Motto: "Panta rhei", book attributed to
The writing should be reinvented. The stylus, the
chisel, the quill, the nib, the art of printing are tools of trails culture, more or
less profound inlaying works that pretend to mould the language. A first step should be to
reconsider the tools and, apparently, the computer might represent the solution. It might,
if it would be itself something else. However, the problem is not the reduction to tools,
to a merely physical support, but the discovery of where and how a notion is mistaken for
its material representation, which is not even an universal one.
Personally, I think that we should start by redefining
the concept of "book" .The gutenbergian apprehension of reconsidering the book
outside a petrified statute may be the tiredness of going further, but it becomes a
serious matter when authoritarian voices start to declare serenely, from improvised
chairs, in more or less weekly columns, the indisputable supremacy of the perishing
support. "I write, however, with the ball-pen and not on the computer",
"Nothing can match the pleasure of holding a book", or "Reading a magazine
on the Internet is not the same thing with having it in your hand" is, somehow,
similar to a Braille for those who can see. "I touch, therefore I exist" would
be the reduction of a vast Cartesian library to the epidermis.
Somebody informed me about MITs researches on
inventing a computer with leaves. Practically, this is again a reduction to something that
is not does not request us a possible adaptation. It is fairly inconvenient to
there is nothing inconvenient and, while giving it a second thought, we may realize that
reading in bed is a relatively recent step forward; anyhow, the book with leafs - light
that may be held in only one hand, is far from the core of our topic.
Nobody specifies what the quintessence of the book is,
let apart the physics of a certain easiness. In my opinion, the substance of the book is
the stony word lacking the possibility of a gracious retreat. In this case, we may debate
on whether the book is rendering a cut off in time which is what I believe - or a
becoming, an effort of chiseling that reaches an unsurmountable peak. I am positive - at
least as far as my writings are concerned - that, as the time goes by, there is a
different point of view and thereby a new approach of the word at a given moment. The man
is a continuous becoming, a flow - should we accept that a continuous metamorphosis may be
a heraclitian metaphor. But all I think is that the author is giving up his own redefining
only when tiredness, as a premature form of death, is enthroned and is stiffing.
The book on the Internet could be an eternal return, or
a sum of cuts, a series that is finite for the individual, but a series of such cuts
whereby the infinite indexing is attributed to the mankind. I cannot tell if "finis
coronat opus" truly represents a synthetic warning to the readers of finite books,
but within the Net, whereby a creation may change its attitude towards its readers, the
word "finis" includes a sinister meaning, like a sort of preparation for an
apocalypse after which not even the word, which was floating above the waters, remains.
In the beginning there was the word. But what is the
word here, on the Internet? Maybe next time, if we shall still be flowing.