1. In this moment, the origin of the howl, the un/heard expletive, remains uncertain. Does it emanate from the totem? Toppled stacks. Or rather drawn out of the air by it? Like condensation. Misting and pooling. Falling and drumming with fricative staccato. Audible abrasion like grazed skin has a certain hot tang that is not quite impossible to desire. Static crunch. Treading like cold gravel on the soft ground. Not even winter.
2. As we were all taught in school, Chaos Magic is commonly used by the Bundong Peoples. The sky is larger in the northern hemisphere. This is scientific fact. Equally, certain repetitions of movement and sound can create wormholes. In future times, our remnants and detritus will not be displayed in museums for there will be too much to see.
3. The rattle of the shroud that encases the legs. A blight on the landscape. Cartographic gouges across the cranium. Very telling. Rainbow slivers. Corrugated ocean. Itchy eyes. A map which becomes the landscape.
4. I, like you, am not a pessimist. Yet I cannot see myself in my actions. Only in their emotional wake. “A dynamic, unfolding process, become the primary unit of analysis, rather than the constituent elements themselves.” The nomad is defined by the act of nomadism. The footsteps were the absence of snow.
5. Manicured lawn in waiting. Cars of conflicted origins (creolised fossil). A vista without roads or cities looks radically futuristic.
6. …wood wire fabric swatch bulb illuminated nuts and pot plant and bolts bucket plastic a rug I think… The precarity of the objects is familiar.
7. The entirety of this story may be false.
10. And still that noise