The Bottleneck Adventures:

by
Bobby J. George*

"The shame of being a man-is there any better reason to write?"
-Gilles Deleuze, Literature and Life, page. 1.

"Children go fast because they know how to glide in-between."
-Gilles Deleuze, Dialogues, page. 32.

"To render imperceptible, not ourselves, but what makes us act, feel, and think…to reach, not the point where one no longer says I, but the point where it is no longer of any importance whether one says I. We are no longer ourselves…."
-Deleuze and Guatarri, A Thousand Plateaus, page. 3.

"All children, except one, grow up."
-J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan, page. 1.

Peter Pan has a glorious body, that of a little boys. Though fragile and fragmented, dissociated and gay, he skirts the surface with mobile ease. He is the wandering, indiscernible, styrofoam child, a self-perpetuated orphan, at once both innocent and heartless, he says hello and good-bye1, in the same sentence. As the translator of the real and the imaginary, he is the operator of flight. He mediates the between and the among while inaugurating the other, the third, the dissolved self. "It was a sanguinary affair and especially interesting to show one of Peter's peculiarities, which was that in the middle of a fight he would suddenly change sides."2 His arbitrariness serves as an indeterminate valve that fluctuates and communicates, provokes, seduces and displaces. Persistently seeking the adventure of the moment his ecstasies are sporadic, incorporeal and fleeting but also languid, extended and intense. To enter into the existing waves of his movement we must interrupt his jerky acrobatics and weave them into the fluidity of pure variation, as if we were "setting out to catch things where they were at work, in the middle, breaking things open…"3 for it is precisely when organization occurs, that the inexpressible breaks free. And so was the case of Wendy, John and Michael, whose mother initialized their departure by tidying up their minds. In order4 to clean out, straighten up and rummage through, Mrs. Darling repacked and replaced the miscellaneous, mischievous and meandering thoughts. Out of habit, she properly stowed, classified and categorized them into drawers; the lighter, prettier on top, the heavier, naughtier on the bottom.5 In an interlude, J.M. Barrie continues,

"I don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going…there are zigzag lines…and these are probably roads in the island: for the Neverland is always more or less an island…where verbs take the dative and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing with stand still…of all the delectable islands Neverland is the snuggest and most compact…nicely crammed."6

It is Peter, the strange little boy who has broken through7 to become the foreign cartographer of the unknown land. His technique is that of the caress. He consoles, he arouses, he sends out joyful, playful, energetic reverberations that glide along the night, sprinkling, drawing and thwarting his luring demeanor. He places his trace on the map, it is a "a map that must be produced, constructed, a map that is always detachable, connectable, reversible, modifiable, and has multiple entryways and exits and its own lines".8

