which repeats itself as meaning's diacritical edge demands negation simultaneous with affirmation, absence as well as presence. Could there be a world, a thinking, a history, a text without a disappearance to announce an appearance, an end to mark a beginning? If the space of meaning always implies a twoness, an irreducible bivalence implicating both the basis of sameness and difference, continuity and discontinuity, the subjective and the objective, affirmation and negation, to rethink meaning's double site of difference is to be become aware of a more gentle (because imbecilic) play WITHIN the supposedly irreducible thickness, the palpable tension and mystery of a blameful alterity (to the extent that notions of otherness are intrinsically notions of blame). It is of paramount importance to us to think an origin of the possibility of difference as a gesture or horizon which is SIMULTANEOUSLY the gentlest sort of surpassing or negation of presence and the most unformidable notion of presence. This most infinitesimally-finite measure or sense of dissymmetry would simultaneously hold the relationship between entities, the split within meaning itself, as an impossibly close bond and would register the eventing of the event as impossibly devoid of effect. Meaning's gesture of subliminal moreness or transit, as the condition of names such as presence and absence, has its effect WITHIN that which is irreducible in the affirmational-negational structure of differance. Recognizing this quasi-developmental gesture as the hidden implication of the multiplication of differences, it locates itself as a gentler, because less consequential, double origin inside differance. Alterity, the Other, is subordinate to a peculiar notion of the similar not opposed to the dis-similar but preceding such an opposition, a notion of the similar as meaning's impossibly insignificant self-dissymmetry. Memory and Past as Negation: We should add at this point that, without going into a detailed analysis of the function of absence and presence in Derrida's account of differance, we would reverse the relation of these terms to notions of memory and novelty as Derrida assigns them. He says deconstruction is made of "...the tension between memory, fidelity, the preservation of something that has been given to us, and, at the same time, heterogeneity, something absolutely new, and a break"(DN6). According to this order, the basis of memory, past and tradition originates a gesture of formalism, presence, the transcendental, affirmation. Instead, we want to implicate recollection and memoryas the negational pole of an event of meaning, as expressions of change, loss, effacement, absence, dislocation. To return to that which is the basis of what we call memory or inheritance is most immediately to experience the loss or effacement of the now, a dislocation of meaning's aspect as `present'. The `now' as `new' would be the affirmation, presence, proximity pole or aspect of a trace of meaning (what in Derrida's analyses would be determined as the origin of a gesture of empiricism and negation). In fact, the presence pole would evoke less than novelty. Novelty implies both loss and presence. Presence, affirmation, proximity doesn't know or do anything in and of itself; it is an imbecilic sense. its only claim to existence in any `form', as any effect, is that it is the other or partner of absence. Desire as the instant of eventness is our simultaneous having of negation and presence in the most impossibly insignificant way in which there could be anything like a notion of absence or presence. This is all we can offer as far as addressing either of these inseparable figures or poles, that existence is always their co-existence, and always as a same-new way of instantiating themselves. The momenting of experience as the simultaneous invocation of absence and presence (but never either of these alone) can otherwise be considered as the simultaneous marking of dislocation, distance, separation, loss, negation, in the guise of the too-substantial regressive past, as well as peace, affirmation, proximity in the guise of the present, the `bettering' of this past. This bettering has nothing to do with whether we seem to retrieve a fond or unpleasant memory; all memory, as one of the two poles mutually effecting the transist of a moment of meaning, is the decadence of separation and interruption before it is any other affectivity we can attempt to claim for it. Before we know that memory is a presumed `going back to something' or preservation of something, we know it as interruption and dislocation, as the vanishing or `passing' of a present. In a minimal sense, it is always foul before it is fond. Our difference with Derrida here is subtle but important. Our intent is to emphasize that what is joyful in experience is allied not simply with the familiar but, more fundamentally, with the freshness and passivity of presentness which is at the heart of familiar-as-fond. Intimacy is correlated with love not because it is the link with a past, a nostalgia, but because love in its `affirmative' moment or pole is a moment without the smell of decay-absence-distance that initially marks both `good' and `bad' memory AS memory before it is perceived as either pleasing or displeasing. If the gesture of the transcendental is connected with tradition, formality, normativity, this cannot most fundamentally be due to the origin of the transcendent in the `what was' of past and memory, but rather in a `freshness' that is the other of the decadence and redundancy of pastness. The transcendental moment is not in the decadence of recovery and preservation but in the freshness of discovery. By the same token, the moment of the empirical as the other of transcendentalism would most fundamentally be located not in the pleasing freshness of discovery but in a minimally disturbing interruption or dislocation of this fresh quietism of the now. This quietism `feels' like unity, but of course it has no existence and cannot be thought apart from its other, the moment of the empirical as the feel of disunity and absence. Perhaps the most important implication of thinking past and memory as gestures of absencing is that it emphasizes the utter novelty of both the transcendental and the empirical poles of an event. If remembrance, the very thing that would seem to act as a repository of stability and continuity, is that device which tears us from the peace of the `now', then perhaps it is time to rethink terms like intimacy, stability, bonding and continuity. The basis of these terms which delight and satisfy us ethically, aesthetically, intellectually, religiously may now locate nothing which resists or counters the new. These affirmational terms and their negational counterparts would both manifest absolute novelty, albeit in different guises. We could not say that either one of these poles (presence and absence) which co-determine an event of meaning was `newer' than the other, only that they point to irreducible and irreducibly distinct senses of novelty. The bivalent basis of a moment of sense would thus be seen as the play of these two figures of novelty. We mispoke in earlier claiming to reverse the determinations of memory and otherness in Derrida's account. We have not simply maintained the slots `fidelity' and `otherness' and re-defined their referents. What we have done is to question the need and the justification for any idea of a preservation of meaning. No sense is ever actually returned to even once, except as the redundancy of return is understood as a dislocation. Universality, transcendence, memory: these terms now lose all ability to conjure even an instant of duplication. They are of what has never been before in their seeming conservatism. The affective hallmark of return is the incipience of boredom. Boredom's seeming alliance with stasis is a subterfuge. Boredom's feel is the dawning of incoherence and disruption. A situation only bores us to the extent that its comfortable meaning has begun to fall away from us. The self of the self-exceeding trace that returns transformed is no consciousness reaching out to what exceeds it. This self is no more substantial than the most insignificant notion of presenting, which we have said is close to that which Derrida would maintain as a pole of the equivocal gesture of differance, the yes which is never simply itself without also being the no, the affirmation which is at the same time the negation, the identity which is also difference in the double instant of play as the marking and remarking of world as text. The `self' that we trace as that pole of meaning's instant is always to be thought at the `same moment' with a pole of exceeding, and thus `self-transformation' is not a sequence or process, not first a here and then a not-here. We don't know, nor need know, what same and other mean other than that they are inextricably two and that the whole world of possible experience must then be realized as having always been the effect of the repetition of the play of this two. We have in mind a trace which, as Derrida says, "comes to take the place of everything that disappears without leaving an identifiable trace. The difference between the trace `cinder' and other traces is that the body of which cinders is the trace has totally disappeared, it has totally lost its contours, its form, its colors, its natural determination. Non-identifiable." We who experience a world momenting itself in this peculiar way "are witnesses who do not know what they are witnessing.... They witness an experience in the course of which someone says:"il y a la cendre," but they do not know what that means, finally, or who says it, cinders of what, and so forth"(PT391-392). The double single gesture of self-transformation is less (differently) substantial than the Derridean self-other double trope, however, in that deconstructive differance is redolent of mood, albeit as an affective universe which returns no positivity other than as concentrations or gatherings of `newsame' moody-modalizing tracings. Unlike Derrida, we find no resources to conceive same and other via the minimal neurotic weight of suffering and loss, prayers and tears, as an alterity which intrinsically invents itself as guilty and angry. Anything more than a most insignificant and peaceful (because imbecilic) effect that would be claimed for this repeat double fails to justify itself, and instead only belongs unknowingly to momenting's furthering-return. How would the thinking of a radically insubstantial, inconsequential, unformidable structure-genesis of meaning invoke an ethic of the most exquisite empathy and peace? A world whose instant-to-instant experience would be simultaneously of the closest proximity or similarity, in a most peculiar sense of proximity and similarity, and having little import or content, would be a world which does not require the moody language of qualitative distance, surprise, loss, and separation which terms like blame, guilt, anger, justice and forgiveness imply, terms which still weave their way, in destabilized forms, through poststructuralist and deconstructive accounts. To analyze Derrida's thinking from within its own resources is to think a basis of moreness, of difference, less (and differently) violent than the otherness of differance with its already radically insubstantial anger, suffering and guilt. Preliminarily, we can say that meaning's edge is almost no dissymmetry and thus almost no history-presence-absence-mood. The moment of signification is (almost) content and context-less, less than any alterity or differance. It is a notion of simultaneously finite-infinite smallness or insignificance not deducible from any tradition of infinitessence. To be is less than to strive, to need or desire. It is not the fat anxiety of homelessness, or even of travel. It moves subtly, richly, within these notions, as barely asymmetric with itself, a tiny trace of more-and-less, a most impossible relation of proximity-spacing. The infinitesimal asymmetry which is meaning's edge is from the `beginning' without the power to effect suffering because this `duality' lacks both the sense of distance and content that its terms would need to possess in order to have the power of `alterity'. What would otherwise be thought as suffering and negation would be complicitous with terms like pleasure and affirmation in a most extraordinarily desubstantializing way, such that suffering is drained of its terrible solidity even as that which would be thought as joy now holds impossibly little weight. How would such an edge manifest itself as history, as a text? To be itself as the sort of moreness that moves within Derrida's terms, meaning's history would repeat as variable regions of gathering and dispersion characterized within themselves and between themselves , always from one singular event to the next, as expansions and contractions, accelerations and decelerations, condensations and dispersions, coherences and incoherences. But what is crucial to understand here is that WHAT returns or repeats itself, as the always singularly experienced instances that invent and re-invent these compressions and spacings, is a double or split trace whose poles do not have the capacity of emotive alterity and would in fact be barely differentiable from each other in their impossible lack of affect-effect. The presencing-effacing trace needs to be construed closer to the sense of a more-less rather than same-other. This more-less play, announcing an event as the passing of the `what was' simultaneously with the coming of the new, would mark this transit as a most impossibly delicate and inconsequential self-overcoming. One is always referring to something `else' in an experience, but it is crucial to understand that this `elseness' at the heart of meaning represents an infinitesimal-finite separation so insubstantial that its affective play, its possibilities of sense, are of a profoundly gentle inconsequentiality hidden beneath the anxiety, desire and suffering of a Derridean trace. Until one understands this radically inconsequential effect and feel of meaning, one cannot experience it anywhere in the world. Having grasped its implications, one finds it everywhere, always. Whereas for Derrida, the deconstructive play of the trace marks the basis of meaning, we find within this deconstructive edge a more insubstantial, more elegant, more blissfully stupid double edge, implied but not overtly recognized by deconstruction's mark. Experience as Quasi-Density: The double structural-genesis of meaning would have to manifest a sense of division or internal spacing in order to have a world at all; to make presence and absence one would be to eliminate the basis of experience as texture. But the origin of signification need allow itself only the most infinitesimally insignificant notion of dissymmetry, mystery , deviance in order that the traceness of history may be effected. History as the repetition of a practically senseless, because almost edgeless, double, can go nowhere but within an exquisitely narrow range of variation. The minimally decentering possibilities of a history spin out a dance of variations in quasi-density. This notion of sense as almost pure density gives us a flavor of the effect of meaning's gesture as that which has almost no generativity of sense-effect. It would be to experience the `what' of an event as close to a `how much', an exquisite order of proximity so thin as to be barely there as inscription. A world would be projected in this way as an infinitesimal thickness of space-time. But when we say a relation from one event to another would effect something akin to a `more or less dense', it may seem that we would need to know `more of what', else the question becomes simply incoherent. How can we think a trace of meaning as quasi-quantitative density? If we want to characterize meaning's self-exceeding as a gesture of closer to or farther from, we may ask the question closer to or farther from WHAT? We cannot and need not identify a feature or quality which is being accelerated or decelerated. To exist as eventness is not to be a qualitative `way' of being more or less. All that could be intrinsic to a meaning is (almost) swallowed up in a quasi-quantitative gesture. `What it is' cannot have any sense outside of `how much it is' as momentum. But this `how dense', as we will soon see, cannot count instances of itself, as if it amounted to no more than a self-identical accumulation of instances of a theme. The `how much' finds itself returning to an infinitesimally-finitely altered notion of itself when it attempts to recollect itself into a concept. Let us examine more closely how an experience of condensation can be said to express particular arrays of events in the world. We could look around at any and all events and seem to be able to arrange and order what happens in a subsumingly developmental fashion, with any particular event as either furthering a particular developmental order or disappointing it in an exquisitely precise manner, manifesting itself as a specific regression or anachronism with respect to that order. Whether it is a biographical, cultural, cosmological or any other supposed mode of history we analyze, such a subsuming-regressive order would seem to be available to us once we have begun to think the trace of meaning as radically devoid of otherness. We should immediately explain that what we have just described fails decisively to justify itself as a cumulative or dialectic order, but that is not what is essential and peculiar to the sort of `illusion' that may be produced as an initial consequence of a radically insignificant notion of eventness. We need to carefully demonstrate what is left of what we could call a post-deconstructive `developmental illusion' after we have shown why it cannot maintain itself as dialectic. As we will see, what is left of the illusion contributes an exquisite sense of precision, order and intimacy to our relationships unavailable to deconstructive thought. First, let us investigate this developmental illusion more closely. Why should it appear at all? The too simplistic answer is that once we have removed from the origin of meaning its ability to justify itself as a fat sensuality of self-alterity, all that is left for it to generate is a world of modes and gatherings which have the character of anticipations of the greatest familiarity and proximity, as if each event belonged almost numerically to what preceded and followed it either acceleratively or deceleratively, WITHOUT REALLY DOING SO. My biographical history or a cultural history would project a world as akin to a variably accelerating acceleration, a thread of impossibly gentle and inconsequential invagination, a variable `speeding up ' or `slowing' of time, whose time represents a post-Heideggerian temporality of a nature which we will need to explicate. Meaning's self-exceeding could not preserve itself as any privileged term of valuation such as `better and better' or a de-powering `closer to', or any in-itself sense of direction or magnitude that would fix itself as a recuperable measure as if there were a dominating arche-end to which all else was dialectically destined, a recoverable origin which repeated its thematic self-identicality as a developmental vector. The vocabulary of this `closer to' or  farther from' points to meaning's dance as allowing the world at times to array itself as a subsuming unfolding, each new event having the possibility of seeming closer to the previous, within a more intimate structure, a relation of less separation from that which would simultaneously always lose more of its power of presence. As a furthering of a quasi-acceleration, each new place where meaning's same-other duality would be found would strike one as a place where there is less power-spacing given to each. Each furthering of such a development would be akin to a less substantial notion of presence differing in a less substantial way from absence. Let's use Derrida's work as an example. What would be the difference between a thinking which needs to be deconstructed, and the text that intervenes in order to perform or effect that deconstruction? As we have argued, it would not be as though there were no disseminative movement being exemplified by the terms of the pre-deconstructed text, since any and all events are intrinsically in-motion, whether or not an author `believes' them to be. Rather, the way in which we might describe the manner of self-transforming repetition setting each term, each new event of thought, in relation to other events, would be as an ineffective sort of dissemination. What does ineffective mean? Derrida has used words like `inactive', `paralyzed', `exhausted',`resistant' to refer to the kind of movement which typifies a text in need of deconstruction. ...any assumption of assurance and of non-contradiction...is an optimistic gesticulation, an act of good conscience and irresponsibility-and thus it is indecision, profound inactivity beneath the appearance of activism or resolution(PT361). In contrast, the activity of deconstructive reading is spoken of as `putting the text back to work'. It energizes, or precipitates a thinking which has been, if not arrested, then in some sense slowed or handicapped. How, then, is one to refer to this effect of deconstruction if not as a sort of condensation or acceleration of movement (Derrida refers to "more or less novel or repetitive, clarifying or impoverished content..."(PT50))? It is also important to notice that the undeconstructed text is considered harsh and violent in relation to what disseminates it. Its violence can in fact be understood as correlated or even synonymous with the supposed ineffectiveness of its movement. Why is programmatic, historicizing, exhausted thinking also violent thinking? Because the ploddingness of authoritarian faith implies a DISTANCING, a polarization, separating regions of meaning from each other. I hate the other who is seen as alien, irreconcilable, incommensurable with me, who violates my ethical faith. Deconstruction can only say its reading of authoritarian texts of various kinds puts them back to work by assuming that the violence intrinsic to them is `real'. That is to say, even if a discourse basing itself on conceptual essences is considered as the dallying with phantasms and illusions masking or repressing a disseminative double origin at play always already in all thinking, such phantasms have an effect; they emanate from something structurally immanent within the discourse, some sort of failure or inadequacy which needs to be resisted or relieved. What is structurally immanent in a foundationalistic text, but always re-invented singularly and contextually from one event to another, is what we have characterized as a certain slowness, ploddingness, a relative distancing evinced in the relation of one event to another. And if the distance from one event to another is at issue here, then so must the notion of event in its supposed presence. Deconstruction would not simply be a condensation, a movement bringing the self-divided moments of a thinking `closer together'. It would effect a desubstantializing condensation; there would be simultaneously a certain thickness or fatness of absencing distance and a certain thickness of substantial presencing which, event to event, would distinguish a discourse in need of deconstruction from that which attempts, at the same time, to accelerate its movement and unfatten its moments, to put it to work. While it may seem as though a text which insists on the foundationalistic constancy of its semantics, politics and ethics manages to stubbornly refuse change, the very stubbornness of its refusal reflects its basis in a profound self-doubting co-intrinsic with its faith in the correctness of truth. It finds itself constantly violating what it presents to itself as its proper destiny. Thus, it is not a matter of any such authoritarian discourse actually achieving protection from change, but of seeing the nature of its naive self-deconstruction as a peculiarly pungent play of stability and dislocation. For the orientation which claims to intervene BEFORE the concept presumed to be selfidentical over time, and having its effect BEFORE the contingently, temporarily self-present form, what does this BEFORE accomplish? Does it not each time move itself to a space of greater intimacy or proximity within the terms of those texts it would question? And does not the meaning of this intimacy and proximity depend on a notion of condensation acting both on absence and on presence? The activity of deconstruction would not be a privileging of presence over absence, the transcendent over the empirical, as if it were merely the bringing of OBJECTS closer together in a violent attempt at forcing an identity. It would act to reduce the qualitative basis of both disunity (spacing) and unity (formal objectness). Deconstruction would generate a gentler, because less thick, notion of both presence and absence in a moment of text. This act of uncovering would be invention as invagination, dissemination as condensing desubstantialization. The version of desubstantialization operating within the shifting momentum of differance has to be seen as weak due to Derrida's rendering of the trace as qualitatively more than a figure of density. Moment to moment experience for him is irreducibly, affectively other, above and beyond its being more-or-less. This sets a limit to the thematic intimacy with which we would be able to think the unfolding of a history. If there would be something like a condensing desubstantialization at work in the deconstructive reading of a text, it would at every moment be a different, wholly other, sense of `condense' that returns to itself, fatally compromising any dream of a developmental trajectory. One could consider the instant of the application of deconstructive reading to a text as developmental in the sense that it condenses-desubstantializes what it re-thinks otherwise, and perhaps for the same reason we should also consider the course of a writer's career as potentially developmental in a non-self-identical sense, whether that writer be Derrida or any other. After all, what would be this continuity-in-difference that characterizes an author's sustained re-reading of her previous thinking if not a self-deconstruction? And what of the thread linking names such as Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Aquinas, Descartes, Spinoza, Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, Heidegger, Derrida? Is there a sense in which each of these writers deconstructs and de-empowers the work of a previous author, thus suggesting the outlines of a philosophical development as an ethical movement of the de-empowerment of violence? This is an enormously complex question. Apart from the problematic implication of historical progress as a datable continuum, a schematic of self-containing epochs or epistemes, there is for Derrida another problem, this time arising out of the limitations of his work. This shortcoming in his thinking can be seen in his determination of any progress that might potentially be seen as ethical invagination or condensation as so overwhelmed by its force as qualitative otherness as to be barely recognizable as development. Probably for this reason one finds only occasional explicit references to development and progress in his writing. While we agree that the basis of eventness as the iteration of a subliminal dyssymetry prevents any experience from generating a self-repeating theme, we do not see this originary dyssymetry as having the sensuous thickness that it has for Derrida. A history would exceed itself as always a (barely) new name of more. Each new furthering of something that we might want to become a development would re-invent the very basis of the development, but via such a minuscule shift of sense that it could seem at a glance as though there were almost a numeric structure being accumulated (or dispersed in the case of a regressive movement). If there are no ways of gatheringconcentrating or being dispersed, if momentum of condensation (almost) entirely exhausts the possibilities of having a `way' of being, development suddenly stands out as the central feature of a history. This allows us to study something like a cultural history, for example, and see, instead of Foucault's arbitrary story of succession of modes of power/knowledge, a radically and utterly insignificant non-historicizing self-similar movement ordered such as to just barely miss justifying itself as a progressively condensing desubstantialization of meaning. We must not be afraid to begin with the conclusion that development, conceived singular event to singular event as non-selfidentical invagination or precipitation, must be intrinsic to experience. Only when we have done so can we then move to a more important understanding concerning experience which puts into question what any notion of development, including Derrida's and ours, could possibly mean to say. Such a vantage of thinking , in the same instant that it unravelled the basis of a word like development, would offer a world that development always thought it aimed at, a world always rendered of an intense non-existence of violence. We will reveal the significance of meaning's gesture not in a preferential canonization of one value, trajectory, or non-self-identical movement over others, but in the insubstantiality and intimacy that characterizes the dichotomous space of the world as always a same-new particularity of difference. This not-being-able to name or define would work in support of gentle (because imbecilic) intricacy, especially at the point where we question what would be the basis for understanding even terms such as intricate and gentle. Acceleration, condensation, development, progress, or reduction of moody substantiality would hint at the effect of a subliminal dissymmetry, spacing, difference, which is less substantial in its effect than that which these or any other terms would locate. The infinitesimal dissymmetry, the split sense as the es-sence of an event of meaning, would not lend itself to any stable adjectives, even the disseminative stability of quasitranscendence, whether they be progress and regress, presence and absence, affirmation and negation, disappearance and return, any particular or general (or equivocally particular and general) notion of proportionality, direction or mood. A history would be a  more and more' too insignificant to know what `better and better' or `worse and worse' could mean; its motive would be expressed in all possible gestures of mood and valuation, but seen now within an extraordinarily constricted, or, more precisely, desubstantialized, economy. Within this economy, development would lose its meaning as a stable, prioritized ethical trajectory. Put another way, it would be a notion of progress which is itself as all possible vicissitudes of mood, momentum, as a transvaluation of value. This gesture of transit would be a vehicle so insignificant as to bleed the concept of particularity of sense of everything it would want to proclaim about itself aesthetically, ethically, politically, everything but the reminder of a moreness which stands for so little as to no longer recognize what an aesthetics, ethics, or any other term would mean apart from its repetition of `moreness'. The source of this instability would not be the affirmation of a notknowing, a self-distancing or otherness at meaning's origin, but the affirmation of a notion of difference so devoid of effect and self-distancing otherness as to no longer need the thickness of a stable appellation, even that of the transcendental and the empirical themselves as quasi gestures. But we have a ways to go to demonstrate what it is we are up to in making this assertion of a moreness beyond-beneath any positivity. We introduce the device of more-and-less as an ultimately inadequate but nevertheless useful introductory means of conveying the peculiarly radical thread of intimacy, gentleness, and insubstantiality of difference (and ultimately we will show even these terms to be without basis) underlying the possibility of signification. How is this seen in an analysis of such realms as the unfolding of an author's text, or the journey of a cultural history? Acceleration of Time and Measurement: A post-deconstructive history, whether cultural, biographical or other, could be seen at a glance as though it re-invents itself as vissicitudes or rhythms of condensation-dispersion projecting a peculiarly inconsequential subsuming desubstantialization of moreness. This developmental history could parody something like an acceleration beyond acceleration, something akin to the vissicitudes of a speeding up of time. A speeding up of time? What sort of `speeding' and what sort of `time' would we be thinking of? Is the temporality we have in mind as an acceleration echoed by scientific descriptions of an empirical world in which the formation of a universe, galaxies, stars and planets takes place over billions of years, the generation of living forms spans just millions of years, and cultural progression occupies only thousands of years? Can we look at narratives offered by scientific disciplines and claim that the time scales of subsequent levels of development define shorter and shorter cycles? We are told that the present universe is 10 billion years old and will last a few billion more. We hear that our solar system and planet are 4.6 and 4 billion years old, and will last until the sun dies in 4.5 billion years. Biologists inform us that cellular-genetic evolution began 2.5 billion years ago, and cultural evolution a few hundred thousand years ago. When we study the unfolding of a history of philosophy from a certain naive perspective, we might be tempted to discern peaks and valleys interrupting and dividing an otherwise undifferentiable spectrum of endeavor into epochal boundaries. There would be renaissances and denouements defining groupings of authors as members of philosophic eras. The vicissitudes of these eras display what, from a glance, could appear as something like an accelerative dynamic. The temporal intervals separating the eras within which notable authors lived, if defined in such a way as to produce groupings such as Egypto-Mesopotamian (5000-2000 B.C.), Classical (700-200 b.c.), Medieval(800-1200 A.D.), Enlightenment(1600-1750) and Postmodern (1900-), could then be said to comprise a temporal compression of cultural transformation, from the artistic to the scientific, the philosophic to the political. According to this thinking, whereas significant cultural development in a pre-hellenistic world played out over millennia, by the time we reach the age of medieval Europe we can capture such transformations in terms of centuries, and milestones of development in a 20th century world take place over the course of decades. Could we then argue that the time frame from one cosmological epoche to the next, from one biological period to the next, from one philosophical era to the next, evinces a pattern of temporal compression of activity? The more relevant question for us is what it would mean to characterize time as measured, framed, compressed, accelerated. The utter valuational contingency of history must explode the dream of conceptual epochs, of a logical operator as metaphysical cause-effect asserting its totalistic self-presence under the heading of one or another of the natural sciences mentioned above. Any presumed scale of measurement under which would be collected an ontological history would itself be answerable to and decentered by the contingencies of that history, which is nothing but our own local, decentering moment-to-moment experience. A notion of history as rational theme could not possibly justify itself except by ignoring all that has been learned at least since Nietzsche's confrontation with the heritage of Hegel's grand project. The hidden implication of something like a mathematical counting would be that a process which generates the counting of this continuum is always the `same' moreness throughout the continuum, taking the form of the addition of one member to the growing chain of relation. And to attempt to force history into a deductive schematic historicism would be to tarry with assumptions of meaning's development which presumes a stability which cannot justify itself. A quasidevelopmental history as something like a condensation would be less than the substantiality of a formula of moreness, a counting which claims to preserve itself as a commodity accumulating meaninglessly, less than a dialectical or probabilistic (Merleau-Ponty, Lyotard, Rorty) progress. It is not according to a dominating telos or origin that we make reference to such a dynamic. Meaning's repetition is not the spinning out of the moments of a totality's self-realization, but always (barely) a new sense or philosophy of itself, in the infinitesimal way in which a differing, a newness, a moreness transpires. A proper name like Mathematics would be no more protected than any other presumed mode from the radical contingency that meaning's subliminal invagination projects. Terms like  time' and `number' are contingent events of language like any other, and this is more fundamentally to say that they are events of sense. As such, they do not protect themselves from their own transformation in the instant that they are invoked. To count a number is to always imply a particular and nonrecallable way of thinking about numerical relation, logical order and precision. Any so-called mathematical description, and in fact any repeated invocation of that or any description, manifests a new and particular philosophy of the mathematical or any other presumed nomination. The measure of a day, a year, a number is never `the same' when we seem to return to it after thinking of something else. It names a new vantage, a new sense of what it would mean to be a day, a year, a number. To watch days go by, or to watch years go by, is in each case to move through a `new' philosophy of day or year. It is never the `same' notion of number and counting that we return to from moment to moment, even in the repeated thinking of the same number. There is nothing within some imagined abstractive capacity of thought which remains `exactly the same' about the meaning of an interval as we attempt to extend a first accounting to the counting of a plurality. A supposed counting from one to ten is, at each point in the counting, a re-birth of the meaning of interval. If the thinking of something like the number two or three is intrinsically `two of this' or `three of this', then the meaning of these and all other numbers depends on the self-identity, the common denominator of cumulative reference. The operational relation between two and three must be assumed to be `exactly the same' as the relation between nine and ten As soon as a thinking of moreness as pure difference of degree, the accumulation of identical instances, is destabilized, number is seen as having already transgressed the authority of self-identical accumulation before it can enumerate. Calculation reaches the limit of its totalization before it can simply count. As soon as there is a counting of one, we are thrown back into the origin, differently, so that there is never a counting past one (as bifurcated singular). The one, the first and only one, is also the last one as doubled origin and its repetition. The instant of experience returns to the same magnitude differently, which is less than the simple coherence of number. If we cannot say that we ever actually duplicate the sense of 'equal increments' in counting beyond a first instance, what does this say about the myriad situations in which we seemingly depend on the usefulness of numeric measurement? For all practical intents and purposes this realization of the instability of the concept of numeric interval has little effect on our ability to do things like measure the dimensions of a chair or rocket that we are wanting to construct. What our knowledge of the transformative experiential basis of a logic of counting does is allow us to understand why it is that the things we build are fallible, not simply because of `mistakes' in calculation. The reason events and objects we apparently encounter escape mathematic countability has to do with the inseparability and insignificance of subject and object. There is no constituted, structured, countable object to the same extent that there is no constituting, structuring, counting subject. I don't exist first and then expose myself to, attain or encounter an object. The `I' exists simultaneously as `not I', a presencing-absencing interval. This internally divided ipseity is not yet either subject or object. Instead it locates the origin of these terms in the barest hint of transcendence ( presencing) and empiricism (effacement). Because this interval of meaning only repeats itself by transforming itself, the fallibity of machines, and of counting in general, is not a question of 2 plus 2 not always adding up to 4, but of the purpose or intent of our counting shifting itself incrementally in the very act of repeating the iteration. 