Recalling half-remembered talk of glass bulbs encased in plaster, receptacles punctured by smirks, we find ourselves returning to the idea of the Repository. Questions persist as to whether the Repository could ever be separated from the Müle, some uncertain combination of concept and form. What would a Müle skin contain? What volume would be exposed if the Müle were to be skinned? But rather than dwelling on any covering layer, our attention focuses on the internal cavity, the space within the Müle that somehow, through cross-sectional processes of transfer not yet recognised or able to be spoken of, promotes externality. It is not clear how such an interior could exist or where it might reside; would it make sense to see it as localised and specific, for example positioned in the underbelly? Or could it be distributed through the neck like air bubbles scattering around the withers? Isn’t it more likely, in fact, that no absolute solidity exists in the Müle wherein impurities or inconsistencies could be ‘set’ and that, in fact, the entire Müle is made up of vacancy? Made up of a distribution of holes consistent to the extent that they build up toward a paradoxically ‘solid’ form, the Müle would be an equine-shaped Sierpinski Gasket. In that case, the skin of the Müle is only the surface of nothingness.
The Repository hardly resounds with consensus on this point. There is still a desire to claim the Müle’s interior as a viable space, a Repository much like the one being overseen. This is where material is both distributed and where it is held for safe keeping, for ripening. But it could also be where a patient advance guard waits for its moment to usurp from within. We are talking about a Trojan Müle, its orientation again no doubt framed in terms that address stupidity and understanding, probably linked to Psalm 32:9. But then surely the Trojan Müle is a thriller.
The material fostered by and hidden within the Trojan Müle, inside its own Repository, is subject to conditions of uncertainty. That receptacle is unaware or undecided as to the potency of what it contains or attracts. And as writing is to be so closely associated with the Trojan Müle, this is also to put forward the image of its surreptitious implantation into a given system. Immediately this seems like a partial rendering of collaborative effort – a semi-controlled strategy whereby work is collectively produced. But what ‘city’ under siege here; what citadel is to be penetrated through the inclusion of a loaded Müle? Does it help if we imagine the Müle, imagine writing, being taken in by a defending army, with no need to resort to violent assault or penetration, being given access to inaccessible territories and so on? This becomes an image of writing’s absorption and its subsequent dispersal. As if these opposing forces were in fact two arms of the same process, giving with one and taking away with the other. Writing invokes its own unpredictabilities as soon as it deigns to allow the Müle inside the gates. Müleskind writing, disseminated by swallowing, waits to take itself apart.
Yet we should remember that this is a Trojan Müle. It may be that after its movement of writing has been ‘taken in’ to the citadel, what it contains does not emerge according to legend. What if the Müle refuses to budge and remains standing there, stubbornly passive? And even if it were to emit some agent of disruption, what is all the Müle contains is nothing but a bilious substance of incoherence, like a black fume suggestive of sterility or fatal disease? Such a babesiosis oil might emit from the Müle’s mouth, like a blood bubble that has to be removed from the muzzle by a ‘handler’. Such an excretion might resemble a corrupted speech bubble, one that has lost all firmness in its edges, all clarity of in its expression. The white spaces would be clouded by darkness, an expressive bulb dulled by the Edison Effect. And it would be no coincidence that the emission would come from the Müle’s mouth as it would no doubt be a first indication of a botched transfer at the heart of writing operations, between text and speech. The disruptive enunciation has itself been disrupted. It has imploded, metastasised, its enunciative membrane filling with soot. This is a first symptom of writing that has departed from its iterations, from its component possibilities. It would no longer be available, either to be spoken or written out. It could only be pulled from the body like a parasite already dead. A manifestation of the unspeakable.