This, for the most part, concerns the animal: it's vocalisation of needs, the direction of it's motives, it's communication with itself but not with it's environment - the animal being it's own environment, more than it is an animal (or: not animalistic, meaning: not being beasts but, although perhaps bestial (i.e. likened to the nature of beasts) or the relative similarities to the state of being bestial; moreso that of an animal). This concerns the animal.
           Without flexibility (as of what we know of wasps, with their persistence and fixed eyes) the material of flesh seems not to know about sleep - or, at least, not for very long. Sleep can imply secrets, but this is untrue. Sleep can also imply depth, yet this is only confusing it with secrecy: our deep locks need especially long keys to attend to them. It is perhaps necessary to consider the physical location of sleep, and in this regard we are caught on the outside. The exchange of information that occurs within sleep carries it's own internal definitions, separate from whatever meanings we might endeavour to attribute to it; for it is a distinct set of values, removed from while encompassing us, that is contained here. The animal is it's own currency; flesh contains it's own offering, spiraling out in a long trail of pennies that, if imagined, would begin at the mouth and lead in a whirling copper pinwheel back to the conception of speech, and then even farther. Those who follow this trail lose fingers, or perhaps a leg up to the knee, or are sometimes completely sheared in half, because they do not realise how quickly these small amounts add up (it is very subjective, this idea of value). Efforts to restore our failing grasp of this idea could be represented in this way: a skinned priest, in casting his bid to become a fertility archetype, breaks apart small clay women with a bar magnet; yet the magnet remains impotent in the face of all those pennies.

Condensed Model:
           In the aim of hastening this stumbling pace towards coherence, we can utilise some contemporary methods, such as, so certainly not the disclusion of, the application of theoretical examples:
           There are twelve of these - not exactly animals, but not categorically anything else either. All are relatives of some kind; whether twelve orbiting particles, twelve diverging stalks, twelve brothers and sisters... point of view weighs heavily in regard to this issue. Each individual awareness extends from a common blueprint, yet they are disconnected in thought. Their skins are a map of their experience and their bodies are a repository for it, meaning: as experience is accumulated, these skins don't become ragged and slack, but instead tighter and suppler. They take long excursions (the detail and response of which is an animal unto itself) charting the crests and valleys of each other's manifestation; thus the patterns of experience are relations as well, reflecting similar information as experiences are shared and re-shared, and as the results of these exchanges are assimilated, displayed, then absorbed by each once again. Despite the intimacy of this exchange, a clear separation continues to exist, established through the distortions that are a result of the unique perspectives and limitations of each; and it is within the constantly emerging character of these distortions that each becomes individually defined.

An Alternative model:
           To extend the premise of this model into the degenerate (and therefore more widely applicable) domains of mass organisation, the potential animal (this being the expectation) needs to be recognised – in particular, the influence of it's manifest gravity and the inventions brought into existence as a result. The potential, as it endeavours to be realised, is dense and compelling; ingesting it's own singularity while excreting forth raw material which, in the hands of others, expands into a vast excess of details. This results in the creation of an information well, centred on the unexceptional feat of generating waste from out of waste. The manufacturing of useful information (as opposed to useful information) is not a self-perpetuating system, but requires the "necessity" of common definition; a necessity which, in itself, is also the invention of deviance (exception).
           Not quite like animals that turn on the sick, decisions are put forward and moved through the process of committee to further the ideal of the elimination of exceptions. Beyond being simply unnecessary, this attempt is also inherently futile, being born out of the same base impulses that generate the exceptions themselves (and, when the fixed point of view is discarded, indistinguishable from them). Themselves, they are wandering around lost, the fertile conditions of hazard hatching out yet more exceptions while - not despite but because of these efforts - even the idea of the original animal is left far behind. Result:
           There are 12 distinct ideas,
           and then there is one idea, as each individually submits to the weakness found in numbers. They defer, then accept, and then give allegiance to the singularity - yet fail to recognise the impossibility of anything being achieved in this direction, trying as it is to narrow the ever-expanding generations down to a nonexistent focal point. The next 12 (or however many) will probably not even possess a memory of the previously existing expansiveness: they invent and create and propagate for the sole purpose of generating clutter. No one is willing to silence their rampaging children (viciously biting and kicking, screaming) who leave behind a vulgar residue with their sticky tarpaper tongues. This residue is only a symptom: the potential animal still remains, pressing hands against us, making embarrassing gestures... everyone tries desperately to pretend not to notice, feigning stoic absorption in whatever trivial business is at hand. It doesn't take long for appearances to crystallise into fact. The animal (such as it remains now) is forgotten. It crawls away, scheming, in want of some of it's previous significance; leaving behind it's own lingering trail of valuable ideas. Despite the great number of these ideas, few of them are plausible enough to survive separately for more than a few minutes. They trickle together in a worthless pilgrimage from individual, brightly luminous beads into a single murky puddle. Feeling it has accomplished something useful, the animal has the opportunity to pause in what it feels is quiet reflection (though closer in nature to self-absorption), during which it unknowingly eats off it's own hands. It's sense of purpose fulfilled, it curls up to try to sleep (that familiar dark puddle not far behind).

