[Redacted] was once asked whether history – or, they were quick to redress, the historical record – hadn’t the form of a lemniscate. Whence he asked us to please imagine a screen upon which one discrete point of a three dimensional lemniscate touched, rendering upon the screen a single point, which could be said to possess the lemniscate as its implicate. And now further imagine the point itself being but one in a string of points which in their coherence themselves yet described a lemniscate. And now he asked us, with the gift of hindsight, what was true – the point, or the implication upon which that point hangs? And of that implicate order, does it then hang upon an amalgamation of points, or a further set of implicates? Can we “know”?

In interpreting these obscure meanderings of [redacted] I have often considered the language of Baylee Brits, who, in a context however alien to our purpose, described the lemniscate as a mute allegory, a kind of semiotic test dummy standing in for a revelation but bearing no revelatory significance. And I am always reminded in more ways than one of the character of the alters, who are in fact according to observation mute, but whose appearance in the record as well signals a sort of anti-revelation. For, regarding [redacted]’s screen, does not the point betray the lemniscate? Is “it” not a lie?

And then should we, like the alters in their crafts, stay mute? Is the voice of history, forgive me, but a deuteronomy? Is there in that voice a redundancy, a fault? And is the fault – if the above term itself is at last a latinate misnomer – is the fault bland copy, or a novelty instead?

By god is the lemniscate second to none?


1273 B.C.

Coppe’s return . . . . . . . pseudo-Frederick . . . . . . . second law . . . . . . . guide to roping

at Mainz . . . . . . . horizons . . . . . . . at Banbury . . . . . . . Rabelais his mark . . . . . . . twice divested