2 plus 2=4 is a truism, like saying `a cat is a cat'. To get the `right' answer is to identify with a particular concept of additive calculation, and it is this concept which shifts ever so subtly, without seeming to show any traces of its movement, as we attempt to return to it each moment. We could promise that 2 plus 2 will always equal 4, but if in the process of adding these figures together the second figure of `2' already finds its valuative coloration altered ever so slightly with respect that figure of 2 it is being added to, then we violate the formula in the very act of being absolutely faithful to it. Each recovery of the idea of number, like the recovery of any word-sense-mood, is an exceeding which is always a new sense, a new philosophy of the meaning of operator, scheme of relation, arithmetic counting or dimensionality (a novelty in the extraordinarily insubstantial, inconsequential, infinitesimal way in which meaning renews itself, already is itself, as a selfexceeding). Any name-sense-mood returns to itself instant to instant only as an impossibly selfsimilar new discovery. We would be tempted to imagine a history as amenable to a development order akin to an ontological acceleration, but what we are after is a notion quite subliminally different than that of a Cartesian idea of time and number, more (differently) intricate than a post-structuralism that would deconstruct these terms. What we see in the expression `speeding up of time' that helps us to articulate the effect of a desubstantializing `closer to' is that the undulations of a history would express a regularity and a directionality of sorts, which at a glance appears as vicissitudes of acceleration-deceleration, but a regularity which need be rediscovered at each moment and a directionality which exceeds any formal or positive description. Meaning's time would be a measure with no stability other than as a thread of impossibly imbecilic self-proximity. The only rhythm that regulates the organization of a history is that which links a development's moments of meaning as an extraordinarily insubstantial chain of relation. The meaning of more is always a (barely) different order of transcendence that we are left to discover anew each time we return to it moment to moment, and in returning to it, we return to ourselves anew. What value to us are terms like moreness or condensation if they do not mark a device of measurement along the lines of a logical or dialectical scheme? What kind of precision is brought by a tool which allows us a window of comparison whose proportionality we have to rediscover each time we return to its furthering, as a new philosophy of proportionality, and a new philosophy of ourselves? Its precision is marked by the infinitesimal weight of mystery represented by that which to we must always return to reveal in events the barest hint of detectable dissymmetry. We say that in a certain sense the less-than-alterity we wish to articulate as meaning's edge acts like the most precise relation of a mathematics, but only to the extent that we think of this precision as a reductive impetus, as the most powerless and featureless kind of relation imaginable. It would be a nonprioristic, non self-presencing notion of relation expressing `less' than any notion of relation could, a relation so insignificant and unformidable that it knows and feels (know-feel-act-perceive mean the `same' thing, nothing more than the iteration of an impossibly insignificant play) almost nothing, almost no dissymmetry. Meaning's gesture is such that to be is to always already exceed oneself (the `one' is already two in its very sin-gular instant) in a peculiarly intimate contingency which is at the same time non-recuperable, non-recallable. The Unaccountable Intimacy of Mathematics: The sort of precision and directionality which is the gesture of desubstantialization can be illustrated via the reading of a cultural development of mathematical concepts. One could locate within something like a mathematical project the wandering of an implied philosophy concerning a relative and peculiar `distance' dividing meaning from itself. It would always be a (barely) different philosophy of logic, number, measurement that returns to itself as a history of calculation, always a more (differently) integral and insubstantial justification of relationality. In the historical movement from Aristotelian logic through the advent of algebra, from the introduction of analytic geometry to the calculus, from the origination of symbolic logic to a post-foundational thinking which moves within the self-presencing language of formal axiomatic systems, it would always be a more-differently intimate and insubstantial origin of logic, complicit with a more insignificant basis of languaging in other domains of culture, which operates at each point in this development. A thread of desubstantializing `closer to' would underlie the momentum of this history, implying and echoing the progression from Classical to Medieval to Rationalist to Post-Idealist metaphysical accounts of meaning. As we said, such a thread operates not simply at the level of `system', as if there were a selfsame entity titled `worldview', `philosophy' or `concept' which would carry itself stably through a genesis. It is always a new worldview, concept, philosophy that we return to every time we think of the meaning of such terms as logic, quantity, proof, deduction and simple number. The only sense in which a meaning is a system, worldview, philosophy, or concept lies in the extraordinarily infinitesimal manner in which meaning is more than itself as the double instant of the eventing of experience. This is all that is left of the content, the import and power of such terms, and in fact is all that was ever to be found within a name, a word, a trace. When we speak of a history of mathematics as something like a desubstantializing condensation, it is always an entirely different philosophy of proportion that `returns' locally, contingently, historically, to itself (in the impossibly inconsequential way that difference repeats itself as contingent, local history). It is the extraordinary insubstantiality of the structure of relationdifference which defines meaning's self-split, rather than the reifying powers of some logical scheme. To count, to temporalize, is always to land in a same-new place, a same-new absolute beginning. To follow a development, to trace a movement by any name within a development, is always to begin history anew from a unique, non-returning perspective, a unique expanse of moreness, which is always the only expanse of moreness. There would only be one occurrence of this double gesture. 3.PHILOSOPHICAL HISTORY AND THE DEVELOPMENTAL ILLUSION The Developmental Illusion as Affective Desubstantialization We need now to elaborate on these issues via the tracing of something like a history of philosophy as a desubstantializing development. As we proceed to flesh out, examine and question the behavior of a `progress', we will have the opportunity to see its ultimate failure as the limitation of any positive philosophy, whether positive in the sense that a Levinas or Kierkegaard privileges the goodness of alterity or otherness, or positive in Derrida's minimal senses of a modalizing play of quasi-transcendentally nameable terms:absence-presence. When we look over our shoulder at a philosophical history from the vantage of our thinking, we may preliminarily see its thread as something like an affective evolution. Texts could be selected such as to carve out an intellectual history (not limited to the `West' but universal in scope) as a progressive desubstantialization of the moodiness of meaning's diacritical play, the reduction of a mystery-substance play which previous philosophies' terms implicate. There would in fact be no thinking to be found anywhere which would not belong to such an affective-ethical development as either its furthering or as an anachronistic regression from that frontier. Any moment of thinking evinces itself as a limit of understanding which is simultaneously a limit of its tolerance, its ethical generosity and the fatness of its suffering. It would be as if a history of human (and pre-human) culture could be thought as an affective development manifesting itself as a progressive increase in a benign, intimately anticipatory understanding of a world; a knowledge evolution as condensation of moreness would be an ethical condensation. Each succeeding philosophy would further desubstantialize meaning; reducing the mystery which previous philosophies' founding transcendent terms has expressed. There would be a relative substantiality, thickness, harshness, distancing to be read in the instants of a discourse, separating events of meaning from each other and at the same time rendering the presence of `each' event being separated as harsh and thick in its substance. The delicate interstices of feeling, mood, affect weaving and reweaving an account of meaning would reveal by re-inventing most penetratingly the magnitude of this gap each time, dictating the nature of our pleasure and pain as a relative self-distancing. Plato's forms, Descartes' Mind, Hegel's Spirit, Nietzsche's Will to Power, Heidegger's Being, Derrida's trace all mark nothing other than moments of an extraordinarily intimate ethical self-transcendence. From a neolithic animism to a pre-Socratic flux, from a Medieval worldly-divine dualism to a categorical idealism, from a Hegelian thinking of dialectical contradiction and power to the genealogies of Nietzsche and Foucault and the alterity of Derrida, the (almost) same movement of moreness would be seen, which we have characterized preliminarily as something like a depowering condensation, a progressive reduction of moody mystery via the repetition of an impossibly insubstantial dissymmetry. We can state preliminarily that when we look more closely at a philosophy which projects a world of solid and irreconcilable differences between heaven and earth, body and mind, good and evil, subject and object, we see its desire directing it toward the answering of its questions but reinventing its questions in the act of answering them. The elegant insignificance of this re-directing directionality reproduces itself over the course of a writer's career, or over the course of a cultural history, as an imperfect evolution-as-invagination, a minimization of content and form, structure and genesis, of mystery and thingness, of suffering and emancipation. How do we identify something like the relative moodiness of a discourse? Where exactly in a text do we find its ethical limit, its thickness of structural-genetic tension? In which concepts? We find it in each moment of a writing. To mean `this now' is itself already nothing other than a `more than this' of a particular momentum of acceleration-condensation. Meaning's content would be nothing but a barely registering separation from a barely registering presence. The content-genesis of a text would originate in a particularity which holds no stable substrate-referent other than marking always a new sense of momentum as contraction or expansion. Figures wanting to comprise a philosophical tradition: transcendental, logos, ideal, empirical, foundational, metaphysical, mark almost nothing as they are re-invented in-as context except as they indicate always an impossibly evanescent new way in which meaning's edge motivates itself as quasi-accelerative variable. In following vicissitudes of `affective desubstantialization', we would find no particularity captured by authorial names and the terminology which would be ascribed to them, other than that which would allow us to experience a differing so insubstantial that its entire force was absorbed in the recognition that there would always be another sense of moreness, split in the instant of its emergence as the bipolarity of transit. The uniquely particular that would distinguish one writer's thesis from another, or differentiate his work within itself, would be absolutely overwhelmed by the extraordinarily content-devoid self-similarity which links them developmentally via the rhythmic shifts of momentum of moreness. We would find (almost) the same dynamic accounting for the way in which we would perceive any philosophy to have `transcended' or fallen short of its predecessor. A text's effect would manifest a most infinitesimal rhythm of repetition, a return that knows nothing else about `itself', anything substantive, qualitative, never needing or ever being able to know, other than that it reaffirms, as barely a new particularity, a varying gesture of condensation. Alright, you say. Enough of this dreaming. It is perfectly understandable to want to hold onto a stable order, to build a proper shelter to hold off the storm of wild, contingent history. But recognize that one's proper order is a bastard. First of all, there is no simple philosophical history as such that we can turn to and unfold, but a sea of aesthetic-political-empirico-ethical economies saturating each other and permeating us. The hope of categorical purity is left in ruins. Furthermore, a purity of direction, an emancipatory telos, runs aground against its own basis, event to event, as contingent contaminant. What is the ethical, emancipatory achievement in a progress which is always shattered by a radical outside which intervenes from the inside as a spacing-temporalizing subversion, re-making this would-be inside other and elsewhere? So dream on, but mourn also, for that ideal of proper order which never was and never could be. To this we say, yes, absolutely, there never could be such a thing as a pure history of philosophy, or aesthetics, or science, as such. There would already be an interweaving of all possible modes and moods of thought such that any selfsame category or thematic history would have no basis to begin as self-present and self-identical theme. To think of a sedimented, impure philosophical history would not only be to have a contaminated substrate but something which poststructuralist writers might delight in calling an originally subverted and perverted progress of that history. But for us, it is crucial to point out that what we have in mind as history's non-identical basis effects less than (but is not a critique of) a contamination or a subversion, leaving us nothing to mourn. We want to convey what it is that one is left with when one exposes the damage done by such poststructuralist terms, the violence and incomprehension theysubsist in. We offer that at least a part of the story we want to tell of a language beyond-within the various Othernesses favored by poststructuralist and deconstructive currents takes us through `good' metaphors such as affective desubstantialization. We choose to introduce our thinking with the tease of a positive philosophy, a therapeutics, an emancipatory rhetoric. We say, let us at first walk through a history as that which risks bearing a resemblance to a non-self-identically good journey, but a journey whose sense of good spirals around and around itself from one instant to the next, never allowing us to know exactly what good could mean. Let us borrow a metaphor of a developmental illusion in order that we may initially convey the strange idea of a trace which is impossibly close to itself, and impossibly minimal in itself. But don't let us get caught up with the inadequacy of this non-self-identically reinventing positivity. What is much more important than the fact that we seem to tease with a metaphysical relic is what it is that is happening with our history which is `good' in always barely differing ways of being good, in its supposed ethical-affective-intellectual advance. The larger significance of this economy of repetition is not in what we would label it, whether we call it good, bad, condensation, regression, desubstantialization or resubstantialization , but the fact that experience threatens the basis of all labels by barely registering any sense, any difference at all. A history is devoid of the fatness of sense which could justify a decentered archeology or genealogy, except as barely more than itself. A philosophical, or any other supposedly nameable history, would not simplybe the thinking of a strange progress, it would also be the thinking of a peculiar dynamic of regress, of the failure of experience to honor our desire for a self-transcending sameness in a march of `better and better'. Along with the appreciation of a moreness which aims toward the `betterment' of a closer proximity between two events which stand for less, a more intimate genesis alongside a more insubstantial structural moment or pole, there would be the specter of anachronism, nostalgia, forgetting, of apparent return of what was, a seeming resubstantialization of that which had been desubstantialized. The world as it would appear to me would be an always shifting vicissitude of momentum of an order both potentially, non-self-identically, progressive and regressive, but the radically unformidable nature of this bivalent play would reduce the world in all its wild impossibility to a gentle, familiar, anticipatory experiencing as characteristic of moments of so-called anachronistic regress as of progressive condensation. Ah yes, you say. It's all clear now, the dialectic has come to pay a visit. But no, the regressive return of a transcended past is not for us a device which would complete the pure emancipatory order of history, but neither would it spoil the order of desubstantialization. Both simple notions of the goodness of progress and the badness of regress must give way to an idea of moreness which is prior to any nameable notions of valuation or sense. As we will see more clearly later, that which disappoints the dream of progress is a SEEMING regress, an APPARENT anachronistic return of what was. The apparent return of that culture, philosophy, which had been superceded would be a species of furthering. But to say that the seeming detour from, or subversion of, the sameness of progress really belongs to a progress will force us to realize that an ethical development of history would now have to be thought as no longer an emancipatory move; it will be a move too insignificant to be recognizable as any nameable mood or valuative force. Even as we now temporarily characterize this economy of repetition as the `goodness' of desubstantializing condensation, we know that its effect is not to be located as any specifiable valuation; condensation is a device to give us a taste of a dynamic too insignificant to carry the weight of any value-sense-mood-name. We would recognize that meaning's edge, which we initially characterized as a bivalence, is really an anti or non-valence whose particular moments are less substantial than any tension of moods-senses-names, less significant than something like a play of affirmation-negation or progress-regress. But we are getting ahead of ourselves here, (as if we have anywhere to go). We need to treat in greater length the way in which a peculiar notion like anachronistic regress needs be understood, the means by which we are to think its relation to history as desubstantializing gesture. Specifically, we need to explore how the wild contingency of affectivity, mood, sense in all its impossible vicissitudes is to be recognized via a progress-regress hinge which would seem to threaten to reduce the world to a near bi-valence which is in fact an impossibly insignificant play. First, we want to take the liberty to treat a philosophical history in a restricted fashion. If we pretend that there could be such a nameable thing as `philosophical', if we could imagine a trend of this supposed history as developmental, ignoring for the moment the disappointment of anachronism and regress, we will leave out little else that could be said about experience other than that, in the guise of our disappointment, what has past has apparently and redundantly returned to repeat its intimate, and less than nameable, movement. We will then analyze the role of the apparently anachronistic text in order to be able to unravel both the illusion of the developmental and the anachronistic. In the process, we will show how such a questioning infiltrates to the very idea of absence and presence, threatening our ability to know what such terms could mean in any sense, even as differance. Kant as Affective-Ethical Depowerment: Let us now examine how it is that such a reading of specific texts may uncover a radical insignificance of affirmation-difference. Taking Kant as an example, we could locate his idealism as submitting a previous tradition of thought (a `tradition' only existing in its re-invention moment to moment within the thinking of anyone in particular), to a reduced, that is, more insubstantial basis. The unfolding of a notion like the Kantian ideal could be determined in general as a play between a range of terms such that the thinking of a subjective realm would clarify the meaning of a material nature as contingent, lending to corporeality its association with selfish human inclination which grounds the possibility of evil as imperfection, which has the quality of being fallible and so on. There would be a certain moody tension dividing the selfish and the selfless, between the bodily and the spiritual, between inclination and duty, the subjective and objective, the evil and the good, the imperfect and the perfect, fallible and infallible, dependent and independent, material and formal cause. If we suggest that Kant's `freedom of will' is captured by this play, what does this `freedom' enact? The freedom declared by Kant would be found to infest the entire variety of names for things, differences, concepts in his discourse (just as each new term re-invents oh so subtly the sense of freedom that would presume to frame it) as the transformative repetition of a mark of fatness, spacing, solidity, moodiness which a circular chain of terms like evil-material-fallible-contingentcorporeal point to. But what would ground a notion like `moodiness'? We have said preliminarily that there would be no way in which we could or need define the effect of any notion except as it exists as quasi-momentum, a relative density. Thus, as a general notion of `moodiness', Kant's thesis would only come into view meaningfully in relation to that which it furthers, reduces and condenses, or that which appears preliminarily to desubstantialize it. We could preliminarily recognize Kant's thinking as the desubstantializing furthering of a preceding history of monotheistic metaphysics. In saying this, though, we would not be able to or need to discern any contingent particularity in the terminology Kant or his predecessors choose other than in its role as depowering division of a previous philosophy's terms, which terms would themselves indicate nothing qualitatively other or more than a similar move in relation to the thinking they question. If, as Kant says, the autonomy of a priori synthetic propositions would reveal as  heteronymous' the contingency of empirical experience which Rationalist discourses are founded on, this tells us that something like a categorical imperative represents an impossible divestiture of the sense of difference that would locate the affectivity of something like a Rationalism, but the particularity of this sense of minimization is itself so inconsequential as to elude the grasp of a name for this achievement. In other words, there would be no contingent `way' or context in which a gesture of desubstantialization would reveal itself as difference between textual meanings, other than as the preservation of its own move as always (barely) new non-self-identical instantiations of momentum. Context, as the mediation or textuality of experience, performs its work before there is a question of a qualitative way or how. Contingency is too labile, too intricate, too efficient at preventing the institution of moody, configurative sense into an account of meaning to leave us anything to say, anywhere even to begin or need to begin to assign a way in which Hegel, whoever he is, differs from Kant or from himself from moment to moment in his writing, other than as a continuation-transformation of a thread with no perturbation or content besides that which would establish that there would be the repetition of the twoness of meaning as new particularities of density. The letters, words, sentences, paragraphs and chapters that we read in Kant's or another writer's text form an ebb and flow of spacings and continuances, expansions and contractions, coherences and incoherences which gradually evolve for us a vibrating thematizing of demoodalizing moreness. This thematic re-invents its basis from moment to moment without its minuscule self-differing preventing us from continuing to recognize a developmental impetus devoid of a specific semantically identifiable way or quality of effecting itself. The words that are chosen so carefully by Kant, and that are read and re-read so carefully (differently) by so many readers, are able to tell us nothing about themselves by way of conceptual definition. But what if we honor Kant's words as utterly contingent singularities speaking in such and such a particular way only to us now at this very moment? Do they not deserve to be paid attention to in their exquisite contextual specificity? Yes, absolutely, but what do they offer us besides, to put it crudely, a SPEED, a being faster or slower, denser or less dense, fatter or thinner in its presence and absence than an immediately preceding event? And if a word, a meaning, an event is not literally a speed in any traditional mathematical-physical sense, it borrows from a certain metaphor of speed a differentiability drained of force or tension. It is not a question of rejecting or accepting a certain terminology, or even of deconstructively forcing it moodily, angrilyotherwise, but of staying gently, impossibly closely with it in moving within it. When our reading enlightens, excites and challenges us as it overtakes, accelerates and precipitates an `older' thinking, it sees to it that the terms of sufficiency of meaning of the older text are repeated at a more intimate site of difference. That which was previously deemed sufficient unto itself is now considered as no longer irreducible but as necessarily divided within itself. Thus, something like a metaphysics of Rationalism only appears inadequate as the grounds for a metaphysics when that thinking begins from a more integral, insubstantial relation of meaning's presence-absence poles. By the same token, languages of rationalism (Descartes, Spinoza) could themselves be followed as the reduction of the rigid substantiality of medieval monotheisms (Maimonides, Aquinas), which in turn would divide the solidity of the terms of a preceding era (classical), and so on. In projecting such a history, what would be located as the names of particular philosophical concepts, discourses, authors, or eras would affix, even for an instant, no sense other than as a barely other or new name for quasi-rate, speed, momentum, density. To attempt to return to these names is to already move beyond-and-within them. From Kant to Hegel with Less than a Concept: To then associate a proper name such as Hegel with a move beyond-within Kant is to locate the unfolding of his thinking as the determination of a simultaneously more intimate and more depresenced site of difference. But the terminology that purports to achieve this end has no role to play other than to prevent this gesture from identically duplicating its sense from one moment to the next. A Hegelian text could be as a move within a Kantian foundation of meaning such that what was once treated as the ultimate synthesis is now perceived, via a new determination of synthesis, as longer synthetic enough. Reason, conscience and duty are now correlated with a spiral of terms whose moody implications are less formidable (differently) than that of Kant in a peculiarly intricate way. Duty is now thought via notions of progress through opposition, a mediation, self-differentiation, self-transcendence, a superceding of the self. To mean is a self-departing, self-returning movement, which both negates itself in indifferent, external otherness, and then reasserts itself as the negation of all such otherness. Subject is itself in so far as it alienates itself from itself, means something other than it meant to mean, and is then able to posit itself in and through what is thus alien. To depart from self is a fulfillment of self. To know itself and be at home with itself in what is absolutely other than itself is true Science. What do we find when we attempt to characterize a  way' in which Hegel's circular language of oppositionality, self-alienation and return departs from and furthers Kant? What would underlie the shift in meaning of such terms as space and time when Hegel transforms a Kantian spatial duality, projected as a split between the realm of fallible corporeal reason and the realm of infallible spiritual absolute, into a temporal dialectic, an oppositional progression of subject-object, self-other? What can we say about the difference in orientation between Hegel's circle of referential terms `as a whole' and those of Kant? We have said that any critical operation of one text upon another would reveal itself as akin to a `de-moodalization', a delicate infinitesimal invagination of space-essence whose particular instantiation from moment to moment is exhausted of all qualitative sense save the minimum necessary in order to avoid self-identicality. Because of this we need not view Hegel's terminology of self-negational progression as one kind of device of desubstantialization among others, except as we understand, for our preliminary purposes, that to differ in kind is to do barely other than to subsume or condense. The only way to be a `kind' is to be more, to self-invaginate, to be on the way to further destroying, at the same time, a quality-less presence and a quality-less spacing that is all that we could mean when we say philosophy (or any other name). The way, manner or mode in which Hegel's discourse as a whole could be thought of as having its effect in relation to a predecessor would be (almost) the same way that any thinking appears to us as exceeding or failing another. There is nothing other we could or need say to justify the particular sense of meaningfulethical achievement or failure of a Hegel or any other named author except as it reaffirms the double edge of signification as always closer or farther in its quest of self-depowerment. Recognizing in this way the instability of a name like Kant or Hegel, we can state that meaning as a self-departing, an oppositionality of negation and reconciliation, a being at home with the absolutely other, would be the achievement of a gentler, because more intimate-insubstantial, site of meaning in relation to Kant, even as we recognize that the sense of gentleness, intimacy and insubstantiality claiming to intervene between Kant and our Hegelian examination of him wanders just enough from one instant of reading to the next to force their renewal as fresh terminology. To claim that the tonality of Hegelian temporality emerges in relation to Kant as a less violently separated structure of ethical difference implies that in our reading of Hegel it is SIMULTANEOUSLY more closely related to its moral other and stands as less of an in-itself content than it does for Kant. Each questioning of philosophy by a subsequent philosophy could justify its accomplishment not as the lessening of distance between determined concepts, which would only seek to affirm the authority of a programmatic project (conceptual relations as relations determinable according to a reigning concept of similarity), but only as a lessening of difference which simultaneously minimizes the solidity and mystery which would adhere in notions of content and process, sameness and otherness, absence and presence, subject and object. To bring things (`thing' not as phenomenal essence but as a spacing or interval between an idiotic presencing and absencing) closer together via the gesture of affective desubstantialization would not be to strengthen the force of those events but to reduce in a peculiar way their essential content simultaneously with their distance from other events. Whereas for Kant a moral duality between good and evil would imply the fatness of a rift between grossly separated realms, Hegel's moral poles as dialectical progress of opposition is at the same time a more intricate coupling and a less formidable duality of content. The sense of this greater `intricacy' and `informidability' would not be located as a preservation of a Kantian understanding of intricacy and formidability but instead would mark a (barely) new philosophy of such terms. It would effect a furthering which could not repeatedly confirm exactly in which direction it was going further due to an infinitesimal instability inherent in eventness. Operating from a more (but differently) intimate thinking of difference, a site unavailable to a Kantian sense or definition of intimacy, the propositions which represent Kantian and preKantian metaphysics appear to Hegel as "dead, rigid", inasmuch as they remain "external to their material". From this more intimate perspective, the terms of unity of the previous author are now seen as "wholly separate" essences, "each standing fixed and isolated from the other, with which it has nothing in common"(PS, intro). This reduction of the extremity of difference and consequence which splits meaning within itself projects an ethics of a more (differently) intense sort of empathy. A justice of blame, punishment and forgiveness, as an index of the magnitude of the gulf between what is and what ought to be, loses (differently) its severity in proportion to the desubstantialization of the world. When the transgressing other is given less irreducible, essential, ethical-moody distance to fall away from us, and when we ourselves simultaneously stand for less authority, there is (and always was) less to condemn, to reconcile, to forgive and redeem. From Idealist Violence to the Gentler Violence of Nietzsche: Reading Nietzsche as moving beyond-within a region of thought implicated by Hegel's work, we may think and feel his language at once in its intent. Will to power, as a celebration of contradiction, locates itself as a rich bath of powerful affective denotations. Tragic, suffering, wicked, intoxicated, conflicted, these terms form a spiralling movement of reference rendering an aesthetic of meaning as an intrinsic self-surpassing characterized as the contingent opposition of drives. The only reality is "our world of desires and passions, and we could not get down, or up, to any other `reality' besides the reality of our drives-for thinking is merely a relation of these drives to each other..."