Los números que dividen los espacios en la memoria y su plasticidad o su porosidad o ambas. El espacio de separación dentro de las hélices que constituyen al Nosotros unido aún después de las coordenadas. Aún después del proceso de fuga.

El Nosotros existe en el espacio dentro del texto como un ejercicio para generar un recuerdo colectivo. Algo que hable de la historia que no existe. Algo que genere una historia que no existe. Si hay un espacio para corromper los lazos que sea el espacio en el que caben las metáforas de la herencia que nos une.

El espacio en donde Cerebro controla el movimiento sobre el lenguaje.

El espacio en donde caben los cuatro cuerpos y las células en común porque es el espacio de la ficción.

El Nosotros que rige un juego lanzando un dado que no existe sobre el juego que no existe. Un juego que trata de perderse en lo inmaterial del texto como si así se pudiera olvidar lo inmaterial de los recuerdos.

Un juego del Nosotros para confirmar que Cerebro olvida en el orden reverso a lo que aprendió. Los dados y las coordenadas que marcan los lugares de una historia huérfana, circular, omnipresente incluso en el momento de las rupturas.

This is for you. This is not a test. This is not for Brain.

    1. Do you remember the coordinates?

   2. If the coefficient of relationship is a value between 0 and 1, is it also an infinite combination of numbers condemning the We to stand together as a kin?

   3. Do you remember the coordinates?

   4. If the coefficient of relationship is a number, are the coordinates a part of our history?

   5. Do you remember the coordinates?

   6. Is Brain present in a degree of consanguinity?

   7. Is there blood inside the coordinates?

A clue:

Brain is relating to the clues through language. Artificially. Building a labyrinth for you to solve.

A sound very similar to this:

Aquí es donde digo la clave, la palabra. El diagnóstico que es un misterio entre mi carne o entre Cerebro o entre el Nosotros, pero que nos une indiferente por las coordenadas y los caminos que no conocemos. Por la historia que no compartimos. Por el pasado que nos lleva de nuevo a clamarnos algo. Una pista: Familia.

Una pista: Mi cuerpo.

Una pista: La memoria.

Aquí es donde la sangre requiere un esfuerzo que confronta el paladar y repite los tres lazos que nos conforman como una plegaria ante el lector antes de deformarse en el desconocimiento o en la ajenidad:

Sangre. Cerebro. Diagnosis.

Aquí es donde el Nosotros advierte el cambio y lo que sugiere en el ritmo, en las vértebras y en el esbozo de los lazos que nos unen. Aquí es donde el Nosotros tendría que elegir un género, una línea, una definición que vendrá como una provocación o un efecto o una decisión fuera del Nosotros pero dentro del lenguaje.

Aquí es donde vuelves a arrojar el dado. La oportunidad del azar fuera del cuerpo. La oportunidad de los números y la gravedad.

Donde el lector, si hay un lector, necesita más pistas para decodificar la clave. Para decir, estas son palabras y estas son letras y esto tiene sentido a través de los ojos que juegan con el código.

Una pista: El Nosotros está hablando de la electricidad en las conexiones que lo definen. Los axones y la sinapsis como métodos de identificación o de separación y los grados entre ambas. El laberinto del cerebro como un recorrido hacia la identidad y lo que contiene.

Aquí es donde nuestras lenguas se reacomodan. Aquí es donde aprendes a pronunciar la palabra relación. La palabra lejanía. La palabra.

Aquí es donde digo que más que una pista esto es un secreto. La deconstrucción de la historia que no tiene testigos más que aquello que cabe en la genética y en los grados de separación entre un individuo y otro. O una individuo. O una madre y una hija y la hija de su hija.

1.2  Este es el espacio en el que hablamos de la electricidad.

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[Esta es una instrucción. Lo que se quiebra frente al texto y dentro del texto]

The blood inside our history and how it is divided. 

The buildings that were never finished soon become places of parasitism. The We that was never linked soon becomes a place of un-history.

When I speak of the We I speak of the secrets left within inaccessible spaces of memory. Languages like the tower of Babel in which Brain is being deconstructed. Our Brains. Our heirlooms keeping the heart beating and the blood pumping. Thicker than water. Viscous. Centrifuged.

A lighting bolt that defines our separation.

When I am the We I mean to tell you that this is an artifact to fit my own history. This is the space in which I am making my own motherland. This is the space in which I search and explore and lie. Where I create the We to say there is kinship in the things that have meaning for us. A clue: Family. A clue: The bodies of the four of us. A clue: I am telling you some history of identity and death through the inaccessible space of memory.

A clue: I am telling you a story through language but I also need your body to fulfill my means.

I am claiming to be part of something greater saying: This is the We that holds us together.

Teeth and nails and saliva to test that we belong.

This is where you stop and think about the game. About the We and its rules and how they are settled upon the screen before you.
There is no clue to fulfill this space, but a coordinate.
Another.

