What crack will open the hardened soil of our listening bodies?
What crack will open the hardened soil of our listening bodies?
What rain and morning fog might we feverishly dream of during the long days of drought?
What ghostly whispers may penetrate the loud, invisible infrastructure of our extended prostheses, only to warn us about their dying voices?
If we dare to breathe once more, painfully drawing in the ancient beings, what part of ourselves will have to be exchanged, given away, lost forever – how can we claim that we will remain after being touched by such winds?
While slowly grasping a sensation of the rhythms put in place before our creation, we may only wonder about our position within this enduring composition of grass and waters.
As our bodies lie down for rest, we may finally ask: for how long after my silence will we still be singing together?
2026