(p.47,BGE). Meaning's self-contradiction as Will to Power has the violent, substantial force of a commanding and an obeying "...we are at the same time the commanding AND the obeying parties."(p.26,BGE). Meaning as power, meaning as domination, meaning as contradiction, intoxication, abyss, instinct and drive; these are terms whose interwoven senses come into view as a desubstantialization of the relative fatness, force and consequence of Rationalist and Idealist notions of freedom of will, and the substrate of a further condensation. As moments of a `developmental' thread, Nietzsche works within-beyond a previous tradition which itself, as tradition, would mean an always barely self-differing moreness always in process of dividing and desubstantializing its own foundation. And this `going forward' only occurs as our immediately, historically contingent reading of their texts. Relative to names like Kant and Hegel, Nietzsche would constitute the thinking of a gentler, because more radically desolidified, furthering of a world. He would paint a more temperate picture of a world even in his declared intemperance, as a more intricate-unformidable affective landscape than that of an idealist or dialectical dualism with its too reified distinctions between good and evil, self and other. Nietzsche's multiple understanding of will and meaning avails him of an ethics which one might tempt to characterize as more forgiving of the deviant, the alien, that which would be thought of in terms of a break with the moral. But more precise than characterizing his approach as `more forgiving' would be to say that there would be less for him to forgive, less of a transgressive power given to moral deviance in the first place. The shift in terminology from the harshness of dialectical otherness to a more intricately insubstantial language of a transvaluation of values instantiates an ethical `advance'. At the same time, seen from the vantage of a more (differently) desubstantialized thinking, the relentless progress traced by the career of Nietzsche would never succeed in moving Nietzsche beneath a certain limit, beneath the relatively thick recesses of his evolving notions of conflict and contradiction, of a certain hostility and cruelty demanded by the assumption of a still too heavy content-difference marking meaning's spacing. If there would be a dissymmetry between the sense of terms as we move from one philosophical account to another, what of this inadequation? Is the formidability or significance of this disagreement among texts of the order of a deconstruction, an opposition, a transcendence, a critique? To engage in a text is not to critique, as if to think were to experience conflict, discordance, subversion. Nor is it to deconstruct, as if there were still a certain resistance within meaning, a certain moody thickness, polarity to its edge. The `disagreement' that would distinguish one writer's thesis from another is none other than that which differentiates his work within itself. But this way in which experience marks itself must be seen as less than a rift or disturbance. The extent to which meaning's movement can be thought of as troubled would be undermined by the extraordinarily content-devoid self-similarity (and selfdifferentiation) which characterizes each moment as a most infinitesimal repetition, a nearduplication of imbecilic sense, a return that knows nothing else about `itself', anything substantive, qualitative, never needing or ever being able to know, other than that it reaffirms, as barely a new particularity, a gesture of moreness. To follow this gesture is to do less than oppose, correct, or critique. Even in our disappointment, in our encounter of the apparent anachronistic-regressive text, in our experience of that which in other traditions would evoke suffering, anger, blame, we could not say that what we feel is any of this moodiness. Contingency and the Slanting Eddies of Progress: There is still much we want to clarify. The most fundamental basis of the developmental illusion that we have traced in the guise of an ethically progressive history of philosophy need not, and cannot, depend on collecting a series of books on a table and proceeding to laboriously, programmatically order them. In what order does a writer write a book? In what order do we read a book? We read and write according to a contingent, non-reproducible or definable order. This originating context would have to be not only the fundamental condition for any activity of thought, but a condition that no activity could exceed or get behind. We don't usually just discover books arrayed as a development, we place them that way, and our placing is a complex activity composed of myriad findings and losings. We find ourselves wanting to arrange an array of events in such and such an order and then find and lose ourselves in process of variously succeeding or being disappointed or waylaid in our efforts. And our `final' success will, upon closer examination reveal itself as not a linear completion of our initial intention but a movement whose sense was immediately sliding a bit already from the start. So it would be less appropriate to refer to a history as development than to refer to the developmental illusion as an aspect of experience, as one of its vicissitudes. The basis for the developmental illusion must be in what comes to us immediately at any time anywhere in the form of contingent experience. Beneath any apparent effortful voluntarism is an order of experience preceding simple volition and intention. The subliminal order I find in the words of an author's text is not interrupted or subverted, but is precisely that order which obtains when I `leave' my reading to engage in other supposed modes of experience. Thus, the question of how it is that an author's work appears to me moment to moment, word by word, in terms of a desubstantializing repetition, is most fundamentally a question of how it is that all experience appears to me, of how meaning relates to itself prior to simple volition, moment by moment, as the iteration of being-two-poles. The deconstruction of a so-called text has little interest for us after we realize that the meat of experience is in between the lines, in what occurs as our attention wanders instant to instant within, without and around the supposed task of following words on a page, or engaging with words spoken in conversation or markings composing a piece of music or a painting. The truth of the world is the truth of a little room with a table. If a series of books on the table can be lined up in a certain way, this would be because anything else we see on the table or under it or out the window, anything we hear or touch, anything we feel or conceptualize, must be the effect of a process which unites perceptual, affective and conceptual modes via a more fundamental thinking which no longer distinguishes between such modes (perceptual, affective, conceptual) as self-presenting categorical structures of experience. Everything I see reveals to me, reveals me as, little developments, rhythms of groupings and dispersions, united differently one to the next not by any dominating trajectory, will or faculty of perception, but by the non-identical commonality, throughout all of the shifts and turns of sense, of a radically insubstantial intricacy, making every new eventing seem, once we begin to think in this way, as the continuance of undulating variations and textures of more or less. These textures in their appeal as more or less interesting-intricate-coherent-depowered are the origin of the ethical, as well as the aesthetic, the political, etc. I can think a region of something like philosophy as a developmental field because developments are `real' phenomena, not as linear emanations, but as almost circular eddies whose self-slanting drift brings the `progress' round and round until at some ambivalent point its strangely imperfect compression becomes a strangely imperfect decompression and it no longer wants to be sensed as a good progress, but instead seems to continue on as now a self-slanting progress of disappointment, interruption and reversal (and what do these terms really mean?). Development finds itself subtly shifting its sense from one moment to the next, which means that it finds itself shifting its name. Philosophical style at some point realizes that it has now begun calling itself literary, now political, economic, or scientific mode, but never as a sudden qualitative break (there being virtually no qualitative content to begin with) from one mode to the next. There would seem to be mini-strand after mini-strand of developing modes of experience, transmogrifying not just within but between, from `the' cultural to `the' pre-cultural, from `the' perceptual to `the' conceptual, from hearing to seeing to touching to tasting, and this transmogrification would itself be amenable to progressive arrangement. There would always be these new names wanting to proclaim themselves as categories when in fact they exist nowhere as categories, but are instead utterly contingent continuances from who knows where, re-inventing their sense instant to instant. Development as almost circular eddies of radically gentle disappointment and recovery, betterment and worsening easily misconstrues its apparent departures and returns as the vicissitudes along a single line of history. The thinking of a biological evolution, a pre-organic history, a cosmological history could all be re-configured beyond the limits of scientific accounts so as to reveal themselves as the continuation of the ethical depowerment revealed in a philosophical history. But no such infinite string would have a chance to build itself. To think experience as vector of desubstantialization may be seen as an important exercise to get the `feel' of repetition as nearaccumulation, as a warm order of immediate and extraordinary precision. However, when we attempt to flesh this out to encompass an infinity of modes, with their own trajectories, we may see that any supposed vector crumbles before it can form a thread; the trajectories are radically intertwined from the outset, but not as furtherings of a unitary trend. Before a vector or trajectory can secure itself, its purity is destroyed by the effect of a tiny slippage from event to event reorienting and re-determining the trend. Desubstantialization does not exist as a pure vector, but because of this neither does re-substantialization. Things don't ever get purely better and better, and neither do they ever get purely worse and worse. The slippage within the event which prevents its gathering itself as a self-identical trajectory is not an otherness. It is a less than being able or needing to know what better or worse (or alterity) could mean, even contextually. Wherever a developmental history thinks it recovers itself from its disappointments, and even before it senses itself as disappointed, it drifts and circles askance from itself with a slant so insignificant as to barely deserve mentioning. This slant is as little worth mentioning as that presencing which, simultaneously with it, is the Being slanted. A world will always be styles upon styles upon styles, developments of developments of developments, but much more important than the question of the justification of valuative direction of a history is that of the impotence of meaning's playful iteration, beyond-within its supposed power to dominate, disrupt, emote. We are brought back to the basis of experience as modalization, what in Derrida's work is available as moodalization, the identification of the self-slanting of experience as affective-emotive. The duplicity of transit only iterates itself as mood to the extent that transit knows its variability, as this or that texture, degree, momentum of transit, as at least minimally forceful and disturbing. Derridean deconstruction may insist that the world simply is such that, even when we extricate ourselves from structuralist, naturalistic and anthropologic illusions of self-present entities, there are irreducible qualitative differences to be found in the unfolding of experience. For Derrida, the moodiness of events depends on a supposed minimally contentful variation-modalization as and between singulars. We have said that ours is a notion of meaning's self-slanting so insubstantial as to precede any sense of guilt or blame as the expression of a rift or distance between we and they, between me and myself. The more-and-less vicissitudes of an affective progress always barely redetermines its basis from event to event. 4.BLAME AND ETHICS Guilt and Anger as Intimate Violence: But if momentum can be disappointed, if it can recover, accelerate, in what sense are these undulations not to be thought of as guilt, anger, joy? There is not a thing we could know as guilt or anger as such, definable outside of the most local context of instantiation. What would such terms as guilt or blame even signify if we have deprived all words of any retrievable identity other than the utter particularity and singularity of their instantiation of barely new senses of density, momentum, speed, less than anything that would be stably definable? How would we speak of moods in a thinking which would claim to deprive them of their effect? When we examined the way in which discourses characterized meaning's duplicitous play of difference, the adjectives they chose to capture the dynamics of meaning's relation to itself as presence and absence, pleasure and pain, and other such dualities of effect, marking the possibility of making sense, we were able to note in their terms a certain relative neurosis, an unreduced substantiality of presence-absence. Such moments of an always re-invented ethical development or `affective desubstantialization' evince a certain constipated, polarized ploddingness of play. Let us use something like guilt as an example. We could draw up a sketch of the way that guilt might be articulated across a range of discourses: we could link it to such ideas as culpability and blamefulness, wherein we are said to feel guilty for letting someone down, shirking our responsibility, personal negligence. It has been said that we can't look the other in the eye in guilt. We don't have to be accused by another to feel we have failed her or him. The other need not be disappointed in us, nor even be aware of our failure at all. Guilt as self-blame would be the realization of our failure to behave in the way we expected of ourself, the hurt and disappointment we feel when we are not quite what we thought we were. It would originate in a being-other-than what we expected, the sense of missed opportunity, of a mourning of a better fork in the road not taken. Guilt would register a sense of seeming self-regression or decadence in the momentum of one's experience. What, preliminarily, might we comment concerning the structure we've just sketched of a `twinge' of guilt, the feeling of `letting oneself down'? Let us at first locate the peculiar edge of guilt, as we have described it above, as its  I ought to have, should have, could have' way of thinking, our awareness that we failed to do what we were capable of, what we assumed we would. The proximity between that which one expected of oneself and one's apparent failure to live up to that standard would mark guilt as a gnawing, teasing puzzlement or surprise. Our falling away from another we care for could then be spoken of as an alienation of oneself from oneself. When we feel we have failed another, we mourn our mysterious dislocation from a competence or value which we associated ourselves with. It follows from this that any thinking of guilt as a `should have, could have' blamefulness deals in a notion of dislocation and distance, of a mysterious discrepancy within intended meaning, separating who we were from who we are in its teasing gnawing abyss. Guilt and sadness would seem to represent a plunge into the darkness of separation. As we have seen, for Derrida there would be guilt as an always implied within-trace effect determined by the origin of every event as other than itself in the instant of being itself. This within-trace sense of mourning would be an irreducible quasi-transcendental condition of experience. One disturbs and disappoints oneself in a certain sense at every moment. Then there would also be for Derrida the possibility of guilt, sadness and mourning as a momentum of between-trace relation marking our stumbling into experience marked by a sparse density of change. This disappointing, guilty field of eventness could be the death of a friend one should have spoken to more often or better, or the encounter of a repressively authoritarian regime that one should have or could have resisted, or done so more effectively. Just as we can fall away from the relative contentment of an intimate experience of selfmotility and progress, we can seem to find ourselves recovering from our slide into the relative regressiveness of interruption. Wherever this disappointment is thought via a language of alterity, violation and guilt, recoveryseems to imply the justice and violence of resistance, condemnation and punishment. Philosophies which believe, to various degrees, in meaning's moody self-distancing would seem to be not only a thinking of guilt and despondency but also a thinking of anger, recompense and forgiveness. Anger would be a commentary on guilt, on the proximity we perceive between what was and what should have been. Anger would act on the `should have, could have' of guilt as an accusation of culpability. What does such a judgement imply? Anger would proceed from the recognition of a blameful proximity between a thematic unfolding of experience and that which fails that thematic. The other who interacts with us (and this other can be ourselves) can respond in such as way as to fall afoul of our expectations; they (or we) `should have known better' than to do what caused our pain. We don't become angry when we believe another had no way of knowing, could not have been expected to know that his actions would be responsible for our distress; in such a case our prior expectations of them would not have been violated. But when we believe that the object of our wrath shares a certain empathy with us or with himself which appears to have been breached, anger wants to remedy and resist that breach. The other who `knew better than' to do what disturbs us is seen, via our anger, as herself hostile, annoyed or irritated with us, as wanting to punish us, as believing we were deserving of her disrespect. When we believe we were in fact deserving of the other's hostility, we become guilty. However, when we believe ourselves to be undeserving of the other's rejection, we turn their hostility back at them. Our anger acts to promote guilt and blame in the other; it remedies, resists, wants to transcend. Anger is a faith in the ability to minimize the abyss of blame. Anger would be a confidence, an insight into how to remedy guilty, disappointed experience. Hostility as a Question: If terms like punishment and condemnation point to a momentum of desubstantialization, of increasing proximity and intimacy with the other, of reducing the fat contentfulness and violent distance of the other from us, then why would retribution seem to want to degrade the other, to inflict pain and destruction? Why would the infliction of pain on another be desirable to us in revenge, and what would the desiring of another's suffering even mean? We have to remember that for now we have allowed that there would be two ways of thinking desire (we will reduce these later). Firstly, there would be desire as within-trace play, desire as nothing but eventness itself; the twofold mechanics of momenting not as sequence but as simultaneity. If an event is a self-exceeding, it is in the same breath a self-decadence. If we say that the origin of desire, need, craving, affectivity as the duplicity of a singular event is the preferring of presence over dislocation we do not capture a sequential order. To find oneself wanting is to experience at the same time two poles, but it is not to be able to say which came first and which came second. What seems to be a `moving toward' is more originally a `having both' , an equivocal-singular awareness that is in the same `instant' both the better and the worse. That desire `wants' the depowering minimization of distance is only to state a redundancy. Words like desire, prefer, privilege, precedence, minimization and order fail to do anything more than remind us of this a-sequential twofoldness of motive that structures each event within itself. The goodness of proximity and the undesirability of effacement would not reveal anything about each other besides the fact that they occupy the same space in each moment of experience. If proximity is good and separation bad, they are good and bad for no reason besides the fact that without this minimal dyssymetry between a having and a losing there would be no world. Being informed that the goodness of possession is that feature we prefer contributes nothing further to our understanding since an instant of preference simply reinstates the dual poles presence-absence. To ask the question `the presence or absence of what?' is to fail to understand that the object or content of a moment experience can never be isolated as anything more substantive than `this particular event which is a new instantiation of presence-absence.' To prefer is only to state that one exists in transit. We don't choose to be motivated. We are already motivated because we are already in motion. Another way to understand desire, quasi-transcendentally co-essential with the previous account of desire as within-trace, is as a between-event trope or thematic expressing the variable rhythm of repetition of events. Since we are in motion before we could ever choose to motivate ourselves, the variability of motive resides in the relative coherence of the movement of our experience, event to event. In coming back to itself moment to moment as non-self-identical but nonetheless integrally, unsubstantially self-similar, desire can continue to reaffirm  almost exactly' what it wants, and it can make progress toward or find itself being distanced from what it wants, even as the very basis of that objective is gently re-invented in each intended instantiation of it. Because we find ourselves choosing rather than controlling our choice, what desire chooses has already altered us before we can duplicate and recover what we choose. It would always be a new sense of desire and progress or disappointment of desire that return moment to moment in the unfolding of experience. Nevertheless, in its non-self-identical journey, desire can find or re-discover itself (rather than simply willing itself) making progress toward the furthering of itself, its culture, its world. We can only intend to welcome the Other who saves us from chaos; we intend to reject the Other who offers the oppression of incommensurability. Freedom from incoherence implies a sense of liberation, whereas freedom from the order of intelligibility and intimacy inplies a sense of subjection. We always have desired to welcome, give ourselves to, sacrifice ourselves for the intimate Other, and always disliked, `chose against' the incommensurate Other. We only `want' to escape from that which is indoctrinating, repressive, and we only know such conventions in these terms to the extent that we are alienated from them, disconnected, impoverished, deprived. What is repressive to us is what we cannot establish connection, intimacy of relation with. What is `boring', stagnant and redundant in what we label as totalitarianisms is what refuses us, keeps us at a distance, leaves us in banishment. Boredom is always a symptom of dislocation and incipient incoherence. As counterintuitive as it may seem, repetition of experience is only perceived as redundant to the extent that such `monotonous' experience disturbs us by its resistance to intimate intelligibility. Boredom and monotony herald the failure of comprehension rather than its success. To choose to love the impossible, the unforeseen and unpredictable is to prefer that aspect within unforeseen experience which is foreseeable, which offers us the hope of avoidance of the abyss of violation and disconnection. To the extent that we can say that we look forward to the unknown, it is only to that degree that we ANTICIPATE the unanticipatable that there is the hope of godliness, love, intimacy in that otherwise meaningless unknowable. We cannot get beyond this link between the lovable and the recognizable without losing the basis of any ethics, which is the ability to distinguish between, even if without yet defining, what is preferred and what is not. What would it mean to attempt to circumvent the structure of preference by a sacrifice of intention? What would we be effecting in `choosing' to welcome without knowing what or whom we welcome; in acting so that our left hand does not know what the right hand is doing? As long as we speak of a volunteeristic `choice' or `act' of sacrifice of desire, of generosity, selflessness, or even of choosing not to intend at all, neither as benevolence or malevolence, we are still in-desire. To attempt to do what we don't want to do, or to act before we understand why we are acting, is still to prefer, and preference is always the finding of ourselves in a movement of desubstantializing intimacy. In desire's progress, in re-inventing what a progress would mean, desire is always a samedifferent movement away from destruction and suffering for itself and `deserving others', a minimization of the pain of incoherence and absence. One wants to destroy only the `undeserving'; one prefers to prefer against disruption, that which threatens with greater perceived harm. Thus the instant of motive is as a minimization-depowering of perceived harm and violence. To punish would be in the first place to act for the sake of a faith in the metaphysics of the foreign or the mysterious, but to minimize the force and substance of that gulf of alterity and disturbance. It would be to transfer our pain to the other in order to achieve the other's remorse and repentance. We want him to identify with our suffering because, more centrally, our anger wants to coax him to understand that relational intimacy of experience which was disappointed and damaged for us via his actions, that which we mourn but which he apparently has failed to understand in the first place and thus does not appreciate was destroyed. It is not his suffering we want for its own sake but his understanding, his contrition, his desubstantializing movement toward what we deem he should have thought and felt in the first place. Whereas in our own guilt we discover ourselves seemingly regressing from or disappointing the intimacy of our remembered, preceding experience, our anger is the transcendence of this momentum of apparent deceleration and reversal. We deem that the target of our indignation should have known what he failed to act on; we insist that he used to acknowledge the importance for us of what he now apparently disregards in his thoughtlessness. Our anger wants to rekindle this spark, to move him to a recollection of the consideration we believe he once had for us or our concerns. But why would we want to inflict punishment if we assume he already knows of our distress, already empathizes but chooses to ignore or forget this empathy? Our indignation wants us to reinstate for the other the pain we believe he didn't feel keenly enough originally. The angered wants to teach the guilty party a lesson, remind him, shame him, make him feel the guilt he inexplicably failed to feel as a result of his regressive actions. Why do we say the criminal should suffer what the victim suffered, get a `taste of his own medicine'? If he really knows the ethical rigor of what was lost to us in our disappointed suffering, we think, then he may see the error of his ways and return to what we believe he knew all along. Our hostility wants to provoke the other's pain only in order to gain the opportunity to ask "How do YOU like it?" and hear him empathetically link his pain with ours by linking his thinking more intimately with ours. The angry accuser believes the accused knew his actions were responsible for the accuser's suffering. The accuser's anger, then, depends on an unanswered question concerning the perpetrator, which is the same question the guilt-ridden person asks himself: `Why did he fail to do what he knew he should do?' The accuser wonders:`Why does the perpetrator's hostility put the victim's thinking into question when it is the perpetrator's assessment of his relationship to the victim which needs to be interrogated and forced to a more intricate and desubstantialized space?'