This begins, as does Anti-Oedipus, with a schizo stroll.

I am imagining Heidegger. He is walking in those dark woods that surround ‘die hütte’ at Todtnauberg in the Black Forest. It is winter and there is a heavy snowfall. The thick canopy of branches has protected the Pathmarks but, deep in thought, he is still some way Off the Beaten Track. These mountain tracks – or to use the German of Heidegger's book: Holzwege – are dead ends (as we shall examine later). They are paths that end abruptly, seemingly leading nowhere. In What is Philosophy? Deleuze and Guattari discuss the territory of philosophy, and the ground upon which its foundations shakily rest. Heidegger is obviously a very particular thinker of a very particular thinking of territory: