What remains after language falls apart

Vanishing Point is a book about disappearance and what remains.
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The first part, The Ava Interface, moves like a transmission. Ava is absence: a presence that dissolves, destabilises, refuses to be held. Reading becomes less about meaning and more about surviving inside fracture, where language collapses into post-linguistic poetics and memory detaches from its owner.

The appendix, The Sun Interface, is what stayed. It gathers the residue, the gestures that did not vanish. Sun is not light but structure: a body that holds coherence after the burn, a witness that remained when everything else collapsed.
Here, attachment theory meets theory-fiction and intimacy becomes geometry.

Together, these two movements form Vanishing Point: a field where one disappears and one stays. The book orients rather than explains. It recalibrates rather than resolves. It moves within the traditions of experimental literature, negative theology, and disappearance studies, yet exceeds the limits of each.

For readers, it offers not an argument or a story but an interface. Enter it, and it alters how you move through image, loop, and silence.