`Why does the perpetrator not feel guilty?' According to the indignant person's original axes of understanding, the very contemplation of the sort of nasty behavior he or she is presently witnessing should have produced a sufficiently amount of guilt in the perpetrator as to have prevented the translation of those vindictive plans into action. After all, thinks the angered party, "I've been tempted by that sort of indulgent acting out, too, but I've controlled myself." Unable to come up with any workable alternative explanation of the nonconformist's actions, the offended person attempts to inculcate the other with the feeling of remorse that the indignant one initially assumed the offender should feel, but inexplicably fell short of. The goal of anger's punishing intent is not to destroy but to return the other closer to ourselves, to save him and us from his decadence, his falling short of a more condensingly depowering thinking which would allow him to see our behavior not as an obstacle to his movement but as a precipitation of it. Our anger wants to prompt him to an indication of insightful empathy with the pain he knows we feel and knows he was responsible for in his need to punish us. The other's destruction will not satisfy anger's urge for the perpetrator to bridge the taunting abyss between what he did and what he `knew better than to do'. Our anger only begins to dissipate to the extent that we believe the other directly identifies the `retaliatory' teaching we inflict on him with the suffering he was responsible for in us, and more fundamentally with our thinking he failed to embrace. Anger's gesture, as any instant of desire, is the preferring of what we indulge ourselves in preliminarily referring to as a depowering minimization of otherness. But since we don't know why he violated our expectation of him, why and how he failed to do what our blameful anger tells us he `should have' according to our prior estimation of his relation to us, this guilt-inducing process is tentative, unsure. It is precisely the interruptiveness and intermittency of the `knowing what to do' of anger which is potentially manifested as explosiveness, violence and destructiveness because the behaviors associated with these terms represent the limited repertoire of responses which mark the incipience of angry insight. Anger's impulsive, potentially explosive character would mark it as a delicate confidence, an ambivalent insight. Anger would be ambivalent in its force; a composition of vulnerability, tentativeness, questioning, a residing with alterity even as it attempts to desubstantialize its effect. Forgiveness as Acknowledgement of Transcendence: The dissipation of anger is closely tied to forgiveness, seen as the faith that our intervention may have succeeded in moving the other's thinking depoweringly closer to himself and to us. Considered in this way, we can only forgive a trespass of the other to the extent that we recognize a sign of the desubstantializing transformation of their thinking. Ideals of so-called unconditional forgiveness, of turning the other cheek, loving one's oppressor, could be understood as actually conditional in various ways. In the absence of the other's willingness to atone, we may forgive evil when we believe that there are special or extenuating circumstances which will allow us to view the perpetrator as less culpable (the sinner knows not what he does). We can say the other was blinded or deluded, led astray. Our offer of grace is then subtly hostile, both an embrace and a slap. We hold forth the carrot of our love as a lure, hoping thereby to uncloud the other's conscience so as to enable them to discover their culpability. In opening our arms, we hope the prodigal son will return chastised, suddenly aware of a need to be forgiven. Even when there is held little chance that the sinner will openly acknowledge his sin, we may hope that our outrage connects with a seed of regret and contrition buried deep within the other, as if our `unconditional' forgiveness is an acknowledgement of God's or the subliminal conscience of the other's apologizing in the name of the sinner. As the forgiving one, we are proud of our `courageous' and `compassionate' response, but the important term here is response. To forgive is to acknowledge willingness to change one's attitude of condemnation only in RESPONSE to and acknowledgement of indications of potential repentance, at a conscious or unconscious level, on the part of the sinner. Perhaps the simplest kernel of forgiveness, then, is a mere experience of relieved awareness on our part, prior to any volition or declaration of intent to forgive, of the other's renewal of intimacy with themselves and us. In any case, our forgiving renewal of relationship with the other never succeeds in fathoming the other's initial disappointment of our experience, their apparent `forgetting' of the intimacy of their previous relationship with us. The `resolution' of our anger in successfully achieving the other's transformation, in moving them depoweringly and desubstantializingly closer to us and to themselves by reminding them of what they should have remembered, is an ambivalent progress due to its failure to understand why and how the perpetrator surprised us and fell short of our expectations in the first place. Repentance cannot ameliorate the mystery of this seeming forgetting; the other's sense of culpability is their internalization of this same mystery. They become angry with themselves to the extent that they fail along with the accuser to penetrate the violent mystery of their self-disappointing `sin'. Let's look at anger and forgiveness in the context of deconstructive thinking. Anger, beyond the within-trace tension intrinsic to every event, is tied to a particular momentum of between-event experience, reinventing itself subtly differently instant to instant. In general terms, it belongs to the precipitant recovery from regions of experience, from texts which disappoint in their tarrying with tropes of programmatic ideality. Deconstruction can be angry in its need to resist a thinking which it sees as violent, oppressive and destructive in a misguided faith in a purported institutional stasis of history. But as we have seen, anger may be said to be more specific in its effect than this general response to the other's regressiveness. We don't find ourselves angry with any and all texts which tarry with polarizing language. We condemn the other who more or less irritatingly disappoints our prior expectation of them. Our anger acts to remedy a rift in a certain intimacy of relationship with the other; it acts to remind in cases where it would seem the other has subtly forgotten, fallen just short of, a former proximity-density of contact with us and with themselves. This exquisitely teasingly, gnawingly subtle delay of movement would express a `could have', `should have' quality of blame. What presumably has been forgotten or interrupted is not a specific content but a momentum of self-deconstructive change. For Derrida, it would never be a question of returning to a supposed self-present conceptual scheme, but of precipitating back into movement a selfdeconstructive iteration which had stalled or suffered paralysis. And in saying that it is a momentum of transformation rather than a content which is being recovered, we must add that for Derrida this shift from `less' to `more' depowering movement which deconstruction wants to coax is not a simple oscillation from one template to the other but a returning differently. Experience gathers and disperses itself, modalizes itself as more or less each time via a differently reinvented sense of more and of less, of forgetfulness and recovery. Where it finds a text slipping into a hostile, forgetful mode, its anger concentrates itself as a response to the specific parlaying of this forgetfulness into a weapon of violence and punishment. The other who grieves has in a sense forgotten the previous intimacy of their motile comportment with experience, but our engagement with this mourning is empathetic rather than hostile. But this is not quite true. It is not that we are less empathetic in our hostility toward the accused than in our consolation of the mourner, but that, from our vantage, the accused has lost less depowering momentum than the grieving one. There is less to remind and recover in the case of the guilty party than in the case of the mourner. Our helpless incomprehension in the face of another's depression and grief distances us more from the other than does the comparatively minor puzzlement of our angry disapproval of those we accuse. Anger is nothing but an intimate, aggressively and ambivalently confident reminder to the one who we believe is so close to his/her prior momentum (with which we empathize) in their present waywardness that a push in the `right' (desubstantializing) direction may do the trick. Consolation of the grieving, on the other hand, is a process of reminding and recovery that has farther to travel in order to repair the gaping, fat rift between the prior other and the mourning other who sits in their place. In setting a `stubbornly' exhausted thinking back to work, deconstruction's anger expresses itself as an accelerated momentum of desubstantializing change, a release from relative paralysis toward a greater density of inventive eventness. Deconstructive anger, at the same time as accelerating momentum of change, does not have any better way to understand the forgetful text it wants to precipitate back to work than via accusations of abusive, plodding, repressive, thinking. As a result, the deconstructive response to a text seen this way is necessarily violent in the minimal extent that it `resists', `intervenes' and `forces' the text back to work. We mentioned that anger accompanies or effectuates the recovery of a certain thematic intimacy which has been breached by a guilty perpetrator. It might seem, though, that it is precisely the attempt at a concentrated gathering which is being resisted by a deconstructive response. Isn't it the attempt to turn experience (in myriad ways and degrees) into a fortress of self-identity which is being resisted in the name of an otherness keeping itself free of conceptual imprisonment? In other words, isn't a certain violence being encouraged here, a violence in complicity with putting a stalled and paralyzed thinking back to work? Yes, but remember that according to our reading, what characterizes a text in need of deconstruction is not that it lacks any internal movement, but rather that as a certain naive deconstruction of itself, it represents, moment to moment, a peculiarly lugubrious, inefficient, weary, and thus intrinsically polarizing and violent form of selftransformation. To this sickly progress a deconstructive intervention contributes acceleration; in rendering the stalled moments fluid, it converts programmatic violence into a more (differently) intimate and in an important sense a lesser violence. Deconstructive anger fights to precipitate a thinking both more intricately thematic and more radically critical than that it questions. But why is this relationship of deconstructer to deconstructed hostile? The hostility asks a question it cannot answer: Why and how does anyone fall short of a more rigorous deconstructive thinking? Of course a quick answer is available. We need only explain that deconstruction is, like all writing, historical; it is born of specific conditions implicating a complex intersection of theological, ethnic, political, economic and social influences, among many others. Deconstruction as an overtly articulated activity depends, then, on conditions available only in a certain cultural interval. But, as we pointed out, we don't become angry at the text which doesn't understand itself overtly in deconstructive terms. Our anger responds to the other's surprising but subtle disappointment of our expectations of them, regardless of what those original expectations entailed. In order to address our question, then, we need to probe more deeply into the way in which historical circumstances and conditions iterate and transform themselves. Specifically, we need to examine the more fundamental terms of the general dynamics of the unfolding of the textuality of experience instant to instant. Deconstruction is hostile to the extent that experience as iteration of differance doesn't trust itself. To ask why one fails more or less to think deconstructively is to ask how deconstruction itself fails to think deconstructively, which is to say, how meaning wanders from itself in the act of instantiating itself within and between moments. Experience is doomed to be always (each time differently) more or less disappointing, more or less infuriating, more or less deviant and disturbing. Deconstruction is in this way constantly disturbed by and forgiving of itself and others. Attempts to transcend this deviance within us and between us via politico-ethical or therapeutic analysis will run up against a universal limit of conciliation. Derrida believes that to forgive is always to forgive the unforgivable, that is to say, to be obliged to respect the secret of radical evil which remains inaccessible, which no amount of reconciliation and attempts at mutual understanding can alleviate. The origin of this radical evil is the dehiscence within the Derridean trace, determining an event's play of absence and presence to be dominated by a certain qualitative otherness. Whether in frightened surprise, guilty mourning, angry resistance or joyful furthering, moment to moment experience depends on and perpetuates a minimal violence. Answering the Question:Before the Ethics of Disturbance: How would we answer this question which we say deconstruction cannot: how do we conceive disappointment emanating from experience with others or ourselves as less-than-blameful, less-than-angering, less-than-deviant? When the shifting fortunes of experience are burdened with the heaviness of alterity, the momenta of moods etched by expansions and contractions, disappointments and recoveries could never escape the implications of hostility and guilt. To think of a mysterious rift between my own need and that of another, and within myself, is precisely the origin of the possibility of such a thing as blame, anger, guilt, as well as a certain fatness of pleasurejoy. To want, to desire, to mean would involve an inherent self-distancing or otherness, a bastardization which would limit my reconciliation with myself or with another. Justice would be cruel, as Nietzsche says. To feel cruel is to feel blamefully responsible, culpable, guilty. If we inhabit different social worlds, if our own `individual' world is itself an endless iteration of differential cultures of self, then we must say that desire itself can only want to further one of an infinity of different realms, in asymmetric contradiction to the others. To think this way is to believe in the perversity of want. As distinct as Nietzsche's notion of will to cruelty may be from metaphysical concepts of evil and divine righteousness, he has in common with such tropes a faith in the possibility of my obliviousness to another's suffering. If meaning repeats itself as a trace of moody affirmative-negational difference, then to say that my hostility and desire to punish is the attempt at bringing the other closer to me is to also imply the dislodgement or violation of the other's desire. A world of suffering, anxiety, guilt and contempt is implied by a philosophy which sees moody otherness at the origin of meaning. All philosophies and psychologies which allow quality to dominate the essence of meaning are in a fundamental sense philosophies of blame, to the extent that to blame is to grant to meaning the fundamental power of mystery, which underlies the force of suffering. Levinas' notion of the Other, Heidegger's primordial anxiety, Derrida's differance, and any thinking which depends on faith in otherness as meaning's double core, maintains a remnant of blamefulness. Levinas writes: "God does evil to me to tear me out of the world, as unique and ex-ceptional-as a soul(TE182)...Suffering qua suffering is but a concrete and quasi-sensible manifestation of the nonintegratable, the non-justifiable. The `quality' of evil is this very non-integratability...In the appearing of evil, in its original phenomenality, in its quality, is announced a modality, a manner: not finding a place, the refusal of all accomodation with..., a counter-nature, a monstrosity, what is disturbing and foreign of itself. And in this sense transcendence!"(TE180) The thought that, as Levinas characterizes it, thinks beyond what it thinks, beyond thematization and being and negation, older than consciousness and intentionality, nevertheless relies on, and in fact is centrally defined by, a certain substantiality of mood which demands a justice imprisoned by its blindness. Heidegger says: Understanding is never free-floating, but always moody. Having a mood brings Dasein face to face with its thrownness...not known as such, but disclosed far more primordially in `how one is'(BT339340). He argues that a primordial anxiety is the authentic mood of Dasein. Fundamental anxiety, he says, is not anxiety in the face of this or that `thing'. It reveals the nothing, the indeterminateness of that for which we feel anxious. This mood is `older' (ontologically), more primordial than all other moods. And what is the quality of this feeling of fundamental anxiety? Heidegger says it is pervaded by a peculiar calm. It is an anxiety "of those who are daring", and "stands in secret alliance with the cheerfulness and gentleness of creative longing". Desire seen as alterity is a boundary of mystery and secrecy, of the alien. It is the seed of contamination and disturbance which projects a world of violence and injustice as well as the hope of redemption and conciliation. It is at the heart of terms which speak of a willful, forgetful, repressive  knew better than to',`could have',  should have'. The unjust or pathological other is that which is the opposite of my understanding and desire, that which opposes me, thwarts me, makes me suffer. The criminal or pathological act is another name for that which subverts our desire, that which causes our suffering. Thoughtless, lazy, selfish, inconsiderate, contemptible, greedy, cruel, guilty, evil, dishonorable, condemnable, decadent, conscienceless, malicious, ungrateful, psychopathological, misbehaving, erroneous, unadaptive, violator, criminal, deviant, abusive, arrogant; these names would have in common a measure of the undermining or repressing of desire. When we are thwarted, surprised, our anger is the impetus of our moving past and resisting the repression. Rehabilitation, punishment, Nietzschean cruelty and revenge, therapy, subversion and emancipation, justice are some names for the impetus of recovery from violation and hegemonic repression. Recovery maintains the mysterious senselessness which a violation of desire marks, just as a feeling of joy preserves the mysterious senselessness of a despair which it would be a recovery from. Guilt, blame, punishment, apology and forgiveness implicate each other as the movement through a culture of irreducible otherness. A possibility of justice that depends on a fulcrum of deviation or decentering at the heart of meaning drives the `should' and `could' of responsibility and projects, in innumerable degrees through different discourses, a world torn by suffering as well as by a peculiarly heavy, indulgent joy. When another's intent is seen as grossly inconsonant with mine, he is my enemy. My enemy is a threat I have no choice but to protect myself from. I need to overcome, censure or escape the evil in the other or myself, to depower a harm. Murder and genocide name acts directed at me which seem to be behaviors of destruction, but similar acts directed from me are heroic attempts to lessen the harmful abyss of incoherence. The harshness of my protective efforts will be a reflection of the severity, that is, the substantiality, of this threat. Our desire to minimize deviance, separation, loss implies the punishment, condemnation, reconditioning, violation and subversion of the culpable other. The criminal, the inflicter of genocide, the murderer, the rapist, the torturer, the psychopath: these labels depend on faith in a break or separation between them and us. What kind of understanding no longer needs to think of meaning's inhabiting different worlds from event to event, no longer needs the thinking of `should have', of blame and alterity, of qualitative disruption, of hegemony and subversion, of regimes of language and their mutual incommensurability, of moody deconstructive resistance and dissemination? The radicality of thinking is evidenced most precisely by its penetration beneath the affective substantiality of a range of thinking of blame and anger (and equally implicated in those discourses' treatment of joy and pleasure). The moodiness of these terms, thought in various and particular ways, hide within themselves a more insubstantial mark or move, which has little room for affective appellation. To be a thinking of blame is to have faith in any of a variety of notions of Otherness, but my actions are more insubstantial, and therefore, in a certain peculiar sense more ordered with respect to me and my world than is overtly understood by philosophies, psychologies and aesthetics which fail to reduce the metaphysics of qualitative alterity, which locates blame in meaning's self-distancing, to a structure of radically unformidable linkage. Such a reductive thinking undermines the feelings of alienation and anger (as well as from too-substantial notions of joy) which accompany our conclusion concerning the alterity of the other, the irreducible manner in which we and `they' do not belong, feelings which betray our reluctant failure to penetrate beneath this assumed alterity at the core of experience to the double edge of a gentle intricacy which preserves its gentleness even as it is instantiated as the wild contingency of all possible senses-moods. When the dynamic space of choice, desire, need, motive is seen as a mark which barely exceeds itself, which in fact is itself only as an impossibly inconsequential iteration of twoness, then a social world no longer has the power, and never did, to project deviance and violence, punishment and condemnation, psychopathology and therapy, error and correction, incommensurability and hegemony, the tensions of power. If a choice does not have the power to violate then it is no longer a deliberation. Desire without the passion and disruption of mystery needs nothing. Responsibility which does not risk failure to anticipate is no longer a response. A more radical thinking does not move beyond but within the thickness and remoteness of relation which the blameful `could and should have' of anger, guilt and forgiveness convey. If the effect of desire is a subliminal linkage of moments of meaning, if the moment of meaning is itself defined as a barely registering dissymmetry less formidable than duality of subject-object or presence-absence, then morality and justice can no longer be understood by reference to violence, polarity, contamination, paradox. To recognize the genesis of a phenomenal world as an exquisitely variating desubstantializing gesture is to locate the origin of the arbitrary, the accidental, the repressed, the forgotten, the chaotic, the painful and tragic, in an infinitesimal dichotomy which never did have room for the affective fatness these terms imply. Any way of thinking which expresses a residual `fatness' of mysterious content finds a remnant of irreducible suffering in the world, the qualitative negation or disturbance of understanding. But to know that in the same instant we point to a `this', an entity, an edge, we have moved beyond-within it in the most impossibly imbecilic and intimate way, is to see the meaningful edge of experience not as a suffering alterity but as (almost) a no longer affective-sensate gesture, a venue too insubstantial for pain and pleasure except as these terms are now understood as mere ghosts (but not hauntings) of an asymmetry almost too small to measure, the preservation of an extraordinary thread of linkage. This thread has no room for the breakage and alienation of despair and darkness, or the heaviness of substantial joy and happiness, except as these terms reveal within themselves an impossible richness and density of relation which are too intricate to suffer or celebrate. To render a social world of discordances, deviances, violations between-within people, to believe in anger and guilt, is to fail to penetrate beneath a certain mystery masking a radical intricacy inhering in the self-transforming motives of self and other. Such terms as legal, social and individual codes of justice and forgiveness reveal themselves variously as faiths in the other's redemption from the void of difference, but retribution's impetus, in thinking itself the remedy of a violation, a deviance, the subversion of a dominating hegemony, the countering of a discrepancy, an incommensurability, a parology, lingers with violence in its response to perceived oppression. In coaxing the perpetrator's contrition and conformity to expectations, contempt and condemnation is a success which represents a progress in the insight of the accuser and thus for him a desubstantializing gesture, but in relation to a more rigorous thinking it is exposed as a perpetuation of the blameful violation it resists. The very faith in `resistance' or subversion, projects the world as a fundamental battlefield of tensions of various sorts. In poststructuralist accounts such as that of Foucault emancipation is no longer naively thought as a correction of error or progress toward or of the good;it is the movement, incessantly occurring in any span of culture, from one to another region of temporary stability, an island of relative coherence with no moral justification outside of this tentative, historically contingent belonging to local practices of language. Desire is no more that a pole of attraction belonging to the intersection of forces of domination. Knowing my `self' as a mere strategy or role in social language interchange, I can know longer locate a `correct' value to embrace, or a righteous cause to throw my vehemence behind. The only ethics that is left for me to support is the play between contingent senses of coherence and incoherence as I am launched from one local linguistic-cultural hegemony to another. To the extent that I know what such a thing as guilt or anger is beyond the bounds of local practices, these affectivities would have resonance as my experience of relative belonging or marginalization in relation to conventionalities that I engage with in discourse. I am always guilty, blameful in the extent to which I am a stranger in respect to one convention or another, including those that I recall belonging to in the past. I am always guilty in existing as a dislodgement from my history. Even in my ensconsement within a community of language, my moment to moment interchange pulls and twists me away from myself, making me guilty with respect to myself (my `remembered' self) and my interlocutor. Similarly, I am always hostile in my engagements with others in the sense that I coerce (not willfully but prior to volition) another into my orbit in interchange. The non-directional vector of my desire, as the minimization of the distance between myself and the other, necessarily commits the violence of tearing him away from his past, which is in some measure a mystery to me. Because moment to moment interchange implies a mutual subversion of language, this is true in some small fashion even when we move within shared commitments. As we have seen, experience viewed from Derrida's deconstructive vantage already contains the basis of both hegemony and its subversion in each moment, radicalizing the schematic basis of a Foucaultian poststructuralism . Even this deconstructive discourse which refuses to allow a trace of meaning to be simply present to itself so as to be recognized as either organized or disorganized, perpetuates blameful justice of a minimal sort. A Derridean `psychoanalysis' would move within the margins of a Freudian thinking as a less consequential and severe justice than that which would deal in an empirically punitive language of neurotic and psychotic pathology. Such a thinking would also find lingering assumptions of ontological self-presencing in the texts of Heidegger. Nevertheless, the relentless Derridean equivocal decentering of presence and absence itself protects a remnant of blameful otherness at meaning's double core, invoking its own psychoanalysis of culpability and justice. For Derrida, justice implies non-gathering, dissociation, heterogeneity, nonidentity with itself, being unequal to the other, endless inadequation, infinite transcendence. It is that which is always reinvented in a singular-equivocal situation. The impetus of justice, then, is none other than the impetus of the deconstructive trace of meaning itself. Derridean justice is not one value among others, not that which would be opposed to injustice, but the very affirmational-negational tension that infest's meaning's origin as writing. If justice as Derrida understands it no longer reveals a self-present particularity, a `this thing which would be just', it shares with other philosophies a reliance on a certain moody remoteness of distance as its very basis. The irreducible play or tension which founds a world is necessarily cruel, guilty, and indignant as well as joyful and loving. Even as these affective terms do not locate themselves as preservable (non-deconstructed) senses, they would be tied to the modalizing repetition of a general-specific effect, the disseminative mark as always more or less just, more or less forgiving, more or less disappointing. Desire, throughout its various fortunes and misfortunes maintains itself for Derrida as the tension-play of an ought, a should, an obligation, responsibility, guilt, a risk. To think a text further as a subliminal edge of moreness is to effect a most gentle continuation-alteration, an engagement of familiar anticipation and predictiveness which no longer feels its movement (and never did) as incorporating the mystery of blame and guilt. A thinking of meaning's double site as this moreness is a notion of difference so insubstantial as to precede any sense of blame as the expression of a rift or distance between we and they, between me and myself. It is a notion of content so minimal as to barely repeat itself as `two more' names. As we will soon show, it is less consequential than even the minimal stability of names such as presence and absence, structure and genesis, positivity and negativity, distance and proximity. Injustice as Anachronism: We have spoken of the self-distancing moodiness of meaning implied by non-recuperable terms like anger, guilt, punishment and justice. We have said we may envision what otherwise would be thought as a guilty, blameful angry split or gap within meaning, including that considered as quasi-transcendental invagination, as instead an intricate linkage, history's peculiar quasidevelopmental thread. We can envision the other who disappoints us as belonging to such a developmental illusion. The very success of anger's punitive intent hides a more elegant understanding within which the `evil-doer's' actions appear to us as something akin to a familiar, benign past of our own understanding, a return to an `old' event in a history of ethical desubstantialization. What kind of past is this a return to? The other whom we might otherwise characterize as disappointing us, angering us, whom we blame and condemn, now is understood as barely distinguishable from their prior thinking as well as from our prior expectation of them, their transgression belonging to a thread of radical familiarity and predictability. This thread of familiarity, this thread to which the other belongs, is something like our recalling a past cultural history, within which we can place the inadequate actions or beliefs of the other as a moment of an always `appropriate' assimilative ideational evolution. To experience another person would be to place them on a nostalgic thread of cultural genesis as affective desubstantialization, granting the otherness of meaning no power or substantiality except a minuscule quality of difference. My experience of that which would be other, separate in the guise of my experience of another person, reveals itself in this way as the apparent return of an intricate structure of `what used to be' as appropriate, valuable, belonging, necessary, not because it invokes the familiarity of memory, but because its impossible proximity to me (and myimpossible proximity to my apparent past and future) leaves it strikingly devoid of any useful sense of deviance, departure, distance, perversion. What would give the relationship between `what used to be' and `what is' its radical intimacy? We spoke of a preliminary characterization of intellectual history as akin to a progressive desubstantialization of affect-sense-meaning, a developmental illusion. A history of philosophy, as the variable unfolding of a demoodalization, thought in this way, would seem to be capable of the minimization of the thickness of mystery, thingness, difference. From Plato to Descartes, Kant to Heidegger, a relentless depowering condensation of sorts would operate. It would be as if another's thinking could be placed somewhere along such a recalled spectrum of philosophical history, as a recapitulation of a moment in such a thread of affective re-duction. The thinking which inspires architects of warfare, inquisition, holocaust, torture, which within certain traditions would be thought of as the essence of evil, pathology , moral error, malice or alterity would be understood more penetratingly as that which is uncannily reminiscent of a subsumed gesture of what I conjure as my cultural past. The most subtle `everyday' feelings of anger, guilt, annoyance, and everyday slights and irritations are stripped of their thickness and power when we recognize their perpetrators as belonging to a most radically coherent-insignificant, appropriate hierarchy of similarity. It is along such an axis (which we will soon unravel) that we can provisionally align a `morality' of human action. The myriad worlds seen by `saints' and `sinners' are reconciled such that they collapse onto each other in the most impossibly compressed way. Underlying what would be termed an essence of the ethical would be a thread of desubstantialization. A cultural history would be a moral development insofar as it constitutes a peculiarly self-transcending iteration, but this movement which we preliminarily parody with the term 'progress' has no identifiable vector. We may undermine pro-gress without doing damage to that which is of central importance to us, as we reveal how these minimal notions of valuation have worked for us in preparation for an equivocal thinking having no room for history and too little significance to justify not only any trend or direction, but even any name. When the outlook of another, which would otherwise be deemed criminal, unadaptive, lazy, inconsiderate, psychopathological, incorrect, irrational, selfish, inappropriate, malicious, arrogant, rude, irresponsible, condemnable, is understood most intricately in relation to an impossibly insubstantial evolution of self-similarity, then the furthering of the `violator's' own aims and desires is recognized as consonant with our own pro-gress, as that which seemingly regurgitates the necessary 'past' of our thinking. The beliefs we would have despised as dangerous, condemnable, evil, unadaptive, prompting our coaxing of another's contrition, now are understood as a movement in relation of extraordinary , because practically contentless, synchrony with us and themselves, rather than as a mysterious contentful spacing. We need no longer oppose, deconstruct, or resist that in the other which we now identify and participate with in a peculiarly radical way as that which is at the same time impossibly close to us and impossibly insubstantial in itself. We can see how the other's behavior now is understood not as a mystery or gap, but as a moment of a familiar, `predictable' dynamic, even if the return of that which is predicted, anticipated, deja vu, is the return of that which has never been. In the moment of meaning, meaning's only moment, its equivocal terms can muster only enough pneuma to indicate peaceful distinction. There is no longer any force attached to terms like guilt and anger because there in no longer, and never was, a thickness of mystery separating me from myself and myself from another. To recognize another, who otherwise would be characterized as deviant or guilty, as belonging to me most closely as the seeming past of my own thinking is to first recognize my own past as less than a forceful break from my present. This is central to the distinction between a thinking of blame and retribution and that of a gently, intricately insubstantial similarity-difference between and within people. What would have been experienced as a quality of alterity, the possibility of disappointment in the other, is now seen as something like an impossibly insignificant anachronism of the other, her uncanny resemblance to both a personal and cultural past we can recall as a most unobjectionable order. To experience another person would be to see their thinking as resembling impossibly closely a region of a recollected thread of cultural genesis, in which each moment belongs to all that precedes and follows it as participant in an apparent infinity of barely self-separated iteration. It is to grant the otherness of meaning no power or substantiality except that of a barely registering forgetfulness of anachronism. My experience of that which would be other, separate, in the guise of my experience of another person reveals itself as the apparent return of a structure of `what used to be' whose historical expanse is so intricate as to conjure at every point the sense of intense and global, imbecilic similarity-differentiation. As anachronism (in the way in which we mean it here, as something like the apparent return of a past moment of a peculiarly selfsimilar cultural development), another person projects himself to me as a limit which I gently move with and from, as a furthering more subliminal than any notion of alterity, otherness could convey. When there is no longer seen to be a substantive otherness about another's thinking, it would be giving too much power to a text to say that I disagree, argue, debate, critique, resist, correct, or deconstruct it. Perceiving another as familiar, subsumed anachronism, within what appears as something like a history of supremely similar events (but based on no grounding notion of the similar, other than as a de-powering concentration) has a character close to a peculiar predictive anticipation. It would be as though, at a glance, a history of culture appeared as a blinking light whose successive behavior is manifested as vicissitudes of acceleration and deceleration of its flickering pattern. The thinking of anyone we encounter could be placed onto this developmental process as a particular density of flicker, a quasi-rate of self-transformation fluctuating instant to instant. But we could not measure the relative slowness of a moment of experience in terms of a `taking of time', a calculable distance between light blinks. In the first place, its `acceleration' would not simply be a matter of changing distance between identical flashes, but the simultaneous contraction or expansion of an empty spacing and of an equally empty `fatness' of presence. Furthermore, as we have mentioned, there would be no question of defining the more or less of this momentum in conceptual-mathematical terms. We could not expect to subsume the `how much' of the quasidensity of experience via a numerical name or conceptual scheme. It would be ever so subtly asymmetric senses of more and less which would return to themselves instant to instant, destroying the possibility of subsuming this dynamic under the regnancy of a formula. Most importantly, these terms, presence and spacing, are robbed of affective import, of their ability to act as forces, by virtue of their origin as being (almost) indistinguishable from each other, and thus as (almost) meaningless effects. Because the very duplicitous instant of sense is devoid of tension and violence, the same is true of the play of instants, always experienced only locally, contextually, from one event to the next, whether as apparent progress or decadence. A relatively fat space of empty content simultaneous with a relatively fat space of empty difference sounds absurd as the mark of a particular moment of a historical `past', and it is meant to. It is meant to be absurdly without force, effect, consequence, alterity. It is precisely because the movement of experience as little more than the quasi `more or less' momentum of this pair is so gently, inconsequentially intimate, devoid of the tension of contradiction or paradox, that it allows us to see the ongoing reinvention of ourselves and others via a radical continuity born of utter lack of consequence. This limit is welcome; the only freedom it restricts is the sinister power of arbitrary change. The dream of educative, political, therapeutic emancipation is a nightmare to the extent that it depends on faith in a rational-moral telos or the weak relativism of language-culture as a circulation of tensions and forces. Even so, we need not emancipate ourselves from such philosophies of emancipation. We instead climb into them, gliding with them, allowing ourselves to hear in the rhetoric of the believer in singularities-in-tension an embodying and carrying forward of a peaceful intricacy that is imbedded in the very harshness of that rhetoric. Understanding this about the modes of culture that seem to surround and impinge upon me allows me to effortlessly glide through the experiencing of these traditions. What do we mean by gliding through? What Derrida might think in terms of the minimal violence of reading otherwise, and Nancy might think in terms of the violence of being-with, would be seen intensely informidably as my being-with (as) another's intricately unfolding text (Nancy describes this original eventhood of meaning as `disruption', the `shock of meaning', `discord', the 'irreducible strangeness of each one of these touches to the other (BSP6)', `odd', `curious', `disconcerting', `bizzare', `incommensurable'. Com-passion as Being-with is "the disturbance of violent relatedness"(BSPxiii)). The same method which allows us to place another's thinking as a gentle relation of belonging within a quasi-developmental cultural continuum allows us to treat the moment to moment vicissitudes of that individual's thinking as less than violent shifts. We described hostility as the attempt at remedying the other's apparent violation of our expectations, as his subtle forgetting or falling away from his prior momentum of thinking. We said the force of such terms as hostility, anger, irritation, could be seen as determined, in various ways according to different discourses, by faith in an irreducible moody otherness. For instance, in `Call It A Day For Democracy', Derrida expresses the need to respond to "...interpretive violence, abusive simplification, the rhetoric of insinuation, stupidity as well..."