(Now, the bottom of an information well:
A margin of pressure, distinct yet not separate from the corrupting influence of gravity, and narrowed down to a focal point. This point is the axis for the circulation of words. Great piles of disconnected text are arranged and displayed within a non-specified light source. The pressure is only given outlet through a single air vent; as well as, or in addition to, meaning: information not subject to the presence of light or the movements of air. The floor is slick, oily... littered with some fragments of bone, but mostly with ceramic pieces in crude animal-like shapes. The pieces soften in the uterine richness of the well; its saturated atmosphere decorates them with thick, red beads of moisture. Scavenging birds gain access through the vent to nibble and peck at the flaccid shapes, which are able to respond only in sluggish attempts to crawl away. They voice their complaints in a dialect contrived out of necessity:

           object (a): kkkkkkkht
           object (b): kkkht
           object (c): kkkkk-kkkht
           object (b): kkht kk
           object (d): kkkkkkktt tt t
           object (a): kkkth kkthhh
           object (e): hh
           object (b): kkkkth t k
           object (f): kkh kkkktch
           object (a): kk h
           object (e): kk ktch k
           object (g): hhkkt tt k
           (no translation available at time of transcription)

           The pressure deepens and the artefacts shudder and stretch; each one bursting apart to reveal a fleshy-wet replica of itself contained beneath the grainy exterior: raw, itchy, spastic, muttering... these twist about in mounting agitation as the pressure continues to build, pulling down on the threads of comprehension. The crude animals split apart yet again, shedding their sticky casements to expose black foetal creatures hidden at the very core, which, once freed from their constraints, rapidly swell up to many times their original size... the light suckled away by a dozen hungry mouths...)

           Regardless of this near-orgy of simple comforts (freckled eyelids, committees plagued by insanity, the invertebrate vote (regarding the backbone as a train passing by, but only in sleep)), we are still left at a loss to monitor and recognise even our own movements. Light will not respond to us. Why should it, when, even at the level of our smallest component parts, we are compelled to respond to light? Each instant unleashes a dizzying barrage of images while we are stranded - information-drunk - with only momentary cutouts to navigate by. Actions are perpetually unclear in the moment, yet we are easily lulled by the post-event revisionism that takes place as these ragged fragments become smoothed out in their movement through internal filters. Sterile conditions cannot be indulged if we seek to participate in this luminous incision, to witness the fluid mass of the interior (how it darkens those freckled lids!). This approach is the simplest to undertake, but it leaves no possibility of achieving a sense of completion:

           1st tongue: my concern is with the implications of language, before I forget what I was saying.

           2nd tongue: I pluck, I twist; my talent is endless. Surely my future is sewn up. I can make complex gestures and breathe while salivating.

           1st tongue: I really sincerely feel this is vital information, and should be made freely available to the public.

           Amputated tongue: (nothing)

           1st tongue: Where does the time go? I was sure I had only just thought about this a minute ago.

           Amputated tongue: (nothing)

           2nd tongue: I hope for all our sakes that we will come around to the first topic once again... eventually...

           1st tongue: Is there ever really a circle in life? Surely even the most trivial of changes have their impact.

           Amputated tongue: (nothing)

           1st tongue: Well, take some time to consider if you need to...

           Amputated tongue: (nothing)

                      (silence)

           Our predators never think murderous thoughts. I've written and sent out these letters, barely keeping their shape within a frayed and fraying language. Every argument comes fueled by sickness, always working to justify itself; not unlike a long needle (or the neutral act of the formation of words) forcing it's way up during the act of speaking to pin the tongue to the roof of the mouth. The content is always braced down, as if saturated by a great current. In this moment language serves only as a conductor, its participants transfixed in their rigid assumptions while teeth and groin buzz with electricity. In a similar way we can regard excrement: when magnified, it looks unnervingly like the printed word; when magnified even further, it could be just about anything. At this point, waste of life is not so far from the perceived basis of life.
           After detachment, even more than the tangible symbols of deep, moving water in all it's warmth, the impact of pain is subtly changed. When the emotional side effect from pain is stripped away, it ceases to retain much use as a motivational tool. To compensate for the deficiency created by this lapse in function, something more effective must be implemented: something far beyond the simple violation of our increasingly insensate bodies.
           It is on this sad occasion that the formation of a new organ has been discovered. Its presence is clearly unnecessary, serving only to extend the surface area upon which it is possible to experience pain. Being rooted in what had seemed to be more reliable tissues, this betrayal throws the habitual acceptance of the body's good intention towards itself into considerable doubt.