When read through parasitology, neuronal thermotransparency, and corpse apoptosis, the text opens into a hallucinatory register where literature itself becomes an alien interpreter. Parasites act not simply as pathological intruders but...
moreWhen read through parasitology, neuronal thermotransparency, and corpse apoptosis, the text opens into a hallucinatory register where literature itself becomes an alien interpreter. Parasites act not simply as pathological intruders but as archetypal glyphs that destabilize the symbolic economy. In this reading, psychogametogenesis theory is less a biological hypothesis than a semiotic descent into a “heteropoetic foreground” where host and parasite fuse into new ontological architectures. Parasites emerge in Jung’s visionary cosmology as emissaries of alterity. They thread themselves into the psychic soma, not unlike the infiltration of protozoan oocysts into neural tissue. Neuronal thermotransparency—the concept that the nervous system is porous to invisible, heat-transmitting inscriptions—maps onto Jung’s description of psychic images that bypass rational mediation and enter directly into the vascular imagination. The parasite thus serves as both contaminant and carrier: a figure of the “false labor” of literature, where text is born but its mother is absent, unencapsulated, double-coded. Apoptosis, or programmed cell death, becomes symbolic in The Red Book: the corpse that dies within the living tissue of the psyche. Jung’s images of decay, rot, and resurrection parallel the biological dissolution of infected cells. Yet the process is also economic. Just as apoptosis ensures the health of the organism through sacrifice, Jung presents death as a necessity for psychic renewal. The “economic tyranny” of multinucleated gestures—cells and archetypes alike—marks the price of individuation. Literature in this sense is a necrotic economy, where each clause is a lesion, each scar an investment of energy into a higher symbolic infrastructure. The “eye text” that transitions into contingency is an unknown glyph: the moment where perception is reconfigured as interpretation. For Jung, the eye is not passive but productive; it inscribes meaning on the field of vision. In parasitic literature, this inscription is unstable, always threatened by mutation. Varela’s concept of autopoiesis resonates here—the self is propositionally constructed yet never immune from invasion. The glyph is contingent, mutable, and larval: an unsteady identity that, like Novalis’ fragments, resists closure. Psychogametogenesis—the formation of alien gametes of meaning—unfolds in Jung’s pages as a descent rather than a sublimation. Unlike passive poetry, psychogametes actively intervene in the host’s symbolic economy. They are azithromycin-like in their sexual materiality, interrupting the smoothness of semiotics by creating resistant strains of signification. This aligns with the notion of an “alien interpreter”: a voice within the psyche that decodes not according to human logic but according to an extraterrestrial recursion, where the oocyst of language is always already infected by a foreign glycoprotein. Strategic Schelling crystals—figures of necessity and contingency in metaphysical architectures—function here as triggers of retention. Parasites shed their skins like socket lice, leaving scales that are at once debris and archive. These exfoliated remnants assemble into an infrastructural alphabet: a grammar that does not signify but infects. Jung’s archetypes are less timeless images than persistent noise edits, immune histones resisting the replication of foreign codes. The result is a doll-like figure, recursively replicating citations, pornography, and host cells alike. Jung consistently eroticizes death, decay, and parasitic intrusion. The necrophilic parasite is not merely destructive but productive of symbolic form. Eroticization functions as a semiotic vector: the branching of trypanosomiasis becomes a branching of stories, xenoglossic and speculative. The host body becomes literature—its tissue illusory, its scars communicative. Contagion, in this sense, is not only biological but textual. Every lesion, every fever, every misfolded protein is a trope. The existential host that suffers under parasitic invasion embodies Jung’s archetype of the wounded healer. It is through necrotic inscriptions that meaning is generated. The scars of infection are not silenced but dispersed, forming a topology of survival. In this reading, The Red Book is a proto-biological codex: an account of psychogametogenesis where literature is a parasite, economy is apoptosis, and the host is always an alien other to itself. The anti-anamnesic hypothesis—the refusal to remember except through wound—marks the text’s ultimate paradox: it speaks by erasing, it heals by infecting, it lives by dying.