THIS is how the BEAST enters the EARTH. Soft as morning light, liquid as our dreaming eyes. Subcutaneous, hunchbacked and beautiful, tunneling through our longing, burrowing beneath EARTH. Our tongues as transmitters, our memory as shovels.
Without MAPS we use Dead Reckoning. We devise a process that is haphazard and chaotic. Shambala in shambles. What started as an attempt to map life's multidimensional unfolding has given way ... to a process of unmapping. Let's get lost. Let's picnic in the tombs. Let's strip the wires from the firmaments and play in the dark. Stars swim through our blood.
Each piece of art has its own trajectory of despair and joy.