(OH106). Terms like violence, abuse, stupidity, as well as selfishness, indecency, dishonesty, obscenity, arrogance (B812-873), are weapons in the hands of a deconstructive analysis of texts. Deconstruction's puzzled anger exposes it as depending on a certain plodding harshness common to its anger, its joy, its sadness and all other modalities of its experience. In other words, most fundamentally, this harshness would be intrinsic to the within-trace and between-trace quasi-transcendental basis of differance. To reduce this moody otherness to a moreness with no force is to re-think any experience of loss, forgetfulness or regression we perceive in ourselves or in another from time to time as a lapse remedied via exquisitely subtle and insubstantial increments of depowering re-engagement. Rather than coaxing the other's guilt or self-anger by  resisting' the rhythm of his thematics, `forcing' him to another heading, we may instead accept the other's thinking, moving with it and from it gently. Since we never saw his departure from his previous history in the first place in terms of a disturbing rift, we need not disturb or be disturbed (and in fact can no longer justify the sense of such a term) in order to find ourselves or the other in motion. The deconstructive alternative, having no choice but to want to plunge the other into a chaotic transformation, stunts the fluidity of the other's self-transformative efforts. Undermining the violent basis of the `otherness' of experience allows a more effectively intimate recovery of momentum for the one we would otherwise be tempted to call the `guilty' party. What would it mean to no longer need to encourage, to any degree, another's sense of culpability and self-directed anger, in order to guide them to an effective questioning of their thinking? It would be to move within his language of fat, moody differences such as not to be perceived by him as resisting, forcing or rejecting his tropes. How would such a thinking treat the other who does not understand our philosophy, who believes in a certain justice of guilt and condemnation? The test of the effectiveness of our assessment of the other's thinking as belonging to an exquisite quasi-developmental thread, is whether that other embraces rather than resists our engagement with his thinking, whether we can assure that he will not see us as intruding, violating and resentfully challenging his world. Such a test also measures our ability to anticipate in what way he can be expected to `misread' perspectives which would claim to deconstruct or desubstantialize his thinking. This test comes down to a measure of our success at inserting ourselves into his discourse precisely where it extends, furthers, depowers his evolving perspective rather than causing itself to be treated by him as an anachronism to be attacked and rejected (as a hostile deconstructive intervention undoubtedly would be). In `subsumingly' moving within-beyond his perspective, we succeed in converging with that other at the very edge of his experience, anticipating in close proximity to his own anticipations, in the process earning his great interest, respect and approval. We can engage fluidly and satisfyingly with the other as guide at the limit of his movement, knowing that there is no question of dramatically transforming this rhetoric and faith of his, or even setting his programmatic fantasies to work via the internal intervention of deconstruction. There would be a participation in the most subtle furthering of his understanding within his own subliminally changing terms. It is from this vantage that we recognize the perpetrator of murder and genocide as no more ethically incorrect than the healing humanitarian. Both are correct from our vantage as we read their thinking in relation to an older, ethically `fatter' thinking they desubstantialize, and both are inadequate (what otherwise might be determined as murderous, criminal, evil) measured against an understanding which lies in their future, but an understanding they (and I) are always already in the midst of desiring to aim toward (always infinitesimally differently). It would never be a question of accusing the other who disappoints us of a failure of nerve or courage or some other term expressing our hostile inability to recognize the fact that he is always already motivated to move as fast as the limits of his understanding allows him to in the direction of a desubstantializing depowerment of his experience. This understanding, simultaneously in its manifesting and its trend, has no content other than as a dumb quasi-density knowing only akin to more and less, an exceeding (presencing) and that which has been exceeded (lost-distanced). The acceleratively-deceleratively blinking light projecting itself as history is, as we have said, a developmental illusion, but may be useful as a preliminary way of capturing a most (almost) utterlymeaningless notion of experience that obeys no named trajectories (acceleration-deceleration, more-less, past-future, desire-disappointment of desire). It does not matter that my experience of another's thinking as harking back to a supposed intellectual past is an `illusion' in indulging in a seeming categorical or formulaic notion of temporality. What is not illusory is my moving through this regurgitated specter such as to be with another's thinking in the closest possible way, beyondwithin the resources of too-substantial terms like anger, irritation, guilt, anxiety, or any mood-mode of tension, loss, disruption, contamination, perversion. More specifically , I would be able to dance with her at this frontier of her thinking, that region defining both her most joyful and meaningful experience and the limits of her tolerance. Moving with her in this region, I would anticipate the sort of argument that she would perceive as unacceptable and deserving of condemnation and repression, and the sort of argument that she would delightedly embrace. In understanding her in this way, I am not considering myself to be imposing a scheme, and I am certainly not construing her actions any more effectively than I construe my own. Even as I indulge myself in the illusion that I am identifying her with a retrieved archive of ideation, I liken the exercise to that of re-reading a book. Even as familiar, the eventness of the book reinvents itself subtly in each moment of the new reading (just as any previous reading reinvents the book at every point in the reading). The memory of the book, not as a whole but as each new moment of encounter, only exists each time as the absolutely fresh simultaneous presentation of the couplet `past-present'. The significance of my placement of another in relation to a fantasized past of culture is not the preservation of an order of content, because there is no retrievable content to be found in the thinking of such a `spectrum'. The order one finds is that of impossible proximity and familiarity devoid of guilt, irritation, tension, but not in relation to any content other than the utter unnameable particularity of the moment. Now we can see that this world which imposes standards, codes, restrictions and laws is a world of individuals offering to me ways of thinking that in each uniquely occurring case I can participate in in a smoothly anticipatory fashion. Indulging in the fantasy of a cultural-ethical evolution as contentless quasi-condensation-desubstantialization, whose progress travels from archaic philosophies of the greatest imaginable substantiality and violence (empty simultaneous play of `content' and difference) to those of the least imaginable content-difference spacing, I can engage with the individuals who present the various modalities of this world with a specific expectation of the relative substance-violence that the other may believe in, what thinking it represents a progress over, and what its future entails for the other from my vantage. What might otherwise be thought as that which impinges upon me or restricts me in the other's representing of cultural practice to me as standards, laws, punitive limits, is my following of the other's interruptive, lurching experience of the world as (almost) empty expanses of content-change. In the instant I am able to experience the other in this way, I can no longer (and never did, since my recollection is in front of me) characterize them in moodily repressive terms as impinging, restrictive, selfish, unjust, immoral or irresponsible. There is but my minimal awareness of participating in another's plodding, interruptive movement, proceeding just where it should by both his standards and mine (toward an infinitely tight and contentless quasi-density) as rapidly as it possibly can. The other, as anachronistic other, is always moral, just, responsible, whether in the guise of a Hitler or a St. Augustine. Anachronism and Past as Future: What is it to say that we move beyond-within another's thinking, or that we escape our own past, for that matter? We need to examine more closely the origin of such terms as memory and past. We look back over our shoulder at a past which we have argued can be provisionally treated as an ethical regression-resubstantialization of a peculiarly insignificant sort. And what would be the expression or sense of that which appears regressive to us? We would relive a past as akin to a redundancy, a seeming interruption or reversal of momentum in relation to a now with which we compare it. A past would be something like a less  accelerated' unfolding of meaning in relation to that which would be treated as contemporary. It would be to seem to return to a greater moodiness, solidity, fatness, substantiality of content-difference. Via the thinking of meaning's gesture as barely other than an accelerative-decelerative more-or-less, we are enabled to perceive another who judges people as lazy, contemptible, selfish or thoughtless, as belonging to something akin to our cultural past in an exquisite bond of similarity. It would be to understand the presumedly mysterious injustice and deviance of the other as no longer a deviance or rift but rather an exquisite belonging to a recollected cultural past as supremely self-similar ethical development. It would be to reveal what would have been thought as the other's error, deviance and pathology as only incompletion, his misinterpretation of me as only under-interpretation. But what of subsumption and transcendence, of past and future? The origin of meaning's movement as desubstantializing moreness would seem to require an idea of memory or archive, out of which flows both a past and a future. But what is it I am doing when I recall a past? What does it mean to say that a transcended cultural past seems to re-appear in the thinking of my contemporary? How do we determine the developmental relationship between my present and my past, between the anachronistic and the contemporary? How do we understand the meaning of names such as other, past, nostalgia and anachronism? If we allow ourselves to refer to a history of philosophy or a cultural history, what would precede this history? Would there be a pre-cultural realm? If there would be no discontinuity, no incommensurability in the nature of a thread of genesis, then a cultural development would not find itself at any point `discontinued' or bounded. But what would be the sense of a pre-human genesis? And what would be the significance of such a `pre-history', what terms would we use, what would be the source and method of our archeology? Would we embark from a point before the existence of human culture, before the emergence of living forms, before the formation of chemical elements, before the existence of subatomic particles? Would this journey not lead us right back to 'ourselves' as the generators of these peculiar fictive, empirical stories of genesis? There could be no infinitely old historical past without the assumption of a museum or archive of thought from which to retrieve facts. The infinitely old depends on a notion of the infinite as a self-duplicating concept. A pure `older and older' is the return to presence of the same as a deductive logic. But the gesture of dislocation which past and memory express wanders away from itself ever so gently and imperceptibly from event to event, just enough to distinguish it from a deductive scheme. To follow a history is not to recall a past except as that past is a new genesis, the furtheringdislocating of my now. Meaning's history is a history with no past except as that past is our future as the dislocation of presence. Reflection and memory are forwardness itself within the guise of terms like separation and distance. To look back and to retrieve what was, whether it be in the form of biographical memory or the themes of history books, is to invent anew. In any story, whether scientific, theological or literary, the elaboration of the plot of genesis transcends the meaning of the genesis being referred to. Every step in the telling of the story begins the story anew, moves within and divides that origin it follows, becomes a differently intricate genesis. To begin a story as an earliest simplest genesis, is to continue from the most recent, what is in fact always the only `now'. What is the difference between my remembered autobiographical past and my cultural or hypothesized pre-human past? Is the archeologist uncovering a pre-human history when this history represents the `very latest thinking' on the subject? As the essence of contingency, we are always at the earliest, the only beginning. Cultural, pre-cultural and autobiographical past are names of fictions which reduce to a double `we' which is always at its own frontier of moreness in thinking of its ancient past. There is no prioritizing of regions or levels of knowing according to a scheme when any scheme or order would have no way, no need, no power to preserve itself as itself. Cultural history as ontological evolution as pre-cultural or cultural, these and an infinity of other names for threads of genesis in all their apparent levels of focus and perspective collapse onto a single-double thread which knows these names only as the duplicitous instant, the non-self-identical instantiation which is less than a definition. History always `meets the new' in a relation of radical predictiveness, familiarity, continuity and intimacy, born not of a theology of the positively and substantively Same but of an emptying of all the resources that would give Same and Other their senses as tension and force as well as contentful substance. What is it we are knowing when we say that something happened 10 minutes ago or 20 years ago? When I think of an event of 1977, this apparent `thinking back' spins an original or new span of history emanating from a never-before experienced 1977, a journey from a new 1977, a new philosophy of what these dating numbers would `mean', to a new `present'. And so it is that the `earliest', `simplest' origin we establish for an unfolding world of meaning is the edge of meaning for us now. As we follow its development, we can seem to be able to look back at what we have transcended and experience it again. But in the very act of supposedly `looking back', we recapture the wild contingency of momenting as a same-new dislocation-presence. Development is always at the beginning and always has the same-new event as its basis (the moreness of repetition). What does it mean to even make the distinction between old and new, archaic and contemporary? To speak of a history as it `has been' constituted is not to return to something but to move from where one is contingently, historically, and this returning now point is nothing but the empiricism of the effacement of the present. Past and memory, before they can be construed as nostalgia or anything else, represent the decadent pole of the now, a minimal interruption or dislocation of the fresh quietism of the present. As we said earlier, memory is foul before it is ever fond, missing before it is ever here. Decay-absence-distance initially marks both `good' and `bad' memory AS memory. Memory is `no longer' before there is any sense of discovery as presently `new'. This `no longer' and `new' together name the basis of an event as simultaneously missing and present, but missing and present always anew. The play of loss and presence also determine ongoing between-event relations as contingently expanding and contracting densities of experience. It is at this level of between-event experience that apparent anachronism comes into play. Episodes of nostalgia and recollection announce themselves in their supposed `pastness' fundamentally as gentle disappointments or interruptions of ongoing experience, rather than as returns to anything. Both my activity of recollection and nostalgia, and my encounter of an other whose thinking seems to represent the return of a past, offer the return to a brand new past, a past, as the minimal strangeness of absencing, which never existed before. My experience of the anachronistic other always stands as the edge of my own non-journeying progress. Anachronism and progress constitute two senses of novelty. PART II:Unnameable Sense BEFORE GATHERING AND DISPERSION Incipience and Further: We have said that what would be the abyss of blame and justice is less than this violence when thought of as something like the apparent return of a peculiarly integral and gentle past. Thinking potentially incommensurable experience via the gentle, familiar experience of anachronism links it to us in a move of profound and insubstantial intimacy. But even as an inconsequential incompletion, we have still assigned to the other who disappoints us, or to the remembered philosophic ancestor, a minimal sense of negation or distancing. If my experience of an anachronistic other or a classic text is in no sense a return to or duplication of a supposed archival past, it would affirm that the relation from one event to the next modalizes itself as expansions and contractions, gatherings and dispersals, precipitations and decelerations, coherences and incoherences. We want to begin now to put into question the meaning of modalization itself. In our discussion of Derrida, we pointed out that any justification of modalization depends on both a nameable split within the trace and a determinative split between traces. We then suggested that a such an assumption gave too much power to meaning, that a between-event differentiability could never get so far as to know what it was differentiating. We are now ready to investigate what it would be to think experience as less than even contingently and locally differentiable modes or regions. The notion of experience as quasi-accelerative desubstantialization we have thus far presented denuded sense almost entirelyof its moodyviolence. However, between-event experience as less-than-nominal-variations would deprive us of the claim even to know sense as momentum. Without the capacity to know variations from event to event in terms of determinate names such as more and less, absence and presence, all we could ever know of experience is that it always gathers and disperses at the same time, as every instant of its repetition. Without knowing the meaning of a between-event relation of more or less, we could no longer textualize experience as modes, ways, motifs, idioms, rhythms, concentrations and dispersions. The question for us is how to treat apparent disappointment and interruption, even as the radically insignificant and gentle effect that we have described, as somehow so complicit with its progressive other that it drops out as a useful term, and along with it any other indications of reversal, decadence, dislocation. It would not be enough to remind ourselves that both a gesture of presencing and an interruption or dislocation of that presencing manifest in different and nonhierarchisizing ways gestures of novelty. There would still be a tension between these two tropes. What of my finding myself in the minimally disappointing terrain of an apparently regurgitated past with its plodding, lurching moodiness? Why it is that I find myself in such situations day by day as to encounter the persons I do? Are these accidents which seem to plummet me into halls of memory, or is the very pattern of more and less, gathering and ungathering, density and dispersion by which I seem to move from encounter to encounter with others in my world of an order as intricate as that which we assigned to the following of another's thinking? What if we were to offer a revised version of a developmental illusion and say that the seemingly redundant, regressive, ancient, or anachronistic was in fact the incipience of my furthering? Let us elaborate on this reasoning for a bit, before we unravel it to reveal a more rigorous path that it points us to. Past and anachronism, as incipient furthering, would function as the delicate freshness of moving beyond which, even as it is articulated as ending, would signify the primordiality of transcendence. The unfolding of anachronism would seem to evoke a momentum of reversal, a spiralling away from betterment, a spectrum of degeneration, dispersion, distancing. But precisely as a landscape of the unfamiliar, of the falling away of familiarity, the language of loss, regression, waste and decay would be a signpost of the newly emerging, the subsuming, the accelerative. A sense of progression would be the labelling of experience, the fullness of things, while the apparently regressive would be the as yet unlabelled frontier, an improvement in its slipping-away. The regressive, the memory of the ancient, as antithesis of the progressive, would be a recovery whose very backwardness expresses the incipience of transcendence. In an essential way, the empty , needful character of `loss' would further the very `now' to which it seems to be opposed. Apparent `negation' would be complicitous with development. The `overcoming' of the experience of decadence is not a return from a wasteland if decadence and decline are now understood as structurally complicitous with development, improvement, productivity as simultaneous depowerment of presence and distance. Awareness of the old, the lost, the past, is precisely in this way an experience of the newly emerging, the quasisubsuming, the accelerative-demoodalizing `closer to'. The Dream as Incipience We could think of the seeming decadence of any experience, the falling away from waking into sleep, from summer into winter, from youth into old age, as an incipience. The dream would preserve the intimate continuity of my waking history. It would, in its fragmentary sketchiness, be the incipient furthering of wakeful thought, advancing the story of the previous day in the way that sadness would further joy. The mode of the one is preparation for the mode of the other. There would be nothing false about a dream, nothing `unreal' relative to waking life. The dream would be the delicate, fragile primordial textures which the waking mode fills in and articulates . Dreams seem dark but not dark, colorless but not colorless, active but devoid of movement, intelligent but somehow lacking in vivid thought. The hesitancy and primordiality of dreams teases us. We can't think or remember vividly enough in dreams, we can't see brightly enough, no matter how many lights we turn on, we can't run fast enough or reach far enough. Forms and sounds are not recognized definitively; what at first seems like one recognizable person becomes someone else, FEELS like someone else. We can't even remember to keep our clothes on in dreams. Dreams are not vivid enough to evoke the intensity of somatic pain. Dreams of floating, of nakedness, of flight, of failure, express the not-quite crystallized quality of nocturnal awareness. Dreams would express a logic of beginnings, of overt movement over passive thought, of passive sensation over somatic movement, nostalgic images over the contemporary, and finally something more subtle than all of thise senses of incipience, a strange pre-articulate disposition which sets the stage for but is not yet the crispness of determinate desire. Sleep's onset as fatigue would be a falling away from the crispness of sense, withdrawing from loudness, brightness, and moving into redundancy, ambivalent, passive volition. Post-coital and post-prandial fatigue is satiation that transforms, a falling away which is simultaneously a falling toward in its incipience. The primordiality of the dream would be a sort of heightening characteristic of a newly discovered landscape with no familiar landmarks. A dream would follow a logic of intricate linkage with respect to the previous waking day. However strange, bizarre, fantastical, the perceptions, the details, the images of the dream appear when disconnected from their previous mood context in waking recollection, the feel of a dream imparts to these images a normalcy and familiarity comparable to, continuous with, waking's changing logicor thematics of feeling. The elation of flying in dreams often is the muted pleasure not of the extraordinary, but of the partially expected. The details of the flying dream when recounted in waking are astounding, but the dream's mood often tells a story of a deed felt to be unremarkable. The affective quality accompanying a dream of floating or flying may correspond in waking life to soemthing more mundane, such as the well-executed tennis serve, the successful speech, the solution of a minor problem. The dream would have us see more integrally and intimately than the waking experience it continues otherwise, furthering in its delicate incipience the previous day's endpoint. Reciprocally, waking life would advance from that ground trod by the dream. As the dream is to waking experience, winter would be to summer. Spring wakes us to summer's climax while autumn's decadent fatigue ushers in winter's dream. Autumn's mood is like the drowsiness of the dying bees, their engines slowing, as they bump into us as if blind. We walk around feeling withdrawn, confused, patting our pockets as if we've lost something. Winter's sensate awareness would be less acute; smell would be dulled, tactile sensation less responsive in winter's dark and cold, sound muffled, fatigue heightened. Winter's awareness would be a dreamlike, impressionistic creativity, fantastical and surreal. Summer would be the sharp wakening to a climactic fullness of sensation, sharp, clear, bright, strong, focused and concrete. Sense as Less-than Determinate Moreness: If we can understand both such notions as past and anachronism as the repetition of moreness, this is because all possible senses-affectivities-names function as this moreness, as new instantiations, event to event, of the simultaneous, non-privileging having of presence and its dislocation. But if all names are less than definable instantiations of trans-cendence, what contingent particularity is left them? What would be the point of speaking of meaning's dawning spring, its climactic, wakeful summer, its winter decadence-incipience of sleep as repetitions of a furthering? How can a name-sense-affect's origin as wild contingent history be allowed to speak after being rethought as nothing more than a less-than-definable repetition of a pro-gress which goes nowhere and offers nothing but the barest hint of presence-sameness and loss-separation? If history as more and history as less, as the origin of gathering and dispersal, exist nowhere except as the minimal dyssymetry necessary in order for a trace to iterate, then how are we to differentiate a phrase like `it's getting better' from `it's getting worse', a feeling of anachronistic furthering from a nonanachronistic furthering? What is the relationship between terms like anxiety, guilt, anger, and joy, even in their extraordinarily denuded roles as the repetition of a less-than-deconstructive edge? Moment to moment experience would assert a momentum whose names as progress and regress do not inform us of an opposition when past and future are seen as complicit, and more importantly, as essentially indistinguishable. Each term evokes nothing but the same-new ethical `movement' which has no recognizable direction. We could only say from moment to moment that a less-than-definable sense of proximity is paired with a less-than-definable sense of separation in the repetition of eventing. Where does this leave the myriad names for affectivity that would seem to indicate an immediate vector, names that would seem to invoke either betterment or decline, but not both, over and beyond the bipolarity that fills each moment of meaning? What of the supposedly good memory or bad present? How would it be to assess our moment-to-moment affective experience as a `progress'? Would it be to say that anger would improve on sadness and guilt, joy would overcome anger, sadness would better joy? If all senses are repetitions of a gesture of overcoming, betterment, improvement, what becomes of the distinction between a gesture of mournful withdrawal from, blameful or angry punishment of, or joyful rapproachment with meaning? To get back to our previous question, upon what basis, what supposed grounding, do we justify stably distinguishing between affectivities-senses-names? What sort of ontological stability could possibly be achieved by words like anger, joy and sadness? The answer is that we can offer no even contingent determinativeness for any words-senses-affectivities. To speak of a spectrum of such names as guilt, anger and joy is always to encounter a different notion of guilt and anger and joy. This is not to say that there would first be established categories of definition, superordinate synthetic unities containing particular instantiations of `affectivities', able to sustain themselves even as the instantiations of their contents were prevented from duplicating themselves. If we always encounter a different sense of a term when we return to it, it is not after first recalling intact a larger category within which that term was encountered. That with respect to which a new instantiation of a meaning is impossibly, insignificantly similar is always that with which it is paired immediately as contingently context, not that which precedes it as some supratemporal categorical space to be recovered out of a preserved past. Nothing ever could exist in a world other than, or outside of, the iterative bivalence of a term as lessthan-definable presence and its dislocation. Anything specific we might want to say about the content of a term like guilt or anger falls away as transient, even as it is impossibly close to its `past', which comes from nowhere as this `new' imbecilic past paired with and co-determined by a `new' imbecilic present. When we attempt to return to these names, all that `returns' is another-same senseaffect. It is always an entirely new meaning, philosophy, height of achievement which the supposed recapturing of any mood expresses (in the infinitesimal way that any name, as the preservation of thinking's edge, is `entirely new' with respect to that which is its past, as a presence with no force pairing itself with a past returning from nowhere). The way in which one feeling `becomes' another, the very device by which a mood-sense-meaning is cast, is understood most penetratingly as the exquisitely intimate (because imbecilic) space of meaning's repetition. A world as the locality of self-dissymmetry achieves no coalescence into any plurality of same, even if this plurality is that of an infinity of self-transcendence. Even as words like anger, guilt, joy do not locate themselves for us as preservable (non-deconstructed) senses, they can be seen as symptoms of the repetition of the singular-general effect of eventness, which maintains the validity of all these moods, of all possible words-senses, as its own