Forced interaction, accumulation of mixed signals to conjure mass divination within the confines of Vicki.

Rooms connected by stairways, chutes, channels, peepholes, acting as a momentary musical and biological organ, or an impermanent instrument of spiritual medicine. Perhaps a giant iron lung, sustaining less tangible needs. Status Symbiosis with Vicki achieved through overlapping and interwoven fields of 181, specimens and acolytes. Called upon to descend upon the ascended. For there’s nothing that a pair of shoes and sticks can’t solve, that is … if what is being presented is an equation. A true challenge, the one we’ve waded in the shallow water for. This was no rectilinear mapping of history, but a tomb, and nor would I change it, not an even exchange for all the yurts in Kyrgyzstan. Cyrus Thomas’s theory that ‘rain follows the plow.’

Unexplained moments of clarity. Beacons, sirens and borderless amplifiers. An ebb colliding with a wave leaving nothing but thick fog. Bees in a field, picking up pollen and dispersing it at will. Shells turned to dust, but not before celebrating their past life. Ripples or Sonar. Maybe we sung a “round.” Unison, harmony, distortion and contamination. Fresh air met acute alarms, narrow stairways: open rooms. I remember the glow, the reflections of light filling people’s glasses. The exits were fleeting and clocks resurging. Linear walk through time, with option of divergence. Floating rocks and sinking sticks. Suddenness of reality. That north and its tides. Water cleaving up days, perfectly, separated-collated gift-like. Waking early to level change and marveling at silence. Apples and mushrooms, fires and laughter. Telling stories like the water that’s swinging always through this bay of Cobscook. Sloshing ruling most days. We took those days and their slices south, over a brick road and into a brick building. Inside it seems we carried a reflection of those tides. Wordless and full, each in direction and also overlapping. A convergence(s). Always a sloshing. I wandered around and felt delightfully confused and somehow resolved. I remember learning what it felt like to have a fever and feeling that feeling. New found/Observation 37: the following tide has told/A small frame within reveals the last explored place in a single body of collective researcher(s). Mobilization begins to vent:

1 Fixed Fabric (monofilament)

2 Two Tall Telescopic Light Post

3 Drifted Tree Chunk

4 The Film Projectionist

Round 2—mobilization continues—

IT WAS NOT A DREAM