I can be as nice a little girl as you want.
Sondheim - Jennifer (for Alan, Nikuko, Julu)

It's that the case can be made of absolute powerlessness, harboring ourselves within the constitution of entities.
Here, you and I are constituted; I can be as nice a little girl as you want. Nonetheless, absolutism reigns with the period and numeric alpha-beta-gamma ver- sions, net.exhaustion 3.0 for example after the first and second, be- fore the fourth and fifth.

Nothing occurs in these regards but self-immolation.
Look towards the other of socio-economic development for change, with or without terror or revolution or Netscape/MSE-cool, although these are used as if we are at the barricades; we're not

If anything, self-immolation, we're at the barricades of our own making - seeing dispersion from the interior, not recognizing we're flaying our own skins in the process, and the process of seeing itself is a version of flaying our own skins.

Be assured of this: language is always already looser, whatever the pro- tocols or manifestos. In public I'm weak, almost febrile; I can't speak well, tend to become too nervous, self-critical, agreeing with the enemy. I do have my dreams, and all of this, these languagings of art and the social, are dreamings-at-a-loss, dreamings of the young girl in her nice frock for example, holding the world at bay.

Net arts and criticisms have been around forever; they're integrated. But our use of language separates us, not from any vantage point. And I know I have bad theory, pounding at the doors. But look at emacs' doctor program and its Eliza roots, perhaps the accounting of Freudian Dora, and today, by whom and for whom?

Who speaks for the analyst, the analysand?
Who speaks for the articula- tion of the conscious or unconscious? What are the demographics of this or that festival, this or that _other_ festival, every festival a fes- tival of the same in a very critical sense, and every festival one of the other, in another very critical sense. Always the incorporation of capital. Always the presence of truth.

Frankly, I've been shot down for the truth, which I am never part of. I do not recognize it when it's in front of me; in fact, I'll continue stubbornly to hold on to backwards opinions, as if I were afraid of ad- mitting defeat. It's a personal loss I feel, a weakening of my body (and I can't piss in front of another male for that matter) that replays over and over again as I try to sleep (and I have had severe insomnia almost all of my life).

The truth is somewhere else, and I have felt if I could grasp that little dot, say in net.truth, net.advocacy, net.desire, net.Jennifer, net.Julu, net.Nikuko, net.Alan, I'd be halfway there - as it is, I'm not sure where there is, what is the goal, who are the enemy (although I'd recognize a rifle pointed in my direction just as much as the next guy (over)).

All I have to over is imprecisely this confusion...