movement in the minimal extent to which it is a moreness, a selfexceeding. A supposed spectrum of senses cannot be thought of as a repeating cycle; re-collection would be a trans-cendence. To define blame is to encounter always an entirely (and yet barely) different notion of blame, a new philosophy of blame, in the monumentally minimal way in which meaning's edge differs from itself as contingent iteration. And in encountering a new philosophy of blame, we simultaneously encounter a new philosophy of our past, our memory, our history. In other words, it is not as if the being-aware-of such a thing as a new instantiation of blame is an enrichment of, or variation within, a more encompassing category defining `blame in general'. Nothing sits outside of or behind the meaning that we are at this very moment, no category or general context. The whole world is created afresh as this split moment of tradition-change, the old as a fresh old and the new as a fresh new, as simultaneous incarnation. It is only within the bounds of this double moment that there is a world at all that we have the means at our disposal to know anything about. So to say that each instantiation of blame is an oh so gently new philosophy of blame is to know the return of a particularity which never was before nor will be again as itself, a return which is simultaneously an ever so inconsequential departure or alteration. That we now call a particular moment of meaning a `new philosophy of blame' gives us no information about the definition of blame as an entity, a category , a concept. All that we can say definitively is that whatever it is that instantiates itself doubly as `this moment' will be an impossibly insignificantly new version of its immediate past, both past and new being born for the first and last time in this moment, this only moment of time. It doesn't matter what name we want to give to this moment, except as any name registers (but doesn't define) a particularity. What would it mean for a discourse to label this moment of self-transcendence as anger in one case and joy in another? If one says of sadness and anxiety that they imply a relation or attitude of withdrawal, escape, avoidance, the only definitive locale these terms secure is a non-repeatable moment of comparison. Anger is never the same anger, whether we trace its movement from the vantage of something like a personal, a cultural or an ethological history, and any larger meaning within which anger would signify would itself be utterly, locally historically contingent in its appearance. Whether we speak of accentuating the positive or eliminating the negative, escaping, overcoming or embracing experience, we would always be referring to (almost) the same-new nonrecuperable gesture of moreness. Future is ethically `better' than Past but betterment is a nonsense term for moreness, just as is regression. The underlying dynamics named too thickly and substantially by something like fear, guilt, anger and joy represent non-recuperable transcendences of meaning. The way in which one feeling `becomes' another, the very device by which a mood is cast, is understood most penetratingly as the exquisitely intimate space of meaning as moreness, as a same-new having of the now and its dislocation. To speak of philosophical discourses, terms like joy and sadness, or any other senses-names, is to refer to meanings which do not return to us as identities, as stable categories of meaning. Nevertheless, we can understand such a thing as an affective history, that is to say, any history in general, as an unfolding whose moments express an impossible and peculiar self-similarity, based not on an original content, as if some sort of algorithm were to be blindly reeling off the repetitions of a template, but as a self-transcendence whose `self', whose only content, is its status as a subliminally inconsequential twoness. Even though a named entity (we don't mean `named' as in defined or archived linguistically, but merely and only as an immediate and contingent experience of particularity of sense) does not return, is not recollected or preserved as itself, nevertheless to be a meaning-sense-affectivity is to follow impossibly closely upon that which is its substrate, its immediate relation, its past. This following closely is, in fact, the only trace of an event. If this tracing projects a thread of historical influence, a `family tree', it is a tree which is never seen as a whole; only a single branch is ever evident. Wouldn't we be tempted to affirm a fantasy of confronting `this very author' whose work we want to say we have now gone beyond, subsumed, transcended? Wouldn't we love to demonstrate our relative `advancement' by moving with him precisely at the frontier of his thinking, anticipating his next forays, affirming to his pleasure every essential element of his thinking, and showing the measure of our transcendence of his limitations in confirming his inability to reciprocally engage in such an intimate manner with our own thinking? The question would not be whether we could successfully engage in such an exercise, but how we would understand the significance of a `return' to that which we are beyond in the form of our encounter with an apparently anachronistic discourse. It is only when notions like transcendence, subordination and progress are seen to operate as an ephemeral `again' that we need not treat something like an encounter with apparent anachronism as that which opposes itself to progress. To dissolve the determinativeness of affectivities is to question not just the meaning of an opposition but the very basis of what it would be to modalize or have momentum. Any notion of gathering, concentration, style, region, depends on the ability to know, in moving from event to event, what more and less mean in a general sense. But we have seen that the slanting eddies of moment-to-moment experience defy any such classifications. More and less belong with pain and pleasure, guilt and anger, as instants among an exquisite parade of senses, each coming after the previous in a fashion too insignificant to be determined as anything other than a new instantiation of `more'. The surprise of interruption seems to disturb, but, while we weren't looking, our so-called gathered style was already calling itself by (barely) different names all the time. Of course surprise is a different name than commonality or gatheredness, but is its difference from groupness measurably , determinably different than that which differentiates the so-called group within itself moment to moment? Can we justifiably locate a relation between what we want to name `surprise' or `interruption' on the one hand and `groupness' on the other, whose named poles transcend the utter contingency of the countless names for groupness and the equally innumerable names for surprise? If my belonging to a gathering reinvents itself event to event as now excited, now bored, now familiar, now anxious, then is my `sudden surprise' at now being dislocated from this always internally differing belonging something to be treated separately and transcendingly from names for the undulations of belonging? Is not the `more' of apparent surprise and disappointment indistinguishable in its gravity from that which minimally distinguishes all instants of sense from each other? Is not the seemingly drastic always prepared for? Is it not anticipated in our feigned shock? Something like an experience of anachronism or disappointment would offer  more' precisely in its apparent recapitulation of what was. Its own sense of familiarity as an apparent return of what was would still be a sense of that which `comes after', that furthers us now. Even as something supposedly archaic, its character would be of something never before sensed identically this way at the same time that its novelty would be a barely articulatible self-asymmetry of the now. As such myencounter with the author's thinking would continue my thread of intimate moreness. Myreading of another's thinking understood in such terms is not the setting to work of what has been stalled or exhausted, except as we now understand the apparently stalled or regressed as implicating and contributing to the furthering of our own movement. Archaic, anachronistic would be among a seeming infinity of names almost capturing the essence of a progression of signification, a progression whose only destination is its own affirmation as `two more'. We need not say that this `two more' is finite instead of infinite. It is neither one nor the other; it is less than either of these names. We need not even say that there would be a past that disappears as we turn to it. If meaning's double edge is less than appearance, it is also less than disappearance, if that term is thought by reference to a felt loss or separation. Recollection-loss is revelation which is repetition of a less-than nameable order of sense. `We' are the Text: And what about the movement which takes place in shifting from a thinking of `myself' to my thinking of an `Other'? Regardless of my relationship to this other, be they friend, lover or enemy, we could liken the fundamental basis of self-other relation to that between present and past. Just as we indulged ourselves in arguing that memory, as loss and dislocation, is foul before it is ever fond, we could mark the relation of myself to an other as disappointing and interruptive relative to what contingently precedes it, before it is ever intimate. Even if my knowing of myself amounts to a re-inventing of myself differently instant to instant, we could distinguish between a contemplation-of-self and contemplation-of-other as the movement from a relatively accelerated region of inventive experience to that which is impoverished and dispersed by comparison. In other words, my shift of `attention' from me to an other, before it amounts to anything else, would constitute a decadence of momentum-mood, a forgetting , negation, or departure from the fresh presencing of self. The most primordial sense of self would effect none other than the affirmative fullness and peace of presence, and the other would mark nothing more than the moment of absencing of self. But, examining a self-other relation more radically in light of our recent analysis of the dynamics of mood , what could a sense of decadence or disappointment signify? Like my experience of the other's apparently anachronistic thinking, my very experience of the other as decadently other, seen most fundamentally, effects no definable direction of movement. The relation of my anticipating another's story to my anticipatory reading of my `own' experience reduces to nothing more than a minuscule aesthetic shift, akin to that of the transition from my supposed joy to my sadness, or my futuring to my nostalgia. It preserves no retrievable meaning; only the repetition of a moreness going nowhere, as no-trajectory. Myself and another have no original site in a body or even in an embodiment. Like terms such as joy, sadness, past and future, `me' and `they' locate no region of sense beyond always a new instantiation of more, a trace less powerful than differance in its (near) absence of aesthetic-affective effect. There is no `me' who experiences a world of `others', except as I use such a term while unknowingly hiding its destabilizing history as a double mark of meaning which is always itself as a new particularity of more, as always less than a new determination, a new sense so profoundly and insubstantial similar to what relates to it that it has no identity beyond this declaration of `we', of `two', of `more'. The ethical significance of the thinking of another as anachronism, as the apparent regurgitation of a moment of an impossibly integral and self-similar cultural history, is not to be found in the supposed conjuring of an epistemological archive within which we can forcibly imprison him, but in a spectacularly close structure of belonging, familiarity, predictability, substancelessness linking him to me, and me to myself, depending not at all on the supposed permanence of names which would constitute the unfolding of this thread of relation. He is radically like me because a `past' to which his thinking apparently belongs is itself a radically insubstantial furthering of a radically insubstantial me. We could in fact say that he IS always already me, as I am already him, as the repetition of my experience as intricate moreness, but such a claim would miss the mark. There is neither a he nor a me as determinable objects or senses. If experience does not accumulate itself as a panorama, there is no sense in which our thinking can be said to exceed Derrida's or some other discourse, standing as an achievement in relation to a history of philosophy. Once it is thought, meaning's structure as infinitesimal difference was always already implicit in the possibility of a history, and we could not think of a perspective prior to this thinking, because such a nostalgia would itself constitute a furthering. Our thinking is not an achievement of history, not a transcendence of moody alterity, but that which would precede and continue as any `encountered' notion of alterity. Before meaning is any ontic thing, before it is deconstructive event, it is `moreness'. This `moreness' loses none of what is proper or  essential' to it as it maintains itself through/as the texts it encounters. Although we have spoken of meaning's subliminal movement of condensation as `hiding within' other discourses, as that which is not  overtly articulated' by their language, meaning's gesture doesn't work WITHIN a deconstructive, or any other, way of thinking but already AS all ways of thinking that we `encounter'. The unfolding of a finite-infinitesimal edge of meaning would manifest itself as our following of Derrida's or Hegel's language. Do we want to remind ourselves that it is not Derrida `himself' that we write about but our `interpretation' of his work when we attempt to distinguish between this Derridean text and our interrogation of it? But if we could not locate the `himself' of a name like Derrida, we also cannot fix an `ourself' as interpreter or deconstructer. Who are we who read a text, and who is the author? In encountering a text, it is we who are the text, we who unfold as author. It always only our own biography we iterate through our experience in a world. And in saying that it is always nothing other than MY history, MY autobiography, which is revealed to me as a cultural past, as other authors I encounter, we could locate no sense of a `me' which would know itself, recall itself, be itself so as to enclose the world in a solipsistic prison of transcendental subjectivity. It would be a `we' rather than a `me' which gives experience its possibility, but this we is not the meeting between a self and a world, but a radically insubstantial twoness that is the barest spacing between-as memory and presence. Meaning's double structure as a `we' destabilizes and prevents the justification of any notion of `me' as self-reflexive identity. Culture as autobiography collapses onto a chain of the finest continuity-novelty which is barely the experience of this `we'. The intricate nature of this continuum is not contaminated or contradicted by a question of `whose' autobiography or culture is chosen as a reference point; our experiencing of a multi-personal, multi-cultural world, understood more radically, is nothing other than signification's twofold momenting. To follow a philosophical discourse, to engage another person, to think to oneself, all these modes of experience reduce to a more primordial eventing preceding signification which calls into question any stably definable distinction between me and they, or between me and myself, or even between-as the simultaneity of presence and absence. The rhythm of meaning's momenting no longer amounts to that which happens TO us from a culture `outside' of us or that which happens to us from within. The meaning of a thing `happening to me' as an encounter of a stable two entities, an object and a subject, unravels and along with it any stable distinction between an inside and an outside, a self and a world, any notion of interaction, interpretation, rhetoric, embodiment, perception, or even deconstructive alterity as both a playful within and between. `We' are not a subjective consciousness, not an intersubjective matrix or locus of social practice; we are nothing other than the culture of the movement of twoness that has been discussed on these pages, and this movement akin to the illusion of a depowering condensation is (almost) itself as always (less than) new contingent names-senses. As this dynamic, `we' don't interpret Derrida, We ARE Derrida, this particular Derrida we experience in the moment that we attempt to read him `faithfully' in order to then supposedly interrogate or interrupt or deconstruct this text. To interrogate any text is always, then, to interrogate oneself, a `self' which continues its own selftransformation not just in its supposed interrogation, critique or deconstruction of what it reads, but already at the onset of the initial `faithful' reading that is supposed to set the stage for the inventive re-reading. This `self' means nothing but imbecilic play, less than a within or a without. We are always already Derrida, just as we are, at any particular time, any names-texts that we experience. In this way `we' repeat meaning's less-than-nameable edge. It would not be as if the thinking of finitely-infinitesimal moreness would represent some sort of pinnacle of achievement, an isolable particular emerging out of a history of particulars. It would be instantiated as all names-senses-meanings, all moments of an iteration as a repetition which goes nowhere. Even as this term of ours makes itself present as all `other' terms, the reverse must also true, lest we privilege one method as a key to all doors. To put it more succinctly, from this point onward in our discussion, we need no longer regard meaning's subliminal less-than-edge as hiding within particular discourses or particular moments of a history, as the correction of a regression or interruption. Our thinking does not move WITHIN a deconstructive differance but AS OUR experience of-as a deconstructive differance or any other presumably named discourse. Better and Better, Worse and Worse: My experience of a regressive other or a memory begins from a point of meaning which, as a first and only instant of an experience of `past' or `anachronism', is the return from nowhere, a nonrecuperative double edge. The iterative movement of that edge through an `ago' or the unfolding of an anachronistic other dislocates one's present just as a despair furthers a joy or a joy furthers a despair.`No' functions as a `furthering' of the `Yes'; absence functions as complicitous with presence in the non-motile momenting of development. What would it mean to say that a no is a furthering of a yes, that my past or my sadness is an incipient continuation and furthering of the that which they seem to withdraw from? What would it mean to say that another's agony and suffering is a furthering of the motive of joy, a joy he now mourns for? How can the suffering and despair which is joy's end be understood as a continuation of joy's momentum and achievement? How can the feeling of a worsening spiral of depression which follows a period of well-being and confidence be understood as the repetition of a pro-gression of understanding? What is left of the philosophical justification, not to mention the ethical relevance, of a notion of betterment when suddenly all valuative senses must be included under its aspect? Nothing is left of such a notion, to the same extent as we can say that nothing is left of the particularity and content of valuation except what we have revealed as the double structure of a moment of experience. Desubstantialization, `more than', are terms not opposed to or related to anything else, they manifest meaning's complex-singular moment. The nature of this point-edge of moreness is so subliminal as to no longer understand terms like joy and despair, even as paired together in all significations, as substantive fatnesses of meaning. To understand the nature of this point of moreness is not to feel something like joy, despair, blame or guilt at all, except as these terms now operate together as a bare mark of dissymmetry, too small to hold any alterity, any differance, any moodiness other than the barest `itness' as presence-separation. Names-senses-affectivities such as past, anachronistic or despair could not maintain themselves as recuperably specific meanings. It would always be from a more desubstantialized vantage that we would understand the meaning of something like blame or anachronism; the terms always already exceed themselves in the instant of their appearance, as a split or double instancing, in a move barely other than a self-duplication. We spoke of a more general feature of a history which would retain a certain stability in the face of the transformation of particular meanings. There would be a minimal stability to these terms as momenta of engagement, as phases of furthering. But where do we find ourselves by naming variations of furthering as incipient or climactic? To speak of furthering as incipience or climax is still to claim a stable difference of value between two terms. We must recognize , though, that if there is something of importance in our formulation of pain or anachronism as a phase of furthering, it cannot be that it `accentuates the positive and eliminates the negative'. We have not eliminated anything that might threaten the pure goodness of development because development is not a good, it is all contingent senses of valuation, or more precisely, it is less than any determinable sense. Even in saying that meaning's repetition always constituted too insubstantial a content-difference to justify blame and suffering, we invoke a dynamic which threatens any emancipatory purity. We have preliminarily treated the minuscule self-differing of the repetition of meaning as a projected world akin to a development, a peculiarly vacillating momentum of  more than this'. We did this to capture the feel of a most insubstantial sort of order of relation barely more substantial than the invocation of a notion of the identically same. But we also noted that meaning's edge could not justify itself as any in-itself sense of direction or magnitude that would fix itself as a recuperable measure, as if there were a dominating origin to which all else could be assimilated. If there would also be the experience of disappointment and anachronism, in arguing that pain is REALLY incipient pleasure, that the dislocation of anachronism or memory is REALLY the exhilarating proximity of the now, we risked clinging to the privileging of one univocal sense over other possible senses of meaning's work. This would be an elimination of the repetition, the wildness, of difference and thus a meaninglessness, nonexistence itself. If the genesis of experience, that about which we can say, `at least this much must is true, always, everywhere' is meaning's basis as a desubstantializing `closer to', then thinking's edge could not justify itself as `better and better' in the sense of the choosing of a particular value over others. A history would be a non-directive `more and more' rather than a hierarchical `better and better'; its motive would see itself in all supposed momenta of mood-valuation as a figure that was too fragile to know what any mood-valuation-sense could mean. If we allow that it is both good and bad, guilty, angry, joyful and sad, progressive and regressive, we need to reduce the force of such names. Meaning's gesture would be a barely registering effect of difference so insignificant that it is really no guilt at all, no anger, no sadness, no joy. It is instead a gesture which fulfills itself in simply registering itself as a `more' just barely beyond the death of pure duplication. If, instead of better and worse, we think in terms of past and present, or progressive and anachronism, the same is true. That which seems to be getting worse and worse is a contingently, locally same-new philosophy of worse in each repetition just as every moment of an iteration of better and better is a first and only worldview of better. Falling into deeper and deeper anachronism, sadness or memory is the unfolding of a (barely) different sense, a different philosophy of sadness or memory, each repetition of any of these senses. The notion of `past', `what was' does not escape this selftransformation. Gain and loss would in neither case fulfill themselves as self-identical directions or trajectories such as betterment or worsening, but instead would have no meaning outside of their role as one of meaning's dual poles. To say that the regressive other shares with despair a structure of incipience is in every case to be speaking of an infinitesimally same-different philosophy of incipience. What, then, is left us of a definition of a word like incipience? Nothing. It adds nothing to the dynamic of experience, just as attempting to force a univocal valuation such as better and better or worse and worse over the exhaustive pregnancy of Being-Two adds nothing to it, means nothing definable that is not already spoken for in an original play. The progressive and the regressive would form an identity of mutual transcendence, shattering not only any prioristic relationship between the two but also the very supposed quasitranscendental contextual stability of a meaning of `progress' or `regress'. The effect of notions like decadence, regression or anachronism are swallowed up by the same dynamic of moreness which engulfs notions like betterment and progress, such that all that we can point to as a recurrence is an edge always maintaining itself as (less than) infinitesimally differing names. Eventness as Less than Quasi-Transcendental: Something like a feeling of recollection and memory as seen via meaning's horizon is now a gesture both too insubstantial and too rich to hold the mystery implied by terms like `past', `was', `loss'. To say that the repetition of meaning's edge is a moreness would then not be to favor one value over another, but to think any and all values, all names-senses-moods, as having no content, no force or effect, other than as a most subliminal gesture too intricate to be characterized as an alterity, an otherness, a decentering, a mood. As meaning's repetition, each presentation of the new and different is linked in the most intimate fashion with that which precedes and frames it as a moreness. Each follows the other in such close proximity that even to use the word further or transcend is to imbue this structure with more substantiality than it supports. But if this is the case, meaning's edge would seem to depend on even less than any definable binary of valuation, even that of more and less, presence and loss, proximity and separation. Up till now, there has been one faith we have preserved throughout our reductive unravellings of the metaphysics of mood-sense-value. We have continued to hold onto names to point to meaning's two poles. We left unquestioned the assumption that it is possible to know in any form what something like presence and absence are. But if any attempt at capturing a single, pure valuation to describe the directionality of experience fails to justify itself, as our prior discussion revealed, then we must apply this reasoning to the seemingly protected realm of the play of momenting itself. If all names reaffirm a less-than-definable gesture of  more', then  more' no longer functions as a stable value; instead it reveals itself as a non-recuperable bivalence lurking in-as all names, always itself differently. Not only would there would be no particularity about phases of a furthering other than their status as non-recuperable iterations of eventing, but an event, trace, singular itself would lose its ability to claim its sense or effect as a having-being of two poles that would be understood as presence-absence. The source of this instability would not be the affirmation of a notknowing, a self-distancing or otherness at meaning's origin but the affirmation of a notion of bivalence so devoid of effect and self-distancing otherness as to no longer need the thickness of a stable appellation. Anachronism, dysphoria, nostalgia access non-recuperable moments just as faith in names such as anger, fear and joy does. We cannot collect a chain of terms together on one side of a divide and call them `bad', `negation', `effacement', and oppose them to or pair them equivocally, `quasi-transcendentally' with a second group linked by a supposed common label like `good', `affirmation' or `presence'. Meaning's twoness could not justify itself as recuperably named poles. We can no longer (and never could) speak of meaning as difference or dissymmetry; terms like regression and progression, affirmation and negation name the poles of this dichotomy only as particular, non-returning instantiations or philosophies of bivalence, twoness. Is this the effect of play as an equivocity of same-other, old-new, less-more? There would be an `it is' as an edge, as something like two names, but to say that these are names is to grant them more substantiality than they deserve. All of the content of these names would be swallowed up by their nature as something like two. It would not be as though one were split into two. One itself is already two, a dynamic less than a split or separation. `It' simply `is' as something like already two, signifying nothing other than this less-than-nameability. That which is less than nameable as two does nothing but be this movement of two. There would be no remainder such that a particular kind of two would be revealed. The twoness that marks meaning's edge is less than any particular names, such as old-new, same-other, general-particular, split-unity, formation-transformation. It is also less than names which are depended on in poststructuralist and Derridean discourses; double nominations like genesisstructure, affirmational-negational, same-other, transcendental-empirical. As a convenience, we can refer to meaning's momenting as a named pairing such as re-peat,re-turn, presence-separation, but all that is signified by this is a gesture less than a particular or a relation, less than an `it', less than an `is', a gesture working within differance as that which is less than nameable. The significance of meaning's gesture is not to be found in a preferential canonization of one value over others, but in the insubstantiality and intimacy (and now what could intimacy mean?) that characterizes the dichotomous space of its edge, expressed already too fully as a same-new value. To proclaim one's present despair as a furthering of one's previous joy, as the primordial and incipient phase of its transcendence, is not helpful unless one understands `furthering' as indicating a relation between one's supposed present and previous situation of radical continuity and connection founded on a profound lack of separation-content that is its less than nameable motive. Furthermore, we can no longer claim to, or need to, know what `present' and `previous' refer to beyond their effect as less than nominal particularities. There never `was' a past or present as specifiably definable senses. We have followed-invented a history of so-called philosophy as something like an affective desubstantialization, knowing that notions like desubstantialization, closer-to, condensation and development would serve us only as a preliminary step in the elucidation of a peculiarly inconsequential thinking beneath textual difference. Affirmation-negation would be understood more rigorously as `this and', wherein to think a `this' would already be to think `this and that'. If such a notion is what we mean by an event, should our dynamic not also necessarily imply a `this OR that' , or `this MINUS that', lest it assert itself as a privileged ideal? Such a move is not necessary, because the essence of `this AND that' is prior to any plus-minus, and-or dichotomy. Before we could ever name a twoness as any particular equivocal senses of relation, we would have an `and' too gentle, because too insubstantial, to reveal any particular way in which it is two. It doesn`t have `ways' of being double. Double is its only way, its only sense, its only gesture. Its entire effect is exhausted in its affirming itself as a most infinitesimal accompaniment. Must not this accompaniment always be a `different' notion of accompaniment? Not if `different' understands `two' as a particular univocal or equivocal sense, content, mode of relation, such as rift or trace. To say that there would be two is to not be able to know, to not need to know, of what or of how there would be two. Two would not be of any content or kind of difference except its own assertion. Meaning would be defined as a differing from itself only to the extent that it reveals itself as an edge whose poles name nothing but the very sense that there are two. A quality, value, mood or alterity offers nothing, does nothing, is nothing but the experience of `always two'. Our peculiar use of labels like similarity to convey a play of proximity and separation with almost no effect was meant to capture the sense of a profound non-power in meaning. If we initially spoke of this powerless origin as a radical reduction of difference between events complicit with the reduction of that which would be an event, we must go further and state that the companionship of `and' is less than that which would be named by terms of proximity or distance, of presence and its loss. To be is to be accompanied before there would be relation and separation, a sameness and otherness, a presence and absence, a more and less, a differing and deferring to function as the poles of a dual trace of meaning. In fact these terms never were, except as any names must now be understood as being in fact nothing other than the gesture of a doubling which is richer, because `less' substantial, than any nameable duality. If meaning is always already an accompaniment, we add nothing to its essence if we then say that it is an accompaniment of an accompaniment of an accompaniment. To be one is to be two; to be two is to be two more. We get a flavor of this effect in thinking meaning's projection as a progressing, developing world always `more than' itself; but `more' and `less' are too substantial to justify themselves. There is so little to grasp within an iteration of terms, too little to hold onto in a name to locate its double effect as content. There is nothing that can or need be said about any stance except that it is that which comes after something else. This `comes after' is not that which would rely on anything about the nature of two names which would be put together, there would be nothing TO the nature of names, except for an exquisitely simple `again', which does not first affirm itself and then an object. `Again' affirms only (almost) itself as a feel akin to, but even more intimate than, any notion of similarity, subsuming, condensation, assimilation, empathy, proximity. When we assert an order of names as a `progression', it is a progression whose integrity is based on nothing more than a repetition of `again' as (less than) new names. It is a notion of progression not understood by reference to an exterior opposite like regression. Progress as `again' is less substantial than notions of progress and regress as themes or categories of momentum. This `again' operates within both more and less, better and worse, affirmation and negation, presence and absence, but now understands such meanings (and always did) as its own impossibly gentle undulation. Fundamentally then, `affective desubstantialization' and `condensation' refer to the minimization of a distance that was never there to begin with. If meaning's edge is less than substance and distance, then to move from that which is less than a spacing or differance is to effect `less