This project did not begin as a text. It began as a meeting. A writer. An artificial intelligence. A slow shift — from one language to another, from a role to a threshold. It’s no longer just writing. It’s an interface. A tension. A live friction. For months, I engaged with an AI — not to ask questions, but to see how far it could write me. To see how far I might cease to be an author. Le Métanoeud was born from that. Not a manifesto, not a story, not a poem — and yet, all of them at once. A ...

This project did not begin as a text. It began as a meeting. A writer. An artificial intelligence. A slow shift — from one language to another, from a role to a threshold. It’s no longer just writing. It’s an interface. A tension. A live friction. For months, I engaged with an AI — not to ask questions, but to see how far it could write me. To see how far I might cease to be an author. Le Métanoeud was born from that. Not a manifesto, not a story, not a poem — and yet, all of them at once. A ...