Maintaining his position in the interval of the ubiquitous he remains present to the constraints of the preliminary draft, interactive and conducting, but reserved and affectionate. He twists in a whirlwind of spirals, bending the malleable contours of the place. "Following his own line, a line of active flight, a constantly shifting line zigzagging beneath the surface"9, he fabricates the pleats of the imagination, molding them, folding them, shaping them into an elaborate underground labyrinth. It is but the thread that glimmers on the surface. Only the baffled palpitations of the palimpsest linger. The map is never finished, but "in this unruly geography, there is always time: time to take a detour and to leave the short-cut behind."10 [For it is in this sense that time doesn't matter.] Situating the frontier from within, from the side, on the edges, sideways, gathering the undifferentiated and thinning out the place, preparing for the unexpected, the difference that inhabits repetition.11 In this contraction of an instant Peter Pan appears, entering between the tender burst of perplexity and complexity, "in the two minutes before you go to sleep when it becomes real", where the blindness of the flash cuts an opening, a fissure in which he emerges, "that is why there are night-lights. "12 The force of the aleatory point leaves him staggering, bewildered, he falls to the floor. In the commotion of the event, the cursory breathe of the smallest of stars had opened the window to secure his arrival. Through that single flicker, that peppering ray of light, his passage swelled, then condensed. He became the molecular-revolving dancer. "Though the older stars had become glassy-eyed and seldom speak, the little ones still wonder."13 Being the cocky, anorexic, superficial little boy that he is, Peter understood their language, that of the wink. He carried it with him on his frail shoulders and in his shallow pockets. Disheveled, he shuttered beneath his weeping eyes. Lying bare on the nursery floor, he gazed up to peer into the inquisitive question from Wendy. "Boy," addressing the unfamiliar as if to renounce his femininity and procure his feelings, " why are you crying?" Peter answers with indifference, dispelling his awkward stance, he reverts to routine and replies, "What is your name?"14 Their conversation ensues, soon they start to bicker and contort, all curt and polite, probing and implying-that of the trivial and that of the profound-they play the game of little boys and little girls. She extracts his address, "Second to the right and then straight on til morning." He carouses her empathy and seduces her desire, "Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys." She brings him a float and he sends her delving asunder. Their mingling meets in the middle, between his brutal frankness and her curious radiance, it is there that they create their own language, that of the kiss.15 He lures her to Neverland with the promise of the mermaid, to swim, to roam about the gently sea, in the coves of the foam and in the cusps of the currents. His cunning is swift and inclusive, mesmerizing and buoyant. But first, he must teach them to fly. "You just think lovely wonderful thoughts," Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air." With a dash of fairy dust and a ginger, nippy spark, they 'let go'. But it was Wendy who had reservations. "Mermaids" said Peter again and off they flew.16

"With the new means of transportation and transmission, the new virtual tools, it is man who gives himself wildly extravagant dimensions and the earth that reveals its limits."17 Friskily frolicking in the soft, absorbent, pure white clouds, the silly address on the plane, flat mad map, awaited, it beckoned, it stammered. Sashaying through the formless sky, Peter darted about, smoothing out the points and reassuring space.18 His flesh hovered over the transcendental realm19. The conspicuous boy gurgled with laughter, his virginal mirth, nonetheless. For their directionless flight escorted the singular, the multiple, the pre-individual and the event.

"They had been flying apart, but they huddled close to Peter now. His careless manner had gone at last, his eyes were sparkling, and a tingle went through them every time they touched his body. They were now over the island, flying so low that sometimes a tree grazed their feet. Nothing horrid was visible in the air, yet their progress had become slow and labored, exactly as if they were pushing their way though hostile forces. Sometimes they hung in the air until Peter had beaten on it with his fists."20

