Nothing Will Have Taken Place But The Place
...In that Empire, the Art of Cartography attained such Perfection that the map of a single Province occupied the entirety of a City, and the map of the Empire, the entirety of a Province. In time, those Unconscionable Maps no longer satisfied, and the Cartographers Guilds struck a Map of the Empire whose size was that of the Empire, and which coincided point for point with it. The following Generations, who were not so fond of the Study of Cartography as their Forebears had been, saw that that vast Map was Useless, and not without some Pitilessness was it, that they delivered it up to the Inclemencies of Sun and Winters. In the Deserts of the West, still today, there are Tattered Ruins of that Map, inhabited by Animals and Beggars; in all the Land there is no other Relic of the Disciplines of Geography.
—Suarez Miranda,Viajes de varones prudentes, Libro IV,Cap. XLV, Lerida, 1658
“Workers do not produce themselves, they produce a power independent of themselves. The success of this production, the abundance it generates, is experienced by the producers as an abundance of dispossession. As their alienated products accumulate, all time and space become foreign to them. The spectacle is the map of this new world, a map that is identical to the territory it represents. The forces that have escaped us display themselves to us in all their power.”
Debord (1) and Borges (11) both speak of a map. This map, identical to the world it represents, the Cartesian map of dispossession, is now fully realisable. Information, digitised, but held in physical space, analyses and simulates space while imposing itself onto it. Creating chasms and choking the atmosphere. Simultaneously, it enables otherwise impossible cooperation that attempts to mitigate the damage. The (w)hole constantly collapses in on itself. A constantly changing equilibrium is forever produced.
The map is a product of extimate collaboration. I serve as a node in the emergent map. And nothing will have taken place. But the fact is that the void is not empty (as the western colonial apparatus asserts). It is crammed full. This continuous knot, of space that is bodies and bodies that are space, demands empathy, and its demands are inexhaustible.
All response is mundane and convoluted, ready to be drawn in and mapped out.