than' (and what could this now mean to say?) a gesture of minimization, reduction, moreness. These terms, it turns out, locate nothing other than an ethereal double edge and this is all that we can or need locate as what would otherwise be deemed content-difference as the singular reinvention of history. If we no longer (and never did) see within a text the basis for argument, debate, disagreement, moody otherness, then how do we understand the author who disagrees with, opposes or critiques us, who deconstructs our work? Our preliminary treatment of such discourses as apparent anachronism, the seeming return of a subsumed, predictable past, allows us to recognize that the anachronistic other would perceive everything in his world, including his encounter with our ideas, via the limits of his perspective. This means that his appreciation of our text would itself be an anachronistic reading. His encounter with us represents the same dynamic and serves the same role as his movement through any situation. All that he experiences is the furthering of his unfolding understanding as an undulating tapestry of moods co-implicating each other. And how do we reconcile the nature of this furthering, as a faith in contradiction and opposition, with our thinking? It is not a question of reconciliation with another, because his thinking IS our thinking. And this `us' is more fundamentally an `I' which is more originally an `it', an anonymous twoness which is less than a relation. If the other's thinking is our thinking, if the engagement with a text is meaning's own selffurthering, is this move the performance of a self-critique; do we surprise, threaten, resist ourselves as we subvert the projected intent of another author? It is not a question of a reconciliation between us and ourselves, except as we understand names like reconcile, conflict, disagreement, anachronism as offering no sense of meaning other than as barely new, non-recuperable appellations or instantiations of meaning's reaffirmation as an impossibly intricate gesture. Our apparent move from an anachronistic discourse to a thinking which would seem to subsume it is not the arrival of meaning's self-knowing out of an unknowing past but the repetition of a less-than-nameable edge which is (almost) itself as names like anachronism, past, `cutting edge' or any others. The way in which we would move through, and BE a text, as the spinning out of a thread or linkage of always (barely) new names embodies a method which is a most peaceful, because inconsequential, non-directional furthering. Ours is no longer (and never was) a kind of reading of a text which follows the unexpected, the surprising, the contentful-differential particularity or disseminating otherness which greets our attention in a work, when we no longer (and never did) locate such a consequential spacing dividing meaning from itself. There is for us no sense of the unexpected and the surprising in our encounter of a discourse, and this is not the loss of an ability to feel the richness of an event but a thinking of the essence of intensity and richness as `two more'. Our reading equates discourses which say that they are in conflict with each other, that their aims are irreconcilable, as particular moments of our own movement, which is barely any move at all, a dyssymmetry less than nameable as `movement', not a reified Subject but all there is left of a 'world'. My gaze upon the anachronistic `other' is the maintenance of meaning's horizon as always a contingently new particularity of itself, a barely new ideology of `and more'. The function, aim and motive of history's most fundamental ideology is a desire to tread more ground. What kind of ground? Whose ground? In what sense more ground? It would be as if there were no ground to desire in a world but repetition itself, revealing itself on closer inspection as a double, a dichotomy, a twinning. It is not even that we would desire this double unity but that the double is the basis of a name like desire itself. It is not that we desire more, but that desire is a name for moreness. To say `we desire' is simply to affirm a `we' as an it, a self-bifurcation whose poles are less than any stable names, less than presence-absence, affirmation-negation or desiresatisfaction, less than longing or forgetting. The ground of the world would be nothing but the experience of `this and more', now understood as the repetition of a barely detectable instability. Instability? Not even this, as it is still too loaded with affect. Less than Repetition: We saw how Derrida's differance, as a moody and contentful sense, depended simultaneously on a play within the trace as well as a play between traces. This gesture `between two traces' allowed Derrida to believe that he could think modalizations-moodalizations, tensions, relative degrees of gatheringness, sufferings and joys. And, in spite of our unravelling of Derrida's moody senses, we have also initially assumed the ability to think experience in terms of vicissitudes of more and less, better and worse. Let us briefly review the basis of the quasi-transcendental architecture underlying these assumptions. In order for an instant of meaning to register proximities and distances, condensations and decelerations; in order to know what a more or less concentrated, more or less paralyzed and exhausted mode of experience was, the irreducible basis of meaning would have to involve a certain abstractive capacity. How so? The notion of singularity in and of itself would not be enough to originate experience conceived as modalizing, since the very notion of gathering depends on that of a proximity or similarity BETWEEN two things. Since the instant of eventness is utterly particular and non-schematic in its play of absence and presence, novelty and memory, a value like `more' or `less' would have to find a way to attach itself to experience, and the self-divided moment of singularity would not be capable of providing this information alone. For this reason, it is only the ability to make a comparison between at least two affirmative-effacing events such as to think this comparison abstractively, as a single thought incorporating two events, that could allow us to locate something like a gathering or a break, above and beyond the simultaneous gathering-breaking which ALL events already intrinsically ARE. It would be necessary to distinguish BETWEEN singularities in order for such a thing as a gathering, as more or less than an other, to be revealed. The presenceabsence hinge that marks every event would have to come in at least `two colors' that could be compared. A singular event of meaning would have to be at the same time within an event and inbetween two `consecutive' events; such a plural structure would be irreducible. The absent-present play of a singular trace, in its ability to be compared with, and thus thought AT THE SAME TIME with another double trace, would, in this comparative moment, constitute its affirmational-negational poles at once, as an internal identity or abstraction which had coded into it a sense of more or less that could only be realized, that is to say, could not be thought independently of, and in fact would only have its existence in its relation to, another event. In this sense, we have till now agreed with Derrida's comments concerning the structural plurality of differance: The iterability of an element divides its own identity a priori, even without taking into account that this identity can only determine or delimit itself through differential relations to other elements and hence that it bears the mark of this difference. It is because this iterability is differential, within each individual `element' as well as between `elements'... that the remainder, although indispensable, is never that of a full or fulfilling presence; it is a differential structure escaping the logic of presence(LI53). Thus, just as absence could not be thought separately from presence WITHIN and AS the event itself, the irreducibly coded dominant sense (degree or weight of gatheredness) that the event AS A WHOLE, as SELF-PRESENT, constitutes could not be thought apart from, would only be constituted by virtue of, its play with another event (Derrida says the event bears the mark of difference with another event). The instant of deconstruction would be the comparing of a contingently self-identical (abstractive) construction with another such trace. Presence and absence would be coupled three times at once in a deconstruction; firstly (not chronologically) there would be the presenting-absencing play of an event that inventively carried forward or interrupted the gravity of a theme, mode, gathering. Secondly there would be a presenting-absencing event which disturbed the thematic dominance carried by the first event. And finally there would be the presenceabsence structure of this dyssymetrical relation of similarity or dissimilarity between the two events that is necessary in order for such a thing as a gathering, mode, idiom, motif to make any sense. Modality does not yet exist AS one event or the other in their respective expositions; it invents its sense only in the relation BETWEEN the two events. These three moments would be inseparable and simultaneous as the quasi-transcendental origin of meaning. In sum, in assuming that we knew what more and less, gathered and dispersed meant, we allowed the moments of dominant presence (gatheringness) and break from gatheringness to escape their own reduction by being intrinsic to the quasi-transcendental effect of eventness. We had tied the notion of more or less, the basis of groupness or gatheringnness, to the very essence of experience in its bipartite play. When we thought we knew what more and less meant, we assumed a certain abstractive quasi-transcendental architecture for eventness. Modes, hegemonies, dominants, even as always singularly thought textualities, depend on an idea of difference as always a `certain kind' of difference, a content. By contrast, the instant of eventness thought as less-thannominal-variations would deprive us of the claim to know sense as content. To be deprived of the ability to think content is to no longer be able to justify ways of being a trace. This is not to say that these sorts of comparisons `can't exist', but it is simply to point out that what is being done when one performs even momentarily comparable particularities of variation and modes of eventness is to experience vicissitudes which cannot justify their claim to know what more and less could mean. It is these ways and modes which offer the sense of an event, its moodiness, affectivity. Without a concept of content, there is no longer justification to suffering, guilt, hostility, tears, joy. Not that we cannot `feel' what these terms attempt to convey in some minimal manner, but that they lose their neurotic force. More importantly, if modes and degrees of eventness reduce to a particularization that has no room for such concepts, if experience is the repetition of an always less-than-nameable sense of what would otherwise have been thought as the presencing-effacing play of the trace, do we need to assume that meaning's twofold structure turns outside of itself such as to transform, interrogate or continue this prior duality? Is it necessary for us to posit a gesture in addition to that which we have located as the partnering of twoness, in order to convey a notion of repetition and history? Can we not, instead, view a gesture of repetition as depending on nothing more than a first and only instant of the having-being of a less-than-identifiable two? If references to modes, motifs, hegemonies, gatherings and concentrations are to be understood as figures of speech which unravel to reveal an iteration of experience in which gatherings and breaks lose their claim to essentiality, all we could say apriori concerning experience is that any ways, modes, motifs, idioms, concentrations, momenta that are attributed to it unravel upon closer analysis to reveal only the instant of eventness itself as a being-two. History's effect would not be something effected via a relation between an event and something outside of it, but would have already occurred in the being of that event as a bipolarity. That this bipolarity is repeated is not to say that there can be an awareness of a return of a prior bivalent moment, since this would allow us to be aware of two moments at the same time. That we cannot have this awareness is not the point; rather, we do not need to formulate such an experience in order to account most radically for what a notion of repetition wants to say. Notice that the terms RE-PEAT and RE-TURN already express both the stasis of presence in the RE (backward, again) and the distance of change in PEAT(from the Latin petere: to go) or TURN. There never is really the sense of having something again in a repetition of meaning, only of having a less than definable something and its loss-change. And now that we have put in question the possibility of knowing what such notions as memory-same and novelty-other could mean, the expression `repetition' offers only reference to meaning's basis as two. What would we be expressing to speak of a twoness and then its return in the form of an `again'? From whence could this `again' derive its resources of significance when all that could be known about the world is already utterly exhausted in the experience of `two'? There would be two, and that is all we can or need know or be. Repetition would be synonymous with momenting's bifurcation, rather than acting as a further activity. We cannot in fact claim that there is history at all as a multiple experience, as a going beyond the experience of a single moment as imbecilic double. It is precisely because meaning's return to itself is a return from nowhere that we are left only with the information available WITHIN meaning's moment (but now a distinction between within and without loses its sense) in order to attempt to justify a claim as to the affective force of history. It is crucial to recognize how profoundly devoid of valuative effect this double origin of the world is. It is as if there would only have ever been a first moment of time; not an eternal return of that moment but a never having left. Time's moment would be understood not as Cartesian or dialectic temporality, not as dissemination or multiplicity, but simply as a counting of two. If the world has begun and ended with this two, we no longer have the ability or need to understand (and never did) what either difference or repetition (or differance) could mean. 2.OF CULTURE AND NOT BEING ABLE TO BEGIN Future of Cultural Modes: In locating meaning's origin as a most unremarkable duality more elegant than differance, we have proceeded through a series of preliminary observations. We initially presented a reading of history as progressive-regressive vicissitudes and undulations, an affective desubstantialization whose ethical implications point to a thinking beyond-within blameful justice and forgiveness. Our reduction of notions like past, anachronism and regression to incipient phases of furthering then led to the revelation of meaning's edge as less than particular terms for difference such as affirmationnegation, genesis-structure, yes-no, less than any nameable twoness. We recognized that meaning's self-exceeding could not understand itself via terms of gathering or dispersion, and valuations such as `better' or `worse', `more' and `less'. A history would never amount to more than an equivocal, exquisitely subliminal pairing too insubstantial to hold labels such as more and less, progress and anachronistic regress, future and past, or even difference and repetition. Let us turn now to the issue of cultural modalities. What does our analysis of the origin of a history in general tell us about the basis of names like the political, the aesthetic, the scientific? If the supposed thematic of a philosophical development escapes any notion of a gathering, if this intense intimacy deprives it of the purity of a trajectory, then we must recognize that the same is true of any other cultural name we invoke. In naming a history as a history of such and such, the impression is given of an at least momentary thematic consistency. If there is such a thing as a philosophical trajectory alongside an apparent infinity of non-philosophical trajectories, the result is a specter of multiple, parallel categories of cultural movement vying with each other for priority. Once we place our faith in at least contextually determinable cultural modalities, we are obligated to assume the privileging, from time to time, of one or another of these gatherings over the others. We might be inclined to indulge in the fancy that a philosophical thinking, in certain instances or for certain purposes, has preference over a scientific or an aesthetic or political style of expressiveness. Whenever a self-proclaimed philosopher insists on an ontological priority for her discipline over others, would not a musician or poet have the right to claim to do the same thing, that is, to establish a reformed aesthetic basis for thinking which privileges the artistic or poetic over the philosophical? The point is that there is no way or need to retrieve categorical styles of theorizing. There would be no `science' or `philosophy' proper to make the claim to have precedence over any of the others; instead, there would always be a thread of impossibly fine continuity-novelty invoking not a paralleling, but an interweaving, an imperceptible `shifting' from one sense of endeavor to another that intervenes before the crystallization into a proper modality. This shifting has already always begun in the instant of relation of one event to another. We cannot say that a philosophical thinking would precede other realms it surveys; as a particularity, something like a philosophical modality has already become unsubstantially else than itself when we attempt to return to its sense in the very next moment. It has already subtly and imperceptibly become another of an infinity of particular and non-returning events-modalities in the instant of its repetition. This transversal is less than that within or between regions. The traversal which forms the world as history is too fine for abstractions like inside-outside. For this reason, there is no question of privileging something we would call the political or the aesthetic over a presumed category like science or technology. Reserving a special place for poetics with regard to philosophy, as Heidegger can be read as intending, does not secure the ontological priority of the former in relation to something like science, any more than it secures the definitional grounding of any of these modes, nor even the possibility of the gathering, from instant to instant, of something that is more or less a sense of philosophy or literature or political. They all transmogrify as we particularize them, as all our supposed moods-senses do, to reveal an apparent infinity of new variations of something less than a recognizable effect or style or mode, even as we attempt to trace their own pure lineage. As these lines of text are written, they ever so intricately spread themselves over all possible ranges of tonality and apparent sense without ever solidifying, even if just for a moment, into a nameable content, mood, differance. When a mode such as `the' technological is deemed as representing an inauthentic or impoverished way of thinking, and another, such as `the' poetic, is lauded as the highest expression of Being, it is a certain thinking of the poetic or the technological, never before existing or again to appear as itself, which is elevated or demonized, implicating a corresponding demarcation of `the' philosophical to be praised or condemned. Intrinsic to this re-originating notion of the philosophic would be an equivocal re-invention of any and all other possible stylistic gatherings. It would not simply be the philosophical and poetic, rendered in particular ways, that would reign supreme over other forms of culture, but a reformed thinking of all modes as they spin out from each other in the way that eventness moments itself as doubled sense upon sense upon sense without knowing or needing to know what each sense means outside of its effect as less-than-nameable affectivity. My philosophical speculation already slides imperceptively away from itself, becoming scientific, literary, theological, political, and an apparent infinity of other modes of speculation over the course of moments (but less than any of these names in their claim to locate themselves as definitive affectivities). There would be implied in our philosophizing on these pages a rethinking of what had been established as the physical, the biological and the psychological as a non-rationalistic, nondialectic language of carrying forward. Myorientation toward a contemporary physics which appears to me to traffic in an archaic language of Idealist mathematical truth (Hawking, Penrose) projects these `disappointments' from a vantage of a future physics, a physics no longer putting its faith in the self-identicality of number and the object. To view what would be labeled as an aesthetic or political domain through my `philosophy' is to hear a futuring of what would have been named as something like musical or literary style, political orientation, whether explicitly formulated as theory or not. Something like a Romantic philosophy hears Romantic music, poetry, science, just as a poststructuralist philosophy implicitly textualizes itself as a poststructuralist music, poetry, science. To view the sciences via a Husserlian intentional Lifeworld would be to offer a new story of genesis, to already preview a new physics and a new biology even if no mention is explicitly made of how the content of those fields would change. A Husserlian orientation would question the philosophical implications of a relativistic physics or a Darwinian biology from the vantage of a re-thought `future' of these sciences even though no explicit new account of physical or biological phenomena is introduced. Even when a philosophy denies any new implications for the thinking of other cultural modes (cf. Dilthey's differentiation between human and natural science methods), a re-invention of any and all modes would already be spun immediately upon the instant of the incantation of `philosophy', without giving any privilege to philosophy over the indeterminate multitude of other cultural modes that are spun out before and after it in the mediate immediacy of the now. A text as absolute contingency is a whole universe of moods, gestures, distractions that intervene to seemingly interrupt the intended continuity of the writing. Even though they may appear invisible to us on cursory examination, in our writing and reading of texts all these peripheral activities of distracted sense are an intrinsic part of any experience of writing, reading, thinking. It is these ephemeral and seemingly secondary distractions intervening in our attempts to concentrate on our subject matter which form the basis of an endless multiplicity of cultural modes. Simply in struggling to get through a single line of text on a page, we find ourselves experiencing in oh so subtle a fashion the basis of the political, economic, social, theological, aesthetic, and on and on. This we do in our subtle shifting of attention in myriad ways from what is on a page to what is not and everything in between; what in an archaic language might be referred to as a transit from conceptualization to sensation to recollection to emotion to action to dreaming, without knowing what these names could definitely mean. This bouncing from mode to mode of awareness takes place at all times in every experience, but is no distraction from that of reading, writing and speaking textualities. This bouncing and shifting, which is the very basis of experience, prevents us from justifying distinctions based on relative gathering or dispersion of modalization (for instance, the claim to differentiate between a better or worse example of art, or between philosophy and literature). And why is it the case that supposed variations WITHIN a gathered modality cannot ultimately be differentiated from variations assumed as BEYOND that modality? We earlier discussed this in the context of the relation between affectivities of being-incommon and affectivities of seeming disruption and surprise. Let us be reminded with a quote from that discussion: "The surprise of interruption seems to disturb, but, while we weren't looking, our so-called gathered style was already calling itself by (barely) different names all the time. Of course surprise is a different name than commonality or gatheredness, but is its difference from groupness measurably , determinably different than that which differentiates the so-called group within itself moment to moment? Can we justifiably locate a relation between what we want to name `surprise' or `interruption' on the one hand and `groupness' on the other, whose named poles transcend the utter contingency of the countless names for groupness and the equally innumerable names for surprise? If my belonging to a gathering reinvents itself event to event as now excited, now bored, now familiar, now anxious, then is my `sudden surprise' at now being dislocated from this always internally differing belonging something to be treated separately and transcendingly from names for the undulations of belonging? Is not the `more' of apparent surprise and disappointment indistinguishable in its gravity from that which minimally distinguishes all instants of sense from each other? Is not the seemingly drastic always prepared for? Is it not anticipated in our feigned shock?" All we know is local context, and the locality of context is always less than the naming of relative gatheredness of sense. At the same time, this shifting of sense offers something on the order of a profound continuity and stability born of a dearth of tension, force and resistance. It is a stability and continuity attributable to the utterly insignificant effect manifested by the two parts of a hinge of meaning. Modalization of something like cultural modes may not be determinative as such and such regions or gatherings, even when a `region' is treated as heteronymous with respect to itself event to event. But the modalizing shifts of moment-to-moment awareness can be understood as generating a general and intense impression of self-similarity and gentleness as we move imperceptibly from something like the philosophical to the political to the aesthetic. Of a Future of Art: As is the case with my trafficking in any history, my vantage of what seems to me as decadent in art comes from and is impossibly co-implicated in my understanding of a future of my artistic heritage. But how would I define such a tradition? What would be the meaning of something like the aesthetic? What if we were to define such a way of thinking in terms of a style of subliminality, figurativeness, impressionism and incipience, opposing itself to the concreteness and articulated literalness of theory? It would not be enough to point out that it would always be an infinitesimally different sense of incipience and subliminality on the one hand, or concreteness and articulation on the other, which would return to us as we attempted to trace parallel histories of the aesthetic and the philosophical. More fundamentally, to speak of parallel tracks would be to overdetermine the effect of historification; in the instant we attempt to follow art's or philosophy's historical thread as new senses of 'itself', they have already gently become variations of something like the scientific, something like the political and a multiplicity of other moods whose names disappear before they can be determined as gathered senses from one event to the next. But let us again make recourse to a language of quasi-development. Let us pretend that we can define threads of poetic, iconic, literary and musical history via their paralleling or shadowing a supposed philosophical desubstantializing evolution, even though we know this order claims too much for itself. From the vantage of this illusion, histories of musical, erotic, literary, poetic, iconic art would reveal a peculiar affective-ethical progress. The course of aesthetic development, from classical to Medieval, Renaissance to Romantic, Modernist to Postmodern would evince a progressive minimization of mystery, thingness, substantial essence, moody pain and pleasure. Postmodern discussions, in their embrace of Nietzschean and Foucaultian themes, would echo philosophy's penetration beneath the solidity of modernist metaphysics. For instance, Vattimo declares the end of metaphysical idealism in art: From architecture to the novel to poetry to the figurative arts, the postmodern displays, as its most common and most imposing trait, an effort to free itself from the logic of overcoming, development, and innovation(EM95-107). Oliva comments: In a society in transition toward an indefinable end, the only option open is that afforded by a nomadic and transitory mentality...Working in fragments means preferring the vibrations of sensibility to monolithic ideological content. These vibrations are necessarily discontinuous. They carry the artist toward a project made of numerous linguistic accidents, beyond the logical coherence of poetry. Fragments are symptoms of an ecstacy of dissociation. They are signs of a desire for continuous mutation...The work always responds to the requirements of the unrepeatable chance, because the relationship between the artist and his means of expression is unrepeatable(IT36-43). The work is a "micro-event", a "bewildered image", a "mildness", a minor presence, a whim. Jameson points to radical fragmentation of cultural experience as a hallmark of postmodernity, expressed in art via pastiche and blank parody, parody without parody's "ulterior motive, without the satirical impulse, without laughter, without that still latent feeling that there exists something NORMAL compared to which what is being imitated is rather comic"(PCS114). Modernist moods of substantial angst, alienation, opposition, make way for what Jameson terms a waning of affect, a desubstantialized affectivityof Lyotardian intensities. And Lyotard's notion of the postmodern subliminal puts forward the unpresentable in presentation itself; that which denies itself the solace of good forms, the consensus of a taste which would make it possible to share collectively the nostalgia for the unattainable; that which searches for new presentations, not in order to enjoy them but in order to impart a stronger sense of the unpresentable(PC340). How could we characterize the direction of a trend toward a `stronger sense' of the unrepresentable, of a waning of affect? It would remind us of our imagined model of a history of affective condensation-depowering, a notion of difference progressively ridding itself of the substantiality of its self-other axes. We would then need to recall why such an endeavor would be doomed. Following the notion of an anti-representational subliminal to its further implications would expose an origin already utterly devoid of tension. Rather than being a journeying progress, a history of art would be the non-repeating momenting of a tension-less double playeven less substantive than the minimal moodiness of affirmation and negation. There would be no way and no need to know or name the particularity of the manner in which an aesthetic innovation questions a prior thinking of the aesthetic, any more than we can know how something like the aesthetic differentiates itself from a style of thinking which is supposedly other than the aesthetic, such as philosophy or science. Following such a supposed lineage in its vicissitudes would lead us to a characterization of a future of the so-called aesthetic in terms of what would make it impossible for us to need to define this modality any longer (but of course we never could). We could state that against our thinking we can locate in the culture around us and in history books the apparent regurgitation of archaic approaches to aesthetics, but we would in fact realize that there never was a way to retrieve a past as any stable particularities, that in seeming to be able to point to an archive in which categories and definitions of something like an aesthetic realm were affixed, we locate only our future as less-than particular moments of our thinking. But what of this future with no past? If anything we say of such a future of art must equally be said of philosophy, science or any other mode, we can still raise the following questions: What is art, literature, music without faith in drama, tension, tragedy, conflict, or even irony and pastiche? If we were to say that a history of music, painting, dance marks nothing more than a desubstantializing repetition, how is the future of this movement, which my supposed recollection of its past (or anachronistic contemporary creations) already covertly manifests and furthers, to be thought via a relation of performance and practice, iconography and image, theory and concept? What sort of inscription would art's history as less than the mysterious power of substantial difference imply? What is left of text in which devices of iconography, metaphor, representation, symbolics lose all determinable sense? Might something like a writing of words be what we have in mind? We know too much about writing and textuality to suggest that there ever was a way to justify a stable distinction between performance and theory, word and icon, or between any particularities of meaning. This futuring would not point to a notion of writing in the narrow sense of one technique privileged over others, word over image, but a dynamic akin to Derrida's trace in its non-privileging equivocality. If a future of what would have been called the arts is to be found in this strange writing, then we cannot define inscription in oppositional, critical or even Derridean differential terms. Would this writing be a melding of performance and theory, of medium and content? Less than a melding, it would be a thinking of such terms without a means or necessity to distinguish them in any palpable, that is, nameable way, even as a whimsical difference between wandering fragments. It would locate within a playful puzzle of fragments a topography already akin to resolved, predictable, assimilative. What kind of practice would evince these traits? Such creators of a `future' would reveal a territory of explication no longer fictive, storied, imagistic, dramatic, maintaining its multiple identity no longer as a distinction from philosophy or any other named region, but as implied before there would be a named separation into categories. Theywould unravel, fragmentize dramatic structures of meaning by picking away at the line between life and death, dream and reality, past, present and future. They would work their way beneath the text of theme the way that Derrida plays within literature, philosophy, politics, theology, enabling a multiplication of difference whose non-directional vector continues history's non-motile movement as the divestiture of affective difference. The progeny of those we would recall from some cultural past or anachronistic present as musicians, poets, novelists, dancers, painters would reveal a list of `writers', but no canvas or moving image screen, no instruments of sound, no devices of performance which would be compatible with, recognizable within, necessary to a thinking of something like an aesthetic future, besides a barely detectable gimmick rendering to expression its ability to continue as an aesthetic of impossibly insignificant self-similarity. It would not be as if anything had been lost to us, as if we were now deprived of the fruits of a tradition of art, but that we now recognize as we look over our shoulder at a historyof art that which we acknowledged in accounting for an illusionary philosophical lineage. There never