Jaguar of numbers

the entities we perceive as parts of the hyperobject we call nature - rocks, trees, rivers, insects - are, for a computer, mere masses of points without entity: without object or subject. these points congregate and disperse freely in its vision: the algorithm knows nothing about the transcendences that engender being. thus, the perspective of the digital animal is granular, multiple and recombinant: an artificial perspectivism where every object is all objects: grains of dust that change color, fluttering in a plane of light. each grain potentially holds multiple natures, as many as the algorithm wants. to perceive nature as the digital animal does is to break with the notions of entity, being, body, space, flux. break the world. everything crumbles.

pay attention, must pay attention. there are lines of flight, there are other colors, other glances that do not color the spots where they lay down to rest. they place there something other, something that is not commensurable with the idea of color. they pay attention with a colored misunderstanding: they make a different mistake.

life is the fury of the real: it is the coming and going of color as the electrical flow runs in spasms. life is not made of color: not the colors of science or art. there are, then, other colors that occur among the snakes, beneath the cracking heat, under the dry thunder: static.

there is a flow that exits a head cracked against the pavement. it is a red, but it's not the red. it is not color but vibration, and it has nothing to do with optics or emotions. flows, empties.

red is cassava beer, it is tightly kneaded corn dough. another color is the tongue we cannot inhabit: there are other colors behind closed doors. the doors open and close, interruptions in the flux, dark and shine.

pay attention so that it won't bleed, at least not too much. eyes burn as they glimpse that other color, that is neither red nor black nor color-light. to glimpse is not to enter, it is not to see. not same.