This text is borderless. To begin with (if we must begin,) I, your supposed author, composed it on a series of machines scattered throughout the Brown campus -- my NEC Ready 220T laptop, the Multimedia Labís eye-straining pink and orange iMacs, and the constantly crashing Apples in the CITís computer cluster. All these various pieces of writing and code are crammed together with not attempt at differentiation on a server sitting on my friendís living room in Young Orchard. But that server is no boundary. This text is linked to and interwoven with other texts of equal value and weight, held on servers spanning the globe.
And yet, this text has borders. Shift your eyes up, down, right, left, and youíll hit against your computer screenís borders. Like a book enclosed by its cover, this text, though scattered across servers world-wide, is fenced in by four plastic computer screen walls.
Can any text have no borders? The experience of reading, itself, is contained within the neurons bordered by your layers of skull and skin. Even if you take a text outside of your sphere and discuss it with others, the experience is still bounded by the sum of humanity.
So perhaps a text canít truly be borderless, if even you, as a reader, exist within borders within borders. But I, acting as your author, will go ahead and claim that this text is as borderless as possible in a bordered reality.