Words, bread, and wine are between us, beings or relations. We appear to exchange them between us though we are connected at the same table or with the same language. They are breast-fed by the same mother. Parasitic exchange, crossed between the logical and the material, can now be explained… Do we ever eat anything else together than the flesh of the word?
Mediations, relations – one can make believe one is lost in this fractal cascade… Everything has changed; nothing is constant; the chain has been mutilated beyond all possible recognition of the message. Victory is in the hands of the powers of noise… History in general as it is written or told is a network of bifurcations where parasites move about.
Michel Serres, The Parasite (1982)