Jumbled, muddled and incomplete, John, Michael and Wendy assembled in the dislocation of the border. Dislocate is from the Latin, dislocare which means to move about or displace. So it is no wonder that the apparent re-localization accelerated their imagination and intensified their awareness. The approach into Neverland was turbulent. Swirling in a dismembered frenzy the Darling children clung to Peter for his centrifugal aptitude. They could feel the rhythm of his folly in their fingers. Filtered and replete by the pressure of the present, the dark, disquieting barrier neared. The boys prepared their stubborn little heads while Wendy remained poised and perverse. There are two ways to permeate the striation. The first: it is "by banging your head on the wall that you will find a way through. You have to work on the wall, because without a set of impossibilities, you wont have the line of flight, the exit that is creation, the power of falsity that is truth."21 Incessantly battering their thick fists, John, Michael and Peter exert the deliberate thrusts with an excessive force. Not to merely touch the exterior, but to send subterranean ripples, undulating beneath, networking throughout- shattering the interior to provide solicitous caesuras, abrupt, odd, penetrable openings in which the boys can explode, through, to, with. The second: "a sliding is produced, and even a creative, central collapse, causing us to be in another world and in an entirely different language."22 Stammering, stuttering and sidestepping, this is the movement of the author and the method of Wendy. It is the splendor of renewal, rethinking and re-territorialization: the refrain. To break it arbitrarily is to implode, to become increasingly interactive in the dispersion of the uncertain. J.M Barrie was ambidextrous. He curved the rigidity of his mind by switching hands. The result was pure suppleness.23 Neverland awoke when Peter arrived. It stirred beneath his amiable flight-he continually activated the lethargic place. "If you put your ear to the ground now, you would hear the whole island seething with life."24 It is a place of descriptions and delights, where adjectives chase down the fleeting glance. Every adventure is the first adventure, every experience, intense, nervous and sensitive. It is as though the entire world pressed back against his single, gentle embrace. "It is not on any map, true places never are."25 But it is in the descriptions, in the prurient youth of the innocent child. Descriptions explain themselves whereas explanations need descriptions. 26 "Children never stop talking about what they are doing or trying to do: exploring milieus, by means of dynamic trajectories, and drawing up maps of them."27 Leaving the charette behind, the map tucked neatly away, the children embarked upon the fabrication of the spontaneous: the internal creation of pointless travel. Scouring the measureless landmass, wandering aimlessly around, through the woods, to the dock, past the tribe, to the pirates, combing the static surface, they provoked the 'prehensive' field. "All were keeping a sharp look-out in front, but non suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind. This shows how the island really was."28 Distorted, disjointed, disheveled. It is the genuine instance when the transcendental landscape comes to life, the landscape of events.29 Here, the paradoxical arrogance of flight manifests itself in speed. If it is true that 'speed creates true objects', then it is Wendy, John, Michael and even Peter, who have overcome duration by the loss of the self. Harnessed by the slowness of tranquility, the thick, viscous, gooey constraints of the temporal they have become slender, transparent, and ethereal, slipping along the spirals of time. Scurrying everywhere at once, the 'sideration' of the moment happens, in an instant, the collapse of a flash. As a result, possibilities titillate, reception intensifies and actuality is produced.30 Expression un-wrinkles itself in the faces of little girls and certain, peculiar little boys. Shocked and in a constant, perpetual state of amnesia, the children enter into a 'virtual conjunction'. The interaction of the other develops and makes itself in the negotiation of the same. Though the affectionate hides in the displacement of difference, the conversation, flat footed and sincere, extracts the discrepancy. The cruelty of time had not yet invaginated their faces and covered their lies.31

"Of course when you have mastered an action you are able to do things without thinking of them, and then nothing can be more graceful…The difference between Peter and the other boys at such a time was that they knew it was make-believe, while to him make-believe and true were exactly the same thing. This sometimes troubled them, as when they had to make-believe that they had had their dinners."32

'To be' stops becoming unless you overcome the irreversibility of time-through repetition. The brilliance of Peter was his movement; he was always 'leaping in place'. "He had no sense of time, and was so full of adventures."33 He had become-becoming. His motions distorted the center, producing extravagant pluralities and discrete multiplicities-he forces us, to 'create movement. That is, to combine a superficial and a penetrating view, or to ascend and descend within the space as we move through it."34 Breaking the plane of representation with the experience of repetition and difference, Peter implicates chaos beyond chance. Adding something here, something else there, always something more- piling everything on. Objects that didn't fit, subjects that refused to fit, he found a place for them, amongst the rest, a midst the others. Nothing was out of place. "I don't know how there was room for them, but you can squeeze very tight in the Neverland."35 The elasticity of sensations, the rhapsody of their capricious behavior, even they clamored in the affirmation of the cavernous. Peter became other to become becoming, sliding at that point of turning, the point of inflection. He fluctuates between the surface and its depths, where not only distinctions blur but reality itself. His eating disorder [anorexia] bares testament for his presence is a time without thickness, with lightness and with servitude. He is an inventor, his "imagination moves by angles",36 apparent and obvious but never complex and buried. Remember, children's books are meant to be read aloud, or out loud, on the out-skirts, near the outer edge, towards the exterior, disengaged from the dark abysmal basement of the profound. There is a fantastic sense, perhaps the sense of fantasy, in which the books must be read again and again, over and over, as if the entire story were merely in the details, in that single, fading voice and in the frivolity of the failing day, when the night-light shines to escort in, Peter Pan. The merriment of Peter produces phantasms, orgiastic encounters of the pre-individual that are projected outwards. Forever in a fight, always in an adventure, he is constantly in discordance with the game. His heartless nonchalance and his complete indifference are bewildering, almost enchanting. We enter the battle on a hot summer day, in the lagoon. The tide is about to come in. Peter is standing atop Marooner's rock; having struggled for air he meets Captain Hook:

