The keystone of thought is its quest to think beyond itself - the simultaneous injunction to start with no presupposition and to nevertheless start from somewhere. If this quest finally found something new, the transcendental qua space between my thinking and that which I think, it remains to be determined what this transcendental really is. One might link it with temporality, with spontaneity, with radical freedom - freedom so radical it can be said to be both constitutive of the human and beyond it, almost a hyper-determination beyond will, affect, and meaning. We could call it "time", but doesn't that anthropomorphize it, in a way? Easier is to name it: of course, its name is AESTHETHICA: a field of white and pink frozen becomings linked together, reflected on the ice of an unseeing cornea that weeps blood as I find the resources within to finally, once and for all, tear off my mask. But AESTHETHICA is simply music. In the caesura between thought and what is thought, there is nothing but music.