Heretical Works
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CYCLONOPEDIA complicity with anonymous materials Anomaly An anomaly deviates from a norm, is difficult to recognize or classify. Anomaly is a series which publishes heterodox, eccentric and heretical works. Mashing fact with fiction, poetry with philosophy, fish with fowl, Anomaly is a laboratory of unprecedented writings. a re.press series CYCLONOPEDIA complicity with anonymous materials Reza Negarestani incognitum hactenus by Kristen Alvanson re.press Melbourne 2008 re.press PO Box 75 Seddon, non Melbourne. Australia www.rc-prtitorg C re.press and Kcia Negarestani100 K 'Ihe moral rights of the author have been asserted Database nght re.press (maker) Inrsl published xo©8 Ail nghts reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or trans mitted in any form or by any means electronic nr mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage retrieval system without permission of re.press anJ the author, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Pnquires concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent u> repress at the above addrviv British Library Cota loguing-in-Publi cation Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British I jhrary Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the library of Congress National Library of Australia CaUloguing-in-Publication Data Negarestani, Rcza. Cyclonopedia: complicity with anonymous materials / R«r*a Negarestani 9780980M4008 (pbk.) Series: Anomaly A823.4 This book is produced .sustainably using plantation timber, and printed in the destination market on demand reducing wastage and exceiw transport. Printed similuneousty in Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States. This manuscript might never have seen the light of day were it not for the tireless efforts of Robin Mackay in reading and editing it. incognitum hactenus Kristen Atvanson Turkish Airlines Flight 002 Sunday, July 24. 2005 Drank 2 glasses of Sauvignon Blanc at JFK airport bar Take a steeping pill on plane. Think I took a painkiller earlier in the day and a couple Advils Plane delayed on runway. In and out of consciousness - waiting, waiting, sleeping. Wake up, we are in flight ... think still ascending as the plane is slanted upwards. Not feeling well, sick; get up quickly to go to bathroom ... must get to the bathroom ... I feel faint, suddenly thinking that I may never wake up. Next thing I remember is I am on the floor and the passengers in the seats above me are peering down. I tell them I fainted and they all make a buzzing noise that sounds like ‘yeast*. Flight attendant is in front of me and is saying something. I can't hear as the floor is vibrating hard below me. I know I should get up. She reaches down to me and I pull myself up. Everyone is looking at me. I'm too out of it to be embarrassed, in the bathroom, I don't want to come out because they will all be looking at me. Sitting on the dosed seat of the toilet and doubled over, closing my eyes and it's all red. Flashes of red blood sparking with those amoeba-kidney-shaped images I get when my eyes are shut, only not blue or yellow-gold but red. I feel like i'm going to faint again. I'm going to throw up. Time passes. Blackouts of me. Seeing everything red orange. Close my eyes and red feeling of my na ked body laying in globs of blood, coagulated and overripe blood. I open the door and the flight attendant is waiting for me. She hands me the burgundy sunglasses which must have fallen off my head when I fell. She escorts me back to my seat in the center of the middle section. Beginning to watch a movie on my laptop: Trouble Every Day reminds me of one of Frank Zappa’s songs. Thinking the movie will end soon, makes my libido ferment but I am not comfortable.. Monday, July 25. 2005 Traveling to Istanbul to meet a guy who goes by the Serpent-like initial11.' which is unpronounceable in English. Planned to meet I at the airport ... Arrive at airport an hour or so late; off the plane and carrying my heavy bag, switch hands back and forth to distribute the weight on my body. So far down the long corridor, walking briskly, eyeing everywhere, looking for 2.. On the moving walkway walking faster and down the corridor, my palms are sweating. Down to the visa area to buy the visa for $20 easily and quickly move into the customs line. I pass through customs and then walk forward to collect my luggage, walk down one long line of carousels ... it doesn't seem right, so I ask a couple of workers where 002 from NYC is and they direct me to 7 at the other end. Check my Blackberry while waiting for my luggage to come out Email from AG saying he has been to Istanbul, 2. not to be found in the crowd; not that I know what he looks like as he said he doesn't take photos, but will be in a dark brown shirt and wilt recognize me. I make myself stand out. wearing what I am suppose to wear and pacing the arrival area so he can find me. While I am waiting, I am thinking about what the implications of %. not meeting me are. He doesn't show after a few hours so I proceed to my hotel in Sultanahmet area called Nena Hotel which X suggested. In the van the hotel has provided on the way to the hotel, I take in all the buildings and the vegetation, as I always do, and try to figure out what the terrain looks most like. For a brief moment. I think it looks like Belize, oddly enough I take the flowers in the center of the roadway for Nerium Oleander and get excited. Buildings look prefabricated, with a squarish configuration. Streaming past lots of things, the sea to my right with many ships in it. Land to the left. The driver turns left and the van heads up a narrow cobblestone road with an incline and filled with buildings full of character. The vibes of Turkey are distinct from anything else I have felt. I turn on my iPod and switch to the file with the pronunciation of his name he has sent me. It shows as the most played song. It is one of the things that the Germans call ‘unaussprechbar* Check in Room 302. Attempt to call 1-on the number he gave ... no answer. 2. was going to show me Istanbul as we have been in contact for a number of months since he emailed me though my Suicide Girls profile. He said he contacted me because I had listed a Warwick professor as a favorite writer and he knew him, was his friend. To make contact on SG you have to be a member and his profile was admittedly one of the strangest I had seen ... listing his location as Takla Makan, his favorite book as Eden Eden Eden, and not much else. Like the solid black image he had put tor his profile picture, 2. was evasive and rather shady ... the kind of elus»veness that turns me on. Istanbul was to be an adventure fun fun. Try to email him through his SG profile, but it is now inactive. Realization that 2. is not going to show and I have no one in Turkey and a non-refundable / exchangeable ticket, with 7 days or so to kill. So decide to make the best of the situation - sightsee and get into some trouble, forget about work. I remember I had the black book with the gray and black back cover in my hand while I was waiting for my flight to board; was starting to read my book, the cover picture showing a body streched out into black ness. 1:36pm. Contact2.via his chemncal_pink email again ... admittedly, mes* sages get pathetically desperate. No response I remember one of the rea sons I answered his initial email was because it had pink in it (almost as if he had created that email address just to provoke me). Go out and wander around, find myself in the Blue Mosque ... legs cov ered with a green chador Beautiful, gardens surrounding pretty, hydrangeas blooming like at home in New York. Too hot to be outside... back to the small room, on the way back, buy a bottle of Chardonnay and some takeout Turkish kebab I finally feel like I am going to wake up. Not quite sleepwalking, but confused about what time it is and where I am, I flick the still-full glass of wine over by accident and the wine hits the floor between the twin beds. Automatically react and stumble to the bathroom for a towel. Begin dabbing up the wine . amazingly the glass has not shattered. Liquid running seeping under the bed, manage to turn the light on and look under the lifted bedspread. Half asleep half awake I see something under the bed. Wine's not going to get to it and I am done cleaning. It is filthy, and I think: go back to bed. XI Tuesday. July 26, 2005 in the morning, sun shining through the orange tapestry curtains. I am dis placed. I think it is jetlag. Look over on the other bed and see the dust* covered box and vaguely remember it was exhumed in the night from under my bed.