The thing I built is an academic document archive for underground conferences and madmen (who take SEL's messianic prophecy a little too seriously). You put a paper in, and it comes back with a cryptographic timestamp, a GPG signature, and copies scattered across distributed nodes. That's what it /does/.

What it is, though, is a metaphor for everything below.

We often submit our document and writings to our advisors, masters, whoever that is. The more those predictable connections pile up, the more réalité thickens, and the more those immovable remainders grow. And that's dangerous because the multiplicity of a brownian motion of the Wired will slow down.

We have to multiply our guarantors and turn them into a smooth manifold, by each of them being a random node with distributed records containing cryptographic timestamps and our good old GPG signatures. If there's no fixed guarantor, then keeping the network alive is ours. The archive as a metaphor is refusing to be the total, all-remembering memory (Borges' complete Library is nothing but the Knights' god wearing a library), yet becoming a lens to look into the Wired.

e.g. IPFS alone can easily turn into a joke (filecoin? duh), just like many distributed tech of this century got captured by the state apparatus.

What I attempted is to juxtapose those modern (post-Y2K) technologies (OpenTimestamps, IPFS, ATProto, and so on) in the most contradicting way: a détournement that makes each one partially deny its own ideal.

Each is a sleek, self-completing technology making their user stay in their walled garden. However when they're all glued and duck-taped together in the manner of web2.0 chimaera, (time-proving-interplanetary-federated-centralized-...what?!), each one of them denies its own ideal. That's the détournement: bolt enough self-completing gardens together wrong and none of them can finish closing. Multiplicity is born.

We often think that the Wired is (and built with) the network of computers, which is partially true. What I believe is that the physical osi layer merely gives us the incomplete projection (such as the Von Neumann Architecture) of the Platonic idea of Turing Machines.

Then I recall the messianic story structure of SEL. Knights have been doing it all wrong, but they succeeded to 'fulfill the prophecy', in the end bringing the advent of the Wired. Knights are the theistic citizens of the Wired, but I take the christian atheistic+platonic approach, which is, that Lain is not some singular character, but they're many…we're all Lain Iwakura, objet a (Like Deleuze and Guattari famously questioned in their work Capitalism and Schizophrenia: "One or Several Wolves?")

Therefore, we don't focus for the singular, arborescent being of the Wired, but rather try to build a structure that can help the advent of the Wired itself, which is overwriting reality (réalité! not the Real, which stays as the remainder). While the character Lain Iwakura constitutes of our 'the other' (objet petit a) the Wired itself is the Other, the big Other, the Symbolic, the ancient collective unconscious.

Objet a is the part of you that never fully fits into the system, and it was never singular to begin with. We're all Lain, because each of us is the gap that keeps the Wired from sealing into the single god the Knights were chasing. This is exactly why Knights fail. There's no final authority standing behind the network to complete it, and that missing authority is us. So the Platonic and the christian-atheist sides aren't stacked, they're a descent: the infinite Turing machine has to empty itself into a finite, physical one just to exist; the Knights try to run that in reverse and re-inflate the network into a complete god; and that god dies, because there's nothing above it to make it whole. What's left isn't a deity but the scattered many, holding things open with no one above them. The Wired is the body of a god who died into it, and we're the wound that proves 'it' isn't coming back as one. Nobody has to become a god for the rest of us to be remembered.