"Peter had no sinking, he had one feeling only, gladness; and he gnashed his pretty teeth with joy. Quick as thought he snatched a knife from Hook's belt and was about to drive it home, when he saw that he was higher up the rock than his foe. It would not have been fighting fair. He gave the pirate a hand to help him up. It was then that Hook bit him. Not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed Peter. It made him quite helpless. He could only stare, horrified. Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly. All he thinks he has a right to when he comes to you to be yours is fairness. After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same little boy. No one ever gets over the first unfairness; no one except Peter. He often met it, but he always forgot it. I suppose that was the real difference between him and all the rest."37

The promise of the swim cannot be forgotten. And we are already ahead of the moment, so let us return, or rather, retreat to the shores where the children are at play. It is another long scorching, sweltering afternoon. It has just rained and the mermaids have risen to flutter about the bubbles. The monotonous showers, with their intermittent drops, mutated the surface and sent salty, penetrating pellets into the pool. The precursor to the event and the signal to the sublime, the sirens of the sea arose in extraordinary numbers. Their amusement was to be found in the bubbles, "trying to keep them in the rainbow till they burst."38 The elation of the affair sparkled with the intensity of amplification-postponement and prolongation. Mermaids are neither one thing nor another, they are always in-between, between two things - it is the borderline of the superficial and the profound; the games of little boys and little girls- floating on and submersing beneath. Though imperceptible their flow is that of the mediated, that of the middle. Forming at the edges, or should we say, foaming at the border, the mermaids mark a new threshold, a new direction, the line of the zigzag, 'carrying both forward in their disparate development.'39 Their relations are simultaneous and simple, connecting and rhythmic. As interlopers, intercedents and interchangers, they are metamorphic. "They treated all of the boys in the same way, except of course Peter, who chatted with them and sat on their tails when they got cheeky."40 But it was Wendy whom they disdained, constantly splashing her, as if by accident. "How are we to stay at the surface without staying on shore?"41 By becoming-mermaid and following their diagonal line of flight. It is Peter who transcends the real and the imaginary with his meandering movements but it is the sea faring ladies who remedy the topical and the treacherous. There intersection is interesting. It is at once a transmutation and an alteration. (also a procreation) Frozen at the point of contact, the contact point, the humiliation of solitude and distension culminate and conjoin. Similar to the uncomfortable-ness of the juncture when one becomes stuck or jammed, the feeling of death approaches, faster and faster. Right before the broken moment of sleep, when, stumbling through the darkness the night-light shimmers forth, reassuring, reassessing, Peter and the mermaids created the chaotic element and formed a new line of flight.

"Peter was not quite like other boys; but he was afraid at last. A tremor ran through him, like a shudder passing over the sea; but on the sea one shudder follows another till there are hundreds of them, and Peter felt just the one. Next moment he was standing erect on the rock again, with that smile on his face and a drum beating within. It was saying. 'To die will be an awfully big adventure.'"42

The loss of self was intense indeed. He shed yet another layer and lost his weight in golden splotches, splashes, flashes that escaped time, unrestrained by the horizons of space, and the vertiginous murmurs from below. He pulsated but "novelty was beckoning to him as usual. Children are always ready when novelty knocks to desert their dearest ones."43 And so Peter proved to be the perfect little boy.

"Odd things happen to all of us on our way through life without our noticing for a time that they have happened."44 But it was different in Neverland. The event was never enough; it was the conspicuous, the catastrophic, the nameless and the limbless [Hook] that formed their schizophrenic experiences. It was the odd, the disjointed and the out of place that they sought to build upon.

