Then, (while the machine of all trades – of history, (hi)stories, machines and the typewriter of all the lost texts of all peoples – carries on with its analyses, helixtrolyses and other operations in poetic physiochemistry; and the structural synthesis of the whole of culture in general linguistic equivocity; without forgetting to programme the etceteras; in a parenthesis).

(and while Jones Shaun, as a professor, asks himself answers)

(and while, as young women and researchers, Finnegans Wake scatters itself on all the free benches of a public lecture theatre registered what's more in Vincennes)

it is a question – (while, as much male as father, the war between the huns and the hothers, the men and the shems [les hommes et les hombres], unfolds its new perversion) on the ring where Burrus and Caseous occupy for the time being – for a few pages, if not the first place, at least a remarkable place; it is a question perhaps, then, of History or rather of one of those (hi)stories which History strings together into one of the bad dreams which insist to the point of producing its (non-)sense, that is its nonsense.

No more, however, after all, than of Dairy – of electronic churn – of machinery capable of dissociating language into its atoms, milk into its by-products – or of sublimation.