 Against this notion of the inhuman, akin to what Lyotard years earlier had called the figural, is the inventiveness of another form of the inhuman, what would get us beyond the human of humanism and its grand narratives. This event is one that Lyotard links to the youth of the child, since it has ever present possibilities that are nevertheless not presentable or speakable within the phrase regimens of the present, and thus provides a site of resistance to the dominant modes of “reality”. “Being prepared to receive what thought is not prepared to think”, he writes, “is what deserves the name of thinking” (Inhuman, 73). This form of the inhuman, against those who would think of Lyotard as a celebrant of the 1960s death of man and the end of humanism, stands as a testament to the inventiveness of the human and its irreducibility to the machinic—to the point where it can transcend what we thought the human was to be. As in Discourse, Figure, it is not that one form of the inhuman exists without the other: the technical and the artistic are not easily separable, and the arts survive using techniques and known grammars in order to coming into being. This is why Lyotard argues that the postmodern, despite suggestions otherwise in The Postmodern Condition, is not a “period” that comes after the modern. On his view, the postmodern is that which exists within the modern itself.