This is where I will disclose and ground. Retrogenesis travels backwards until the tongue is unable to even pronounce the words. Retro. Genesis. The language and what it contains and what it spills when it forgets. Retro. Genesis. Meaning Brain forgets in reverse order. Meaning, this is also soon to be forgotten. Meaning, this is also.

Let the We say Mother. Let the We say Daughter.

The We stands in front of a draught of language that will be a sole inheritance after the journeys and the traveling.

The walking of the heirlooms means also a way of survival.

The We stands in front of the coordinates making meaning out of a history of identity and death. The We repeats after the correct tones and sparks when the machine swallows us up and spits us out to see our brains and to declare that we host death flowers. That We could only ever host death flowers. That Brain holds us together, claiming us as hostages for the constant exercise of defeat.

1.2 It could be said that a body is also a conducer

V.
I want to say something about our relationships but I am tangled between the concepts that will define us in the future.  And when I say us I say the We that I have claimed and conquered before. The We defined only by sickness but also above sickness. A clue: Family. Diagnosis is still a mystery. The We in and out of Brain as it is in and out of memory as it is a cumule of blood and cells that die and resurge in an ever present circle. I want to say that I am claiming something when I claim that the We is not a master but a host. A set of species with the same DNA being passed over generation after generation to make meaning out of bones that will break because that is the one and the only thing that bones can do when left uncontrolled.

Let us say that Brain cannot know when the We is breaking.

VI.
I want to say something but something is the system and the language and the spaces in which there is no more room to create a coefficient.

I.
Let us say that Brain is the center of the language. For the language. A slip of the tongue in the form of placement and replacement or replacement.

II.
Let us say that there is no real multitude contained in this language. Or in my other language. And when I say language, I mean to say, that which the We is not sharing. That which is only visible for you.

A code before your eyes as a sequence of ones and zeroes and tones that are leaving my throat or my fingers or my nails and become a translatable code before your eyes.

This is Brain’s doing.  

III.
Let us say that when I say us I mean a We I mean an I, I mean the artificiality of language controlled and silenced and obscured by Brain. And when I say us I mean only me and the artifice of community. The artifice of a We in which I have yet to discover myself. The artifice with which I pull you away only because this was made for you.

IV.
Let us name what Brain has named before us:

A control center for plasticity.

The coefficient of relationship is sometimes used to express degrees of kinship in numeric terms in human genealogy.

When curious, Brain will propose the question of heritage and bloodlines, only to come to the question that resides somewhere deep inside itself, because Brain is that kind of parasite. When bored, Brain will wonder about the We and how it is holding it’s lineage, how it is suspended together in the space of blood or in the space of cells or in the space of bodies that are controlled by Brain and only by Brain, because Brain is that kind of narcissist.

In population genetics, the coefficient of relationship is a value between 0 and 1 that gives the probability that any two individuals share an allele at a given locus by virtue of being descended from a common ancestor. It is often denoted r.

Talk to Brain and the We will be present in the interaction.

Brain decides over the We.
Brain rules over the We.
Brain is always in need of the We.

The formula is as follows:

Brain despises the We and whatever it entails, so Brain has decided to smile and smash the meaning out of that coefficient of relationship.

Coefficient of relationship being the measure of the degree of consanguinity or biological relationships between two individuals.

Brain sits inside the We four times controlling the shapes and the manners, building the meaning out of those four spaces. Working within the biological relationships between two individuals and the links and dead ends that four of those can create. A labyrinth or that kind of mathematical relation that rules on the laws of randomness in the spaces the We inhabits. The spaces we have come to call the We. The spaces we call our bodies and the frictions and the skins and the dead cells falling off outside our everydays.

2. Diagnosis

We are what shattered language sounds like, tracing back what is held inside a map made of invisible and twisted lines: A wrist breaking. A memory. A lie. That’s how we learnt to time travel, through sound. We talk loud to forget what we have already forgotten. Retro. We talk loud to hide our sickness. Retro. Coming to it as one.
Only. Omnipresent. Ours.
We are what blood links look like.

A clue: Family.

We keep each other inside our own bodies. The close space of friction. Challenging the notions of what still nature is, still and outside of nature machinery.

We learn to harvest death flowers through magnetism.

We love only on nomadic and diasporic waves; onward, through detachment to land sometimes claimed as property, through the history of our own bones.

We are the creatures who will conquer death. Bored and tired. Like one conquers the empty space between the ears when someone pronounces a word that’s nothing more than a word.
Erratically.

This is the coordinate which will mark the finishing line:
19 33’43»N 97 14’31»W.
A clue: This is the city where one of the us was born. One of the We. That kind of memory. The beginning of what one would consider some history.
Our stories.
An upside down race, backwards, through the disconnection of the axons.

Say, an upside down history. A backwards concept. Retrogenesis enacting a race through electric currents inside the porosity of the neurons.

This is where We will figure that Brain is an erosional ground. A place of parasitism.

An entity of its own inside the body that holds it.
An entity of its own despite the body that keeps it.

Brains have been known to be cannibals.