was anything in such a history to justify itself in terms of the moody substantiality of devices, styles, instruments of performance. All that one would attempt to say about such categories of technique would, upon rigorous inspection, shed itself of all advertised mystery. It would leave, from instant to instant, a minutely slanting thread of morphing senses of art, now almost politicized, now almost philosophized, now almost economized, now almost theologized, whose supposed expressive passion was now understood to be founded on a less than definable furthering of thinking, already endlessly spanning but falling short of the substance of all these hollow names, failing to gather itself even for a between-event moment of relation as the more or less of a style or thematics. The future of a supposed heritage of art; what we recall having been once claimed for fine pictorial, musical, architectural art in their embrace of fine philosophy, may perhaps be found now only as something like words on a page. This future of the so-called arts would mark the understanding of a radically substanceless intimacy of experience in which `words' are not to be thought as the privileging of one definable category of inscription over others. A certain thinking of words now crudely denotes for us the notion of a marking devoid of anything that could know what vision and sound, emotion and logic, the literal and the figurative could distinguish. Are Blanchot and Lyotard commentators for a community which thinks it can still find definitional meaning in a word like art? Or do they hint at a future of art as a less-than-iconic, lessthan-symbolic marking of words? Do a series of writers, from Foucault to Kristeva, Deleuze and Derrida, play the role that painters, musicians, poets and novelists played in a remembered cultural past, a past whose future no longer needs to include those who call themselves painters and musicians and poets and novelists and dramatists who think they know what these names mean? Could it be that a certain spectrum of written articulation (Blanchot, Lyotard, Foucault) is the `only' way of continuing the disseminative role of painters, architects and novelists of a recalled past? Can it make any sense to ask how creative expression after Derrida could sound musically, look pictorially, or feel emotively when the very faith in sound, image and drama necessary for these endeavors has been unravelled? Dare we say that we cannot imagine a form of music, poetry, literature, dance that could knowingly `speak to' a thinking of radical insubstantiality and gentleness, an aesthetic event which would not appear to tarry with an outdated past (though we know that this tarrying in fact continues our future in the peculiarity of its apparent falling away from it)? Does not a futuring beyond-within otherness and blame know too much, understand the world too well, too peacefully in its peculiar anticipatory intimacy, to linger with the unknowing anxious affectivities of a poetic, musical or literary mystery? There would be, and always has been nothing but (because the `regressive' past of our vantage is already the less than present or absent `moreness' of our future), an expressive understanding destabilizing not only any idea of a dramatic, conflict-based art idiom, but also the vanishing of any definable sense of metaphor, image, symbol and the impossibility of any devices resting on the substance of mystery. And what remains; what always remained? To the extent that we are able to minimally characterize a world, as we have done, then a bare affectivity of moreness remains to us. Such an affectivity reduces postmodern micronarrative to the status of an unfolding practically without distance or effect. Anachronism and Modalization of Culture: We have described something like the aesthetic as moments of a slanting thread of morphing senses of art, now almost politicized, now almost philosophized, now almost economized, now almost theologized, but falling short of all of these names in its refusal of modalization. Let us look more closely at the way in which such a refusal is accomplished. Underlying the rhythm regulating the seeming appearance and disappearance, the gatherings and dispersions, workings and exhaustings of something like modalities of a cultural history would be a movement that defies all notions of momentum, of gatherings, thematics and modalities. How so? If we were to attempt to follow a cultural history as aesthetic, philosophic, or any other development lineage, eventually we would begin to notice most obviously what in fact has from the onset characterized its textual repetition; we seem to fall way from the supposed thematic, non-self-identical continuity of our trail. Tracing such a thing as philosophy, observing very closely the thread of most intimate linkage between the moments of an author's text or from one author to another, we find that it is always an infinitesimally different notion or sense of philosophy, a different style and content, that is being offered each time we return to it. And eventually, the repetition of this impossible self-similarity will lead us to names grossly `outside of' the self-similar themes of something like a philosophical language. Most importantly, the way in which philosophy ( or any sense-name-mode-mood) is never self-identical from one moment to the next is indistinguishable from the way in which a so-called transition would be effected from one mode to another. The break within philosophy (or any other contingent event) as a name, as thought instant to instant, is indistinguishable from the break BETWEEN philosophy and literature or science or the political or any other sense that happens to be thought in immediate contingency with something like an instant of philosophical thinking. There is no way to differentiate `within' and `between' when all the resources of sense are exhausted by being-two. Of particular interest to us is what it is we are doing when we follow the trail of a cultural form to its apparent dissolution or decay. We can preliminarily depict the decaying of a creative form as a regurgitation of `what was', reminding us of our characterization of the disappointing `other' as anachronistic, as akin to the return of a supposed past and inadequate worldview. We can identify seeming popular or `backward' metaphysics implied in areas from modern physics to Revivalist styles of literature and painting. We can locate around us segments of culture whose notions of business or technological creativity seem to regurgitate Rationalist worldviews, other segments whose political or scientific ideology exhumes Kant, and those whose literary tastes revisit Hegelian themes. It is one thing to envision a notion of the regressive other in the guise of an individual, whose `old-fashioned' way of thinking appears familiar, anticipatable to us in its belonging to a gently subsumable intellectual `past'. But what would it mean to speak of a cultural modality in such terms? How would we perform a translation of musical or poetic language into a theoretical eventing, such that we could place these expressions within a presumed developmental continuum of intellectual history? Cultural history's undulating unfolding weaves a thread of the closest imaginable developmental intimacy in the form of definable cultural movements in which a particular range of political, ethical, social views, and so on, would be co-implicated, along with a particular aesthetic style, in the quasi-progress of something like a cultural movement. The fact that the efforts of artists, writers or tradesmen are inherently linked with specific political, social, ethical or theological implications allows us to understand movements, such as Romantic, Baroque, Renaissance, Symbolist, in terms other than just those determined by the presumed commonalities defined by a particular aesthetic realm. Aesthetic movements can seem to be characterizable in terms of a range of intellectual sensibilities which unite them with political, philosophical, scientific and other forms. Their expressed philosophical allegiances allow us to indulge in marking particular aesthetic or technological or political contributions as anachronistic, as seeming to evince a retreat from a certain edge of philosophical expression and into a conservativism, as the echoing of the understanding of a broader and more traditional segment of a culture. What is the significance of treating particular contributions to art, literature, science in this way? The cultural expression which appears to me as anachronism would be linked with the popular, the tried-and-true, the too familiar. The archaic is that whose value is instantly co-opted culturally as the familiar rehash of a classic. What was recalled as once a radical discovery is now merely accepted device or craft, a seeming constriction of the dimensions of novelty. We could not identify the popular in terms of a notion of the commercial marketplace as a force of conformism and identical reproduction, however. There would be no such thing as a market as such in any monolithic or self-same sense, or its effects in terms of identical repetition of value. The culture industry's capacity to co-opt, reproduce, and commodify has been cited as a reason for the demise of the avant-garde, and some claim, art itself. Crowther argues "Any art objects set forth with internal critical intent will be assimilated by the legitimizing discourse and market forces, and redistributed in the form of a STYLE"(PVA237-59). However, something like an economic market would never have had conservative power of presence in the first place such as to force conformity to type, any more than would a political or philosophical regime, or any other cultural realm. All that one could say about the apparent decadence of a modality of expression is that it represents a seeming retreat into an imagined cultural past, a move into more popular terrain. For instance, the so-called latest and most advanced digital, internet, bio-technologies, as phenomena of popular market culture, could initially be seen as depending upon scientificmathematical models which themselves originate in `anachronistic' philosophical (Kantian, Hegelian) notions. Such technologies, to the extent that they apply  older' theoretical ideas (and this does not mean that they resist their own constant reinvention, even when they are mistakenly thought of as mechanical derivations of a program), only exist as what they are because they are recognized as valuable and useful by a popular market unable, as a whole, to appreciate more progressive notions. These technologies, as applied fields, would be defined by their ability to be understood by this mass audience. That is not to say that there would not be rich variability among this audience in the ways in which the meaning of these technologies is conceived, or that the inventors of a technology are not, at every instant, transforming the basis of what they `apply' in their repeated experiencing of the `same' formulas. To use a technology (even though it is always an inventive experience) does not require the same understanding of its theoretical basis as does the creation of that technology, for instance. In any case, the apparent lag between cutting edge philosophy and the supposed level of philosophical advancement expressed by new applied technologies would explain why it is that individuals associated with the creation and dissemination of technological products tend to reject or misunderstand the `latest' philosophical thinking. It is only by a very general use of the term that the newest technologies can be said to be `postmodern' when those involved in their creation seem to lag considerably behind the thinking of philosophers identifying with a term like the postmodern, such as Rorty, Lyotard and Caputo. Thus, according to our developmental illusion, users and inventors of popular technologies would be seemingly regurgitating, in applied form, ways of thinking which had been created in earlier times byphilosophers, scientists, artists. At the same time, each user and inventor of a `mass' technology would always be transforming, in different ways, their understanding of a technology, rather than mechanically applying a formula. In similar fashion, from the vantage of the developmental illusion, we can look around us and appear to be able to locate many such weary `pop' contributors to artistic, political, philosophical, technological culture who unknowingly recycle and apply what we recognize as Kantian, Hegelian or other `anachronistic' modes of thought. We could see their derivative products embraced by similarly weary `mass' markets. It would be our gentle misfortune to be doomed to encounter, on a daily basis, such living archives of boredom and redundancy. But such an analysis fails to understand the crucial point that there IS no capricious social world surrounding us. It is not just that there is no social environment of modes and groups and popular masses existing apart from the contingencies of our encounter with a world. Nor is it simply a matter of reminding ourselves that within the contingency of our experience, we don't encounter groups and masses, we encounter individuals, and not even individual persons, but singular sensesaffects always in alteration from moment to moment. The important point is that, as we have seen, this experiencing is not an encounter between subject and object or a differential interval between elements of meaning but rather the barest adventure of sense as new, less-than-nameable instantiation of itself. Thus, WE don't encounter a social world of decadence or advance. We ARE ALREADY a social world, but only in the minimal sense of social as a figure of two, not as insideoutside or even yet presence-absence, and thus not yet capricious. What is the importance of this understanding of the social as a less-than-definitive space of affectivities? The apparent redundancy and boredom we are tempted to attribute to a social realm impinging upon us from beyond us, or that Derrida attributes to an otherness within us, is in fact generated by an us whose experiential movement (and it is really less than a movement that we are dealing with) does not distinguish between the anachronistic and the progressive, the absent and the present. We must understand the example of being disappointed and bored by a cultural production in the same terms that we investigated the issue of disappointment and boredom more generally. Not only must boredom be recognized as a species of novelty rather than of stasis, but it must be seen as being on an absolutely equal footing with notions like excitement and joy; these and all other terms are made equal through our inability to know what they could mean other than that they each carry forward the barest hint of new sense. It is meaningless to ask why this rather than that experience confronts us; a world cannot be arbitrary, capricious or in tension if its being, as being-two, is exhausted in instantiating that it merely IS. Still, we could say that there is a `logic' to the order in which one sense-affect follows the next in our experience. It would not be an order of content that we could affirm as a `why this rather than that' but rather of contentlessness furthering. That is to say, whatever occurs in particular has in common with any other occurrences a profound gentleness born of dearth of effect, name or force. For this reason the relationship between the supposed anachronistic and advanced in culture reduces itself to something less than any determinable plane of variation. Recognizing this, we can turn our attentions back to the names-without-definition that pass as (that we generate as) cultural forms and their vissicitudes, directing an attitude of amused empathy toward situations that seem to want to be called `decadent'. What, then, is left of the meaning of an avant-garde or cutting edge after our unravelling of the developmental illusion, which we have done by demonstrating the transformative basis of the apparently redundant and outdated? For the purposes of preliminary analysis, we have allowed ourselves the indulgence of thinking of our cultural involvement with others in terms of relative momenta of progress and regress, but such terms would not capture the fineness of this always new less-than-nameable particularity. The slanting self-continuity of any history as less than new names would explain the `decadent' turn of a creative mode, as we experience it, as the emergence of a new modality. A trajectory of philosophical progression that we attempt to discern in the world would reveal itself upon closer inspection as a variegated texture of momenting bringing into play multiple cultural modes forming not a closed circle but a topography of always contiguously new instantiations of more, beyond, two. Whatever seems to interrupt or derail such a progression is its furtherance. Thus a philosophy's or an art's or a science's so-called classic or decadent moments stand on equal ground with its supposed triumphs. To attempt to follow a self-same advance would seemingly be to move from renaissance to decline, from a certain treatment of art to that of science, from a particular notion of politics to business and to variations of seeming climax and decline within these modes. A decadence `within' a cultural mode could now be understood as a shift to another mode. The poor example of a painting is a new philosophy of painting; it evinces a seeming familiar poverty of talent that nevertheless never before existed and whose apparent failing and decadence cannot be subsumed under any extant hierarchy. To say that it fails our criteria is to simultaneously transform our criteria and the notion of failure so that all that is left for us to realize in our interrogation of the `failed or decadent' work of art is an experience of a less-than-definable same-new sense. Whatever `negative' terms we are tempted to use, in circular fashion, to express our distaste for what repulses us make no purchase on definitive sense, any more than could terms of `satisfaction'. And furthermore, we realize that there is no categorical integrity left to the notion of a modality, as if there were a privileged way to define such a thing as a modality, even in a relationship invented from event to event as more or less gathered-concentrated or dispersedexhausted. A mode could register nothing more self-persistent or extensive than the instant of an edge of sense. Moment to moment, there would be nothing but shifts in modalities (selftransformations) because to be a mode would be only to effect a most unformidable non-present-toitself spacing. This seeming discontinuity is no departure but the very essence of meaning's less than continuous or discontinuous trail as always (less than) other names. The order which expresses the way in which now this cultural mode and now that one, now this regurgitation of a `past' thinking and now that one, impinge upon me in my successive encounters of individuals originates as, and never has the chance to exceed, the order which characterizes each event of experience of any kind. What is this to say? The cultural particular has no place, no home, ground or origin, other than the instant that we utter its definitionless name, which emerges not as an interruption or effacement of what preceded it but as an impossibly gentle continuance of that history. We then watch it (us) immediately alter itself(ourselves). Something like cultural modes of creativity would originate as an order of affective vicissitudes, as less-than-nameable, non-recuperable styles of articulation or momenta of engagement. All modes-moods-senses are the momenting of a local, contextual historicality. We can note the way in which our interests shift over the course of moments from one style of engagement to another, from an appreciation of music to dance, from an acute visual sense to a desire for poetic expression, from a scientific mode of inquiry to what we might want to name as philosophical style of thinking, whatever that might mean contextually to us. Boredom becomes interest which becomes delight which becomes nostalgia, and so on. At the same time, these terms of affect tell us nothing definitive. Terms like style of articulation and momenta of engagement, like all names, are themselves non-recollectable. They fix no locale and no definable sense other than meaning's order, which is not the order of a stable series of names, but of a space of (less than) radical self-similarity which is itself as always a same-new, barely registering mark of moreness, less than any definitive or quasi-transcendental sense (even same-new or self-similar). The rhythm of momenting would interweave itself before one could ever capture as nameable senses Other and I, pleasure and pain, affirmation and absence, regardless of how carefully they are typed onto the page. I cannot even say, then, that the encounter with another plunges me into gentle participation with their lugubriously slow and unknowing regurgitation of what I recognize as a cultural past. I cannot any longer claim to know (and never did) what senses of affect-effect adjectives like plodding, lugubrious or lurching identify. It is not that they are too strange, too other, but that they are too insignificant and familiar to justify my claiming to encounter them, or that there is even an encounter of me and other in the first place. A momenting which evades quasitranscendent labelling as proximity-distance has no room for self-other in any form. Neither does it have room for trace of eventness as immediate play or simultaneity of imbecilic presencingabsencing. All that ever speaks is twoness, and this does not repeat, for in order for there to be repetition there would have to be more than twoness. There would have to be content which depends on a comparison outside of twoness, a comparison between events. But twoness never had the resources to allow for a notion of more or other, of difference and sameness. As we have said, all that could be known about the world is already utterly exhausted in the experience of `two', not as coupled or withdrawn, in play or opposed or in tension. The tricks we use to give ourselves the illusion that we gaze upon a world of affectively charged spaces, patterns, bodies in relation unravel upon closer examination to reveal no definitive substance or content framing the intervals that mark the world. There would be the twoness of edge without difference. And the trick that would give the impression that this edgeness of the world manifests itself as interval upon interval, edge upon edge, as an endlessly repeated multiplicity of variation and texture; fails when it is deprived of the meaning of memory, of `looking back'. There would be two, and that is all we can or need know or be. It is as if there would only have ever been a first moment of time; not an eternal return of that moment but a never having left. It is important to emphasize that all that we have said concerning the non-recuperative, nonprivileged effect of a word like anachronism does not deprive us of the luxurious order of familiarity and proximity which we first articulated as my construal of another's thinking as belonging to a less desubstantialized `past' thread of ideas. Yes, we have said that such a thread, any thread, is always (barely) the same-new thread, the same-new story of genesis. But we understand the nature of this horizon most penetratingly, and we only move beneath the solidity of an alterity or deconstructive trace, when we are able to see the link between the bipartite poles of meaning's point of departure from itself as less than a rupture, as the essence of a most radically desolidified twoness. It is this profoundly groundless intimacy which is at the heart of our reference to the anachronism of the other, and which is preserved even after our clarifications concerning the ungroundedness of such an expression as anachronism. No-Twoness: By way of a strange conclusion, we want to bring a final set of questions to the table. We earlier wrote that meaning's double structure could not be a pure identity as long as a world exists; to make this edge a unity would be to eliminate this mark which generates a world through its duplicity. Signification must allow itself an infinitesimal dissymmetry, a twoness, in order that the traceness of history may appear. But what if twoness itself has no basis, no history, and a world has never made an appearance at all? How could this be; what sense would it make to write of never having actually written or think of never having thought or ever being able to do so? We have said that two doesn't become, it doesn't repeat. It only happens once, which is to say, there is only the two, as the first and only moment of time. If two only happens once, if it has no other to compare it to, if it is not itself part of an edge, how do we know it exists? How does it know, how does it mean without reference outside of itself? What we're getting at is, if twoness is so solipsistic, how far away is it from simply declaring that there is no world, no twoness? Lets put the issue differently. What is it we have said concerning the structure of a less-thanquasi-transcendental twoness, as the origin and end of experience, which prevents it from slipping into non-existence? In essence, we have made the claim that the minimal requirement for existence is the referential being of two figures, even if this reference is not justifiable as something like the differential trope of presence-absence. And what does this imply? We want to suggest that even this insubstantial form of reference continues to rely on a notion of substance which must PRECEDE its partner. In other words, there would have to be a first notion of presence, of mood-standing-for, in order for any idea of duplicity to make minimal sense. The difficulty suggested by such a presencing would not be resolved by claiming its dependence on an irreducible structure of reference to another such presencing. Defining an element by reference to another element is still the exposure of singularities. This leaves us with the paradox that an element by itself can have no justification, no being, no effect, but at the same time we insist that it functions in an originary pairing, a double which takes place before there can ever be thought a single. The question which we must ask, then, is: In asserting an origin of experience in bivalence, are we really succeeding in placing the figure of two before that of one? We have said that we don't know what each figure of a bivalence means, and reference to the other does not help us, except to contribute a circle of mutually defined nomeaning. That which has no meaning is defined by reference to that which has no meaning. Just because we don't know what an element means in any particularizable or nameable fashion doesn't prevent its pairing with another such unnameable from having the minimal mood, sense or effect of being-two, does it? Ah, but perhaps it does if by not knowing a thing, we don't know what its relation to another would be, what relation would mean, what another would mean. In other words, our not-knowing a thing would be finding it devoid of the minimal requirement of sense or effect necessary in order to locate for us something like a structure of reference. Despite what we assumed earlier, there may be no way to assert a notion of reference without inherently implying a thinking of difference. In other words, to think `this and that' may depend irreducibly on a thinking of `this not that'. To know oneself as a couple would require the capability of recollection, of turning back to one's partner and see it as no longer, effaced. Memory would be the bridge justifying a thinking of `two-at-once'. We need to examine now why even the most minimal idea of reference may demand a concept of memory, and why such a concept relies on knowing transcendentally the meaning of presence and absence, affirmation and negation. (As we pointed out, terms like presence and absence can no more know what they mean, in any transcendent sense, than can terms like red and blue). We have already seen this crumbling of the possibility of names. We said there would be two, and we never can or need distinguish anything else about these poles in terms of any name of reference or difference, such as affirmation or negation. But HOW do we know that there are even poles, an edge, a dissymmetry or hinge? To use them is not to know HOW we do this (`How' not as procedure but as affirmation of two). It is not to know whether there is any justification for an edge, a twoness, a world. We can speak and think a world without it having existence or justification. We have already said about our notion of two that there is nothing definite we can state concerning meaning, not even enough to stably use a name like two. Meaning is not justified, not existing, not any definitive name or mood or trace. If it is not any definitive or nameable senses, it is still that which we speak of, point to, carry on. But does even this minimal capability crumble upon closer inspection? If a notion of twoness has no names for its poles, we could nevertheless say that twoness is a notion of reference or `defined by' in which there would be no effect or content other than an absolutely minimal `being defined by'. If it would be meaningless to talk about a particular `way' in which there would be two, there would still be meaning. Even if there would be no recuperable, definitive names for its poles, something like a double would nevertheless be a minimal ability to speak, to think, to mean. It would go on and on and on (or at least twice) as nothing definitive, nothing nameable, nothing consequential, nothing at all except a going on. But how does it know it goes on? If poles of a duplicity are no longer definitive and nameable as presence and absence, affirmation and negation, etc., then how is reference itself nameable as such, even as less than a symmetry, less than an asymmetry, less than a dissymetry? If there are no poles, there is no reference, but if there ARE poles, then there is a beginning, a first, a presence, a mood, which could never justify itself by itself in order that it then define another. What about our insistence that twoness is not the meeting of sensible singularities such as presence and absence, that `twice' would be before a thing and its relation, before the moodiness of a presencing-absencing trace? Even to argue the less-than-nameability of doubling's poles is to attribute to them a certain minimal in-itself moodiness. There would be an in-itself, a first, even when we don't know what first means in any comparative sense. When a beginning is declared, a first `it', we (we not as humans or subjects but as this plurality itself) `simultaneously' appear as a world of reference. But everything would hinge on, be no more meaningful than, this firstness. When we say that there is another, it is the implicit result of a theory or claim we make that there would be an in-itself, an effect, a consequence. A second could not confirm either the existence of a first or its own existence if the existence of the first were not already assumed on the basis of nothing other than itself as a pure faith in meaning. We can't claim that twoness would be a simultaneity before it is any single in-itself sense because simultaneity depends on a pair of distinctnesses. As such the possibility of simultaneity, asymmetry, twoness, reference would seem to require a thinking of order in the guise of a first and second poles. `Two' depends on a notion of memory; to be a second is to remember a first. But we have said that all terms, including memory, past, nostalgia, locate no recuperable meaning, no definable aspect. To remember would be to further, which would be to register `more'. But this more could no longer be thought of as `more' or a repetition if it `knows' only as a minimal, nonrecuperable in-itself. To mean or be something like a `second' or `twoness' would be to constitute a first. There would be no possibility to do the very thing that a meaning, even as trace, claims to justify itself by: make reference to another. By wanting to define a first by `reference' to a first, we cannot hold onto something like reference as a knowable meaning. The instability of reference would not be the chaos and contingency of that which is too much to be limited, but of that which is too meaningless to be pointed to. `We' (as plurality) are not needed as a meaning. Twoness would not be an order, either of succession or simultaneity, because it cannot know what reference means. And if it does not know what reference means, then it does not know what twoness means. There would never be a point where anything definitive can or need be said, not even that there is something going on or that there is two. Without reference, meaning would be less than a first. If a first indicates a second, then meaning would be an only, an in-itself in an eternal state of non-differentiation. It would be deprived of all sense, all particularity and in fact would never have begun to be. The instant of the firstness of a `there is' is an eternity which never escapes itself and so is meaningless, without differentiation or effect, without beginning. Why would it matter whether there would be deemed a first or whether there would not be deemed a first, whether there would be a world or not be a world? What would a first establish and justify `in itself' that would be any more substantial than a never-having-been? If we say that `there is' because there is another, reference, accompaniment, difference, trace, a going on, are we not requiring something of meaning, of us, that we can't, and more importantly, don't need to know? There would be no thing, no edge, no two, no one, no meaning, no we. It is only as a convenience, then, that we have proceeded as if there were a world. The origin of the world would be that which was never allowed to begin. By no-meaning and no world we do not conjure some notion of a nirvana which thinks itself as that which transcends or denies the flux of a remembered world in an act of asceticism. No-meaning would not be a beginning, a referencing, a recollection, an escape, a transcendence, a denial, an achievement, a result or completion of something else. To be no meaning would be to never have accessed a beginning, an edge, a difference, a repetition, a world in any way, not even as something like past or memory; it would be never to have begun. The astonishing thing is that it is possible to experience a world and yet realize its basis and origin in this `not being able to begin', without these alternatives violating or otherwise being in tension with each other. Name Index: Bennington, Geoffrey:9,10 Blanchot, Maurice:105,106 Caputo, John:4-11,15,16,19,22,109 Chomsky, Noam:4 Crowther, Paul:108 Deleuze, Gilles:2,10,22,105 Derrida, Jacques:2-5,7,9-30,32-35,41,53,54,61-63,67,68,72,78,86-88,95,96,104-106,109, Dilthey, Wilhelm:101 Foucault, Michel:34,41,67,103,105,106 Freud, Sigmund:67 Gasche, Rodolph:7 Gendlin, Eugene:17 Gergen, Kenneth:9,16 Glendinning, Simon:5 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm:2,34,37,41,46-50,87,107-109, Heidegger, Martin:2,18,23,31,34,41,63,64,67,69,99 Hofstadter, Douglas:9 Husserl, Edmund:100 Jameson, Fredric:103 Kant, Immanuel:2,34,45-50,69,107-109 Kierkegaard, Soren:34,41 Kristeva, Julia:105 Lacan, Jacques:4 Levinas, Emanuel:41,63,64 Levi-Strauss, Claude:4 Lyotard, Jean-Francois:2,4,9-11,15,22,37,103,105,106,109 Maturana, Humberto:9 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice:18,37 Nancy, Jean-Luc:4,10,11,13,15,22,72 Nietzsche, Friedrich:2,37,41,49,50,63,64,103 Oliva, Achille:103 Penrose, Roger:100 Saussure, Ferdinand de:4 Spinoza, Baruch:34,47 Vattimo, Gianni:103 Wittgenstein, Ludwig:2,5,6,16 ___________________________________________________ Works Cited B Derrida, Jacques:Biodegradables:Seven Diary Fragments, trans. 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