Teledex is short for ‘telephone directory’.
‘Tele’ is shorthand not only for telephone but for contact modes in general (Ancient Greek têle, “at a distance, far away”) ‘tele’ refers to contacting those far from us. ‘Dex’ is shorthand for directory, but the fundamental meaning of ‘dex’ is twofold: it refers to hands, as in dexterity and to an axiomatic, standardised order – of ten – as in the decimal system. Etymologically, ‘dex’ refers specifically to ‘the right hand’: right is used here in both senses of the word. This understanding, of taking direction from a ‘dex’ (index, codex, teledex, etc) comes from a trust in and centrality of the hands. Teledexes feature a sliding dial that directs you to find your contact, and within is a pile of organised scribbles. Everyone you know accounted for, in inky indentations, gestures rendered concrete.
This is now an antiquated technology. In one of Cherine Fahd’s annotations in her photographic series Apokryphos, she muses: “Where does all the energy go?” Handwriting is analogous to the voice, they are impressions we leave “in excess of speech and meaning … with an inner intentionality” (Mladen Dolar, A Voice and Nothing More). Recently, the smell of a loved one’s beanie conjured upon me their immediate presence, more embodied than the estranged body I’d only hours before seen mummified and chauffeured away. We’ll dispose of almost anything but photos and handwritten notes, even bodies.
What does a scribble hold that a body cannot?