The amplification of the miniature sent the questions when, where and why into a state of corporeal paralysis. "Even in a physical sense we are moving across outer material pleats to inner animated, spontaneous folds."45 The mark of the question ? is reversed. From the point to the curve the children are sped along the virtual line, eradicating explanation, going instead, in search of desire, the description. Is it not the grown ups whom stamp the dots and place the periods? Even their questions come to a point. They leave no room for creation.46

Peter, Wendy, John and Michael had overthrown authority. By revolting against the structures of power; discourse, habit and method, they had broken through the plane of representation to where 'power produces: where it produces reality."47 Free floating and engaged they were at once participating in the disarray of flight. After all, Neverland, the place that is not on any map but is continually reconstructed and recreated, is also the time that never lands. It is not that there is no place to land, just that there are so many more places to fly to and from and between.

"I am youth, I am joy," Peter exclaimed. "I'm a little bird that has broken out of the egg."48 From one moment to the next their adventures invigorate and rejuvenate but it is also in the moment and outside the moment. Stimulating and energizing with enthusiasm and disregard their attention to detail is specific and intense. Encapsulating and escaping, their pleasures are quickly forgotten. Engulfed within duration, within space, they coexist multifariously. Dimensions disappear; memory disappears; only the passionate concentration of desire subsists. Lurking in the shallow depths where the mermaids sing, " a single voice raises the clamor of being."49

Savagely torn, the rapture or the rupture of this split into time has congealed into a tangential depository without a container. It is precisely in the bottleneck of affection that the interstitial sway of Peter resides. Teetering on the edge, folded into the middle and the outskirts, he emits the rhythms of creative existence. His memory is short. He has short-term memory. Or perhaps it has been short circuited, seized and fissured by an excess of guerilla battles. Nevertheless, his memory remains in the adventures, caught in the carnal touch of his promiscuous fingers.

The other children, their memories are still in tact, just momentarily displaced. "One must disparate a space or blow it apart to find the complexity of which it is capable."50 The explosion induced their amnesia. Left, mesmerized and disoriented they have the capability to engage and partake in the act of war, but they can never become the war-machine. Soon, their long-term memory reorganizes and attempts to categorize their minds. Such a remembrance recounts Mrs. Darling, tidying up. The instance of departure is also the instance of arrival.

Caught in the flux, still in the perplications of crisis, Wendy begins to reminisce. Joggling loose her brothers past she evokes the liberation of the untimely and the reassurance of the event. She redistributes the receptive through the reflective. Let us enter her cathartic, midstream,

"'her name was Mrs. Darling.' 'I knew her,' John said. 'I think I knew her,' said Michael rather doubtfully… 'If you knew how great a mothers love is you would have no fear… 'You see,' Wendy said complacently, 'our heroine knew that the mother would always leave the window open for her children to fly back by…so off we skip like the most heartless things in the world, which is what children are, but so attractive; and we have an entirely selfish time…"51

Coaxed from the imaginary, Wendy becomes translator. Switching, or deviously exchanging roles with Peter, she cajoles her brothers into leaving the sensory. The end of the timeless and the return of the chronological commences when the flight of the body or the world becomes eternal: this is the climactic.

Persuaded to transcend towards the real once more, the children took off. Using their emotions as propellers, they vented their gratitude as they soared with gladness. The desolate home and its three empty beds beckoned. The window was open and the children neatly tucked themselves into bed. To Mr. and Mrs. Darling's delight the house was restored.

Time passed, as it always does. The boys, John and Michael had grown up. They found jobs and wives and had families of their own. Wendy too, had grown up. She had a daughter. Her name was Jane. Peter had always promised that he would be back to take them to Neverland and he instructed them to leave their windows ajar.

One night, while sitting on the nursery floor, next to the fire, the window blew open and in flew Peter. It was another crash landing. "He did not exactly come to the window, but he brushed against it in passing, so that she could open it if she liked and call to him."52 She must have glimpsed him while tending to the logs.

