Reading is rendering the spaces between the letters unseen; being is overcoming the nothingness-void of consciousness, but we are elsewhere, surrounded by the letters, in the spaces that reading cannot catch sight of, the spaces of a book, where writing stops or disappears, the spaces that enclose the words of a book; in the nothingness-void, where “being” disintegrates and “consciousness” is absent in its presence. “Metaphysical” reading is a failure to read; it’s the systematic rendering-unseen of the spaces between the words. Reading has not begun yet. Perhaps reading names an event that awaits that which is rewritten once inscribed, erased once written, forgotten once read, becoming “itself” the emptiness of spaces, that which evades reading, readability, and every book, that which is elsewhere, permeating absence and disintegration. Perhaps “oneself” is more than “itself”, in its difference from “itself”, in its becoming-traversed by letters and their spaces. Elsewhere is neither the letter nor consciousness; but what is infinite slippage, the incessant falling into what is groundless without going down. Elsewhere is where whereness disappears; a place that is neither possible neither im-possible, neither paradoxical nor non-paradoxical, a place that is not a place, in which “we” sojourn.