A clue: We are the creatures whose cells swim backwards inside our flesh. Retro. As in the action that is directed backwards. Retro. As an imitation of the past.

1.1. According to the rules, this is the inaccessible space of memory.

I.
Brain will get diagnosis translated through machines that eat you up and spit you out. Machines created by Brain to see its insides. To declare, simply: demencial syndrome. Psychomotor retraction. Conductual changes. And the We will say memory or say nothing, nothing at all.

II.
Desire is only a word for Brain to rule over blood. A word repeated because the We thinks they know what truth means. The We thinks there’s love in the traces that bring us together, not knowing that our blood is only a sentence. Penance. Penalty from certain sins carved in our veins before they were threads holding us together. Rivers of anger. Currents and currency.

III.
Inside our guts we carry the history of what could have been. Fiction builds our muscles and marrow. The inaccessible beginning of what I claim as the We. That kind of perspective or sound or experience. That kind of erasure. The We are the creatures who are wild and sweet. The We, who are endless. Concave. Lost. Empty. Who have forbidden touch and closeness. Skin against skin. Teeth and tendons.

IV.
Brain is voyeuristic, writing love stories to what it can hide: glial cells and myelinated axons. Nerve cell bodies and branching dendrites. Cells coming from individuals other than it’s owner. There. Memory and Identity. There. Entertainment for Brain to laugh at the fragility of bodies, really.
There.

And the We will say memory or say nothing, nothing at all.

Meet Brain.

Brain is:

Made up of grey and white matter.
Nuclear and electric.
Needed and loud.
Dependent and organic.
Greasy and incurable.

Out of the We but inside the We; Brain, can learn and conquer. Brain is a tool kit for survival. Brain makes meaning out of physical and chemical reactions. Brain makes meaning out of movement. Brain will create sounds that then become languages the We cannot access.

Brain will say «Genesis», and Brain will mean the origin or mode of formation of something”, and the We will nod their heads. Brain will say Retro, and Brain will mean «action that is directed backward or is reciprocal» and the We will nod their heads. Brain will say Retrogenesis , and Brain will mean «brain ability that declines in reverse order to how it develops». A word that sits devouring what’s close and near. Silent and existing only in what Brain can still name. Dependent. Organic. Heavy. Incurable.

And the We will say memory or say nothing, nothing at all.

2. Diagnosis

This is for you. Take out pen and paper. Breathe. Now answer this short quiz.

1. 1. If when centrifuged, three layers are visible in blood, how many layers would be visible in the centrifuged We, if We are the creatures without limits in the flesh that claims us as family?
       
      2. How many layers inside names or hands or movements?
       
      3. How many layers inside the word Family, if We are the creatures who return to the beginning over and over to make something real out of our bodies?

      4. If to centrifuge means to use centrifugal force to separate substances or parts of substances, then what kind of substances is the We made of?

A clue: To separate the layers of the We, think of distance. Bring the coordinates. Think of bodies. Bring the coordinates. Think of memories. Bring the coordinates.

Then erase them.

5. When the coordinates are centrifuged, Where would We begin if We were to forget that?

This is where the We is given an identity to navigate this world. A system:
We are the creatures of timelines and branches that reach to hold our lineage. Our history can be traced if knowing where to look. A clue:
In blood,
inside history.

Blood is slightly more dense and approximately 3-4 times more viscous than water.

We are the creatures of warm red insides who speak in means of love when referring to what’s held inside our skin. A clue:
Inside blood,
our history.

Blood consists of cells which are suspended in liquid.

This is where We become one and three at the same time. Mothers and carnivores and pacifists awaiting in the room that stands indifferent between the final and the first day. A clue:
Inside history,
our blood.

The most common method of separating blood is to centrifuge it.

Where would We start if we were to forget that?

How could We throw the dice if we were to forget that?

This is where you start, in the space in which I will imagine the We. Playing. Throwing a dice
and going backwards because there is no other way to go when conjured to solve a riddle.

This is the coordinate which will mark the starting point:
20°39′ 58» N 103°21′ 07» W.
A clue: This is the city where one of the us died. One of the We. Family. That kind of memory.
Where you would know our secret: This is the We that is not made for collectivity.

A clue: This is the We that shares three things: Blood. Brains. Diagnosis.

This is where blood comes from.             This is where Brain comes from.
Diagnosis is still a mystery.

This is the start. This is where We. Where We repeat. Where We connect. Where We pause and see us really as what We are.

Nothing but a word.

1. The adventure of building, mapping and sequencing some
history of identity and death.

Machine
 

Abstract – Retrogenesis is a theory that suggests that the brain of a person with Alzheimer’s disease deteriorates in the reverse order that the brain developed from birth. Through this experiments on four elements creating a We, a part of the We is trying to understand how Brain works as a link and a parasite, while retrogenesis is occurring while you (a reader) approaches the page (labyrinth) and in the experiences depicted which could or could not be electrical impulses created by Brain but without any reality to sustain them, try to figure out the story.