[the cursor] is body that is motivated by the production of language. The cursor is always one step ahead of the text, or like the Queen piece in chess, it moves forward, backwards, up and down, anywhere within the field of vision, highlighting the entire document, searching, finding and destroying the text, but it is not the text. Nor, on the other hand, can it fully escape the world of text, of naming, of pinning-down-in-language. A cursor blinks in a particular kind of pre-determined rhythm prescribed by algorithms of zeroes and ones, appearing, disappearing according to the choreography of the almighty Word program. Yet, with each user action, this stable rhythm can be interrupted, transformed by the shape of ones thought, the fumble of ones finger-action, the speed of ones keystrokes, the fart of ones brain. The free fall of a page break. The cursor is perhaps me or you, divided among so many languages. Like a contemporary dancer, it is asked to be fungible from choreography to choreography yet is never fully captured by the choreographys writing. The cursor is where, for me, language, movement, body and choreography come together to contend with each other.