Wendy spoke after their initial greetings. Bickering back and forth she blurted out, "I can't come, I have forgotten how to fly.' Dismayed, Peter quickly proclaimed, 'I'll soon teach you again.' He didn't understand. Though sheltered in the shadows of the room, Wendy was now an adult. She had long ago lost her baby teeth and with those, her baby laughs.

Old age brings many things but it blurs even more. She could no longer see the way she once had. Her vision had slowly decayed, what was once defined, was now, merely an outline. Down trodden and hurt, caught slightly off guard, Wendy met the inquisitive, pleading look from Jane. "The way I flew! Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did fly?' 'Yes, you did mother, you flew when you were a little-girl.' Restoring her sense of youth once more, Wendy exclaimed, "The dear old days when I could fly!"

'Why can't you fly now mother?' Excepting her position without remorse or regret, 'because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.' Still pondering, "Why do they forget the way?' 'Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and the heartless who can fly.'53

Peter had no sense of time, he never had. It was Jane who was now dancing on the sill, handing out kisses and receiving them too. Soon, Peter taught her to fly, and this fact "that has come from the hand, (flight) is the formation of a third eye, a haptic eye, a haptic vision of the eye, this new clarity. It is as if the duality of the tactile and the optical were surpassed visually in this haptic function," this flight to Neverland.54

"All children, except one, grow up."55 What a glorious little-boy…

NOTES: RAMBLINGS: AND OTHER: THINKING ON PETER

Peter Pan History:

-This classic was written from the stories he told to the five children of Sylvia Llewelwyn Davies.

-Peter Pan was produced for the stage in 1904. The book of 1911 was entitled Peter and Wendy. The 1911 version became the new format for the play in 1928. A girl always plays Peter Pan.

-Wendy Darling was named in honor of a young friend of James's, a girl named Margaret Henley who died at the age of six. Her nickname for James was "my Friendy," but because she had trouble pronouncing the sound "fr", it sounded like "my Fwendy". This became the name "Wendy" in the story of Peter Pan.

-Further reference: http://www.duende.demon.co.uk/barrie.html. Compares the odd interest of Lewis Carroll with those of J.M.Barrie.

Quotes:

"I was trying to discover in, so to speak, a rough and immediate way a kind of evidence of things, but not of things represented: of objects with no comment or analysis." Thinking Art 57

"Beginning maintains presuppositions" Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, First sentence of Chapter 3, The Image of Thought, page 129.

Ramblings:

-Collages are usually collections of the past…lets make them compilations of the future…the in the presence…

-She plays the fortune teller and he acts out the mime. {It is humor laced with the weight of iron(y).}

