August 29th, out of a slab of concrete almost completely hardened & hoarding the whole world in its solidity, there emerges a glamorous old temptress whose face shape-shifts. She’s at once a beloved and a crying matriarch wiping tears onto dollar bills.
Gulps and gasps of lovers, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers invade our inner ears until we realize we’re in a realm in which resources don’t look the same as they do in the upper world. We’ve gone below the gravel, upending the conventional idea of stability to meet a more genuine, if foreign, power that lies deep down, underneath the boundaries of day-world identity.
The alarm bells ring, security guards rush to see if we have the right to be in this unfamiliar place. Their scrutiny and the nebulous phantoms we meet are the sights, sounds & flutters of intention propelling us up a flaming stairway toward an uncharted territory brought into being by the electric protests of pent-up desire.
Cascades of oil don’t scare us—all these, even the shudders, remind us that even though we’re going somewhere different than what we’re used to, absolutely everything we need is present within the very moment the heart feels its risk.