What do you mean, "It's a language"?

“The Cascajal block conforms to all expectations of writing. The text deploys

(i) a signary of about 28 distinct elements, each an autonomous, codified glyphic entity;
(ii) a few in repeated, short, isolable sequences within larger groupings; and
(iii) a pattern of linear sequencing of variable length, with
(iv) a consistent reading order.

As products of a writing system, the sequences would by definition reflect patterns of language, with the probable presence of syntax and language-dependent word order.”

— Science. “Oldest Writing in the World”. Ma. del Carmen Rodriguez Martinez, Ponciano Ortiz Ceballos, Michael D. Coe, Richard A. Diehl, Stephen D. Houston, Karl A. Taube, Alredo Delgado Calderon. Vol. 313 15 September 2006 p. 1612.

This schema is a glyph. Or rather, let’s translate the schema into a glyph, so that those of us trying to read the block might understand it. Insanely, the language for translation is, is, is becoming the language we translated for—since (where can we go for meaning!) the only rubric we have is this one. I need this block to understand language. And this block proffers nothing about language except what patterns language itself gives, here: this schema (codification, glyph). This is a landscape about which we know nothing except it is horizontal and therefore you can walk on it. We can extrapolate that it is dynamic, it goes up and down, gives vistas, obstacles, foregrounds and backgrounds, creates desire. And the earth’s texture modulates inexplicably like getting to know you. But it is on a planet too distant to visit.

Shall we begin?

(i) AUTONOMOUS/CODIFIED

"a signary of about 28 distinct elements, each an autonomous, codified glyphic entity;"

There are 62, 28 and more. It’s iterated, it’s iterable! This is a language people can rely on. In my research I have found that other examples of some of these glyphs have been found at San Lorenzo, at Canton Corralito and on the Humboldt Celt. Holy shit, a library. They are both “autonomous” and “codified”, meaning they are both human and citizen, both bigger than anything around them, and exactly the same size, which is to say very small. There’s an image of two children playing tug of war, with a circle around it and a line drawn through it: that’s not a good metaphor. It is a good analagon, when feeling the tension between 1) the singularity of an expression, a gesture, a place in time that’s gone, whoosh, and 2) the immense library of meaning, the immense voyage a referent must make to take up its place in the sign. I feel a sway, almost as though to a beat, but no… it is part of a larger system … and Derrida writes, “chaque fois unique, la fin du monde” (each time is the only time, the end of the world). C.F.U.L.F.D.M., C.F.U.L.F.D.M., each time I say it the truer it becomes. No, it implodes outwards, it is suddenly here, suddenly there, suddenly there, a different there, and always the same little ball of wax, do you know what I mean?

(thanks to Joel on this one.)


(ii) LANGUAGE IS ABLE TO PERMUTATE.

"a few in repeated, short, isolable sequences within larger groupings; and"

A frequency of sets, recombination is possible, people in an auditorium, there’s hierarchy here. There are levels of bureaucracy in a telephone game. If there are parts, and those parts can accumulate together and form other parts and those other parts into other parts, all including this dream of a catch-me-if-you-can totality. Then we call it a language. If she has an arm, we can call her a body, because her arm is part of her torso. Is this a teleology, or a democracy? Is this terrain India, or London? Really, at least cities are possible, equations are huge, size and quantity change everything, a one cent increase in pay can buy you a new television, one mistake can alter a lot.


(iii) I RECOGNIZE LANGUAGE FROM A DISTANCE.

"a pattern of linear sequencing of variable length, with"

_________ ___ _______ ____ __ ____ _______ ______ ____ ______________ __________ ______ ___________________ ___ ___ _____ ____ ________ ________ _________ ___ _____ __________

That is the shape of language. Like the face of someone, you recognize it immediately, and it has a name that is attached to its surface as firmly as a nose. Reading looks like this: you can change its direction, go front to back, upside down, sideways, in reverse, even rotate, spin it, like a dradle, one side still reads/is readable. But language has to be a straight line, and it has to have varying durations, so that we can be made to remember that it means so many different things. No one ever reads in a circle, or inside a box, or hopping all over a page. It has to be in the direction of travel. (bahn),


(iv) LANGUAGE AS SPORT.

"a consistent reading order."

The last tenant the scientists have set down qualifies reading by its muscularity. A rule that has recourse to the eye. I don’t know, why not ask my eye? The body going to an old home, pulling up the parking brake on level ground, flipping off the light even though the bulb’s burnt out, reaching out for a body that’s not there, thinking you and he mean the same thing…. If the glyphs withstand the test of the body’s reflexes: if the body kicks when language taps it. The eye yearns, reaches out to read it, I see a face in the cloud, a body in the shadow, in the air my fingers clasp around a glass of water that’s a little bit farther away than my arm can reach, and somehow that proves I need it.



As products of a writing system, the sequences would by definition reflect patterns of language, with the probable presence of syntax and language-dependent word order.

“Of which we cannot speak we must remain silent.” —W.