The noise is the thing. Bring it. Between message, channel and target, the noise is the thing. It perturbs, disturbs and makes three out of 2, 4 out of three.
I’m reading Serres’s The Parasite and in that elusive third meaning of the term in French, ‘static’ or ‘interference’, is sedimented something so remarkable, so magical, as if it were a kind of alchemy in the word that would conjure up the precious meaning of a meaning in its absence: for there must be in any system something other than order. something other than the unite that we so crave. It’s almost (but not quite) as if this yearning, for Serres, were a kind of craven yearning for an object that might speak, might give itself up to us in its entirety.
In the system of objects that attends this yearning, noise is the enemy, the beast.
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