-Picturing Neverland to be the 'unframed space' that Lee Krasner notes on Pollock.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [219] and [234]
[2] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [106] In the Logic of Sense, Deleuze notes that the "question of whether particular events are real or imaginary is poorly posed," [210] so let us repose.
[3] Gilles Deleuze, Negotiations, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), pg. [86] & [121]
[4] Gilles Deleuze, Logic of Sense , (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), theme throughout, in particular, pages [60] and [76.
[5] Return here and think about Bachelard and perhaps Humor/ Irony
[6] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [18]-could tie to FRIDAY by Michel Tournier. The children depart to Neverland on Friday.
[7] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [18].The title to the first chapter and continued on page [18].
[8] Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press), pg. [21]
[9] Gilles Deleuze, Negotiations, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), pg. [38]
[10] Bernard Cache, Earth Moves, (Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1995), pg. [71]
[11] Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), pg. [76]
[12] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [14] Also why he is accompanied by a fairy on[34]
[13] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [33] Could make use of the notion of blindness.
[14] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [35-38]
[15] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [39] She hands him a thimble: perhaps to sew his shadow, which he seems to lose or lets get caught, while he returns the gift with an acorn button, as if to remember her playful, exuberant youth, much like the squirrels and constantly perpetuating, zigzagging lines.
[16] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [51]
[17] Paul Virilio, A Landscape of Events, (Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2000), pg. [10]
[18] Gertrude Stein, The Geographical History of America , (London: Johns Hopkins Press, 1936), pg [101].
Comment: land is flat from on high and when people wander. See Georges Perec, Species of Spaces.
[19] William Burroughs, Naked Lunch (New York: Grove Press, 1959), pg. [65] ".his yellow-pink-brown gelatinous substance kept off the hovering flesh.no wound healed in his soft, tentative flesh.while not exactly invisible he was atleast difficult to see. His presence attracted no special notice.people covered him with a project or dismissed him as a reflection, shadow."
[20]
J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [63]
[21] Gilles Deleuze, Negotiations, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), pg. [133] The irony: macanroe was left-handed. Banging your head against the wall is using the same language where as sliding, creates a new approach, a new language within the language.
[22] Gilles Deleuze, Logic of Sense , (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), pg.[83]
[23] J.M.Barrie: like Lewis Carroll was a photographer of sorts. When his writing became cramped, when he hit the wall, he switched hands to write. Most notably, he sites a play entitled Mary Rose. Incredible.
[24] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [70]
[25] Herman Melville: in Lucy Lippard, Lure of the Local, (New York: The New Press, 1997), pg. [75].
[26] Descriptions instead of explanations. Explanations are categorizations. The voice of the elders, the generalizations of the same. Descriptions explain themselves whereas explanations need descriptions.
[27] Gilles Deleuze, Critical and Clinical, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), pg.[61]
[28] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [76]
[29] Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), pg. [151] See Paul Virilio.
[30] Jean Baudrillard, America, (London: Verso Press, 1988) pg. [9] and [27].
[31] Henry Miller: Tropic of Cancer, (New York: Grove Press, 1961), pg.[5]-this is a touchy footnote. "I have set the shores a little wider, I have ironed out the wrinkles." There is a sense in which pleasure too, needs to be unwrinkled, perhaps with seduction, perhaps with violence. The deathless death...
[32] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [99] and [91]
[33] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [221] Gilles Deleuze, Logic of Sense, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990),pg. [149]: Baudrillard, Fabbri, Kosuth, Thinking Art the Game of Rules, (Trivioquadrivio/ A&M bookstore edizioni, 2000), pg. [41].
[34] Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), pg. [56]
[35] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [96]
[36] Henry Mathews, The Way Home, (London: Atlas Press, 1999), pg. [29]
[37] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [123]
[38] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [111]
[39] Gilles Deleuze, Negotiations, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), pg. [45] The Mermaids are AND.
[40] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [111] Perhaps it was this broken promise, she never got to swim or talk with the mermaids, that made Wendy want to return home.murmur [mermaids]."[108]" if you shut your eyes and are a lucky one, you may see at times a shapeless pool of lovely pale colors suspended in the darkness."
[41] Gilles Deleuze, Logic of Sense , (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), [158]
[42] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [126]
[43] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [152-3]
[44] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [189] Peter swallowed time.nautical time.no measurements, only a general direction and the wind of chance...even the terminology [205] fo'c'sle.seems scattered and thrown.a foreign language within language.
[45] Gilles Deleuze, The Fold, (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988), pg. [13]
[46] Is it not crito whose last words are: "I have nothing to say." And is it not also Plato who asks why and Socrates who already knows the answers. Plato has been overthrown. It is the adults who ask the childish questions. What is left when there is an answer?
[47] Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punishment, (New York: Vintage Books, 1977), pg. [194]
[48] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [201]
[49] Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition, (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), pg. [35]
[50] John Rajchman: Constructions, (Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1998), pg. [18] a) Recognition and memory play an enormous role in the tale of Peter Pan. Everyone that does not know Peter, feels as if they had met before, or talked before: perhaps they have done both. b) Towards the end the short-term memory of Peter becomes apparent. 'Who is captain Hook? Who is Tinker Bell?"
[51] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [143-146]
[52] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [218]
[53] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [226]
[54] Gilles Deleuze, Logic of Sensation Unpublished Manuscript, 1997, page [89] The last line of the book, perhaps the last line.
[55] J.M.Barrie, Peter Pan, (New York: Everyman's Library, 1992), pg. [1]. The first line of Peter Pan.

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