The beginning; A narration or a song.
When Law was one man in the village and imagination was not yet a word.
The authority of a rock, the tyranny of the body.
Change; A certain density of material or an intensity of movement becomes a quality to be distinguished, an action to be judged. Each moment encapsulated by an intimate eeriness, which evaporates as soon as it receives its name.
The authority of the body of the Tyrant.
If she is a city, people will inhabit her. Just like the absent presence of their touch, the site of this pain is ambiguous: her hands and lips are not the first to absorb the shock, it is the role of her eyes, her mind, a wanted version of herself. Through various openings she is inundated by neural suggestions, travelling along meridians, establishing a cellular mirror-image within her body. Communicating surfaces, almost touching. This mass of intimacy is no longer hers.
Divide and rule, the democratic tyranny of the online body.
If she is the body of land surrounding the Black Sea, where is her heart? She needs more mass to fill the space. Her skin and flesh are separated in an uneven stretch. She is the dark water. Her anoxic womb gives birth to pristine objects, frozen human gestures, time so dense that it has sunk to the bottom of the sea.