The medium traverses the machine. It skitters and jumps appearing to flow at the limit of our senses and we become aware that this is something with which we are familiar. It is truth and falsity presented in a groundless fashion. The sound and flicker should be bringing forth hazy images of our childhood. Yet there is nothing here – only the sensation of colour streams and viscosities. Slice – image – slice – image. Machine and material fight for supremacy. The machine always wins. Techne.

Transformation

Dripping and sliding

Intensities forming on the screen of our brain

Drawing paths and lattices on its fractal grounds

Cartographic snapshots of some unknown landscape

Evaporating

Condensing

Shape Shifting

I suck pleasure form the surface,

Then from some region deep within another layer rises,

Almost touching the sexual,

I snag and pull,

tear and rip,

Twisting tensions.

Cutting and slicing threads and loosening tissues.

And in this space

I hear the pains and ecstasies

Of the forming and reforming of these

Ephemeral Organisms