Using theory fiction, and a sound-scape Redmond and Aiken explore the most pertinent challenges for humanity as we face our own extinction. The spine becomes a guiding thread to the rediscovery of forgotten pathways in modern thought, reconciling the human experience with natural history.It probes questions around shared human practices that can never be made fully explicit.
End of value is hard for us to conceptualise. We also tend to redoubt human justice against an extra-judicial nature. But how will we continue to thrive among the wreckage of what we have made? The body without organs, expressed as a flickering gif, is juxtaposed with the interactive Google - Earth link to a discreet multi-national subsidiary. Beckoning the viewer to consider the actions and the shifting political power structures that are re-shaping our societies and landscapes by stealth.
Cartesian narcissism blocks us from being able to step into the abyss and the abyss is leering at us, edging closer and closer.
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It could be the pink lights in here, or the heat, or the constant T-H-U-M-P of the artificial heart-beat, but the pain is getting worse...
it is distracting her from the work.
Lena knows that she must address it, but she prevaricates in favour or pretence of a fervent wish that it will abate.
She massages her temples.This happens regularly.
A new development – a feint, gentle, high pitched
She knows she must apply to reset.
She is starting to
Under the current world view, no one should feel pain. This episodic torture is unmentionable. She dare not admit it.
She settles her bulk into the space, and she tries to conjure the Kundalini. Transcendental practices are forbidden, even as a prophylactic measure.
Aware of the dangers but
she tenses and relaxes, visualises and internally chants the primal sounds.
Movement is problematic. Hominids have not moved much for generations now. They have prosthetic limbs. The only skeletal traces left are armlets and a truncated spine. These limbs are traitors to her body. They are retro-fitted with quisling intelligences.
The spine
There are just moments before the correction is applied,she knows this and she waits, miserably expectant.
The air is filled with trillions of dust surveillance pods that shadow every motion of her being.
She can see them dancing in the holo-monitor light.
She can feel the lenses taking her in.
She becomes aware of being roughly manoeuvred onto a trolley.
Bright lights, surgeon-bot–the uncomfortable
Can’t move, there are chemical ligatures.
Mercifully the procedure is momentary.
Back to the desk immediately but no screens, no memory, no
Now her stomach hurts.
The stomach shouldn’t hurt. There are no longer primitive intestinal digestive tracts. Old terrors seep to the surface and play there with new fears, Lena knows that she cannot reveal her predicament. But the air is thick with the fog of tiny spectators. Nothing may be concealed.Something is
from somewhere.
This cannot be NORMAL.In her mouth there are white eruptions,
more pain here, but bearable.Something soft but spikey is emerging from her skin – she likes how it looks and how it feels,but apprehends the consequences.
They leave her for much longer than she thinks that they will.
She hopes that this time the reset will be
, that there will be no return.
She closes her eyes. In her mind she is
She is ready, more than ready to leap into
© Jennifer Redmond + Eavan Aiken 2020.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
End of value is hard for us to conceptualise. We also tend to redoubt human justice against an extra-judicial nature. But how will we continue to thrive among the wreckage of what we have made? The body without organs, expressed as a flickering gif, is juxtaposed with the interactive Google - Earth link to a discreet multi-national subsidiary. Beckoning the viewer to consider the actions and the shifting political power structures that are re-shaping our societies and landscapes by stealth.
Cartesian narcissism blocks us from being able to step into the abyss and the abyss is leering at us, edging closer and closer.
LUMBAR ENERGUMEN
It could be the pink lights in here, or the heat, or the constant T-H-U-M-P of the artificial heart-beat, but the pain is getting worse...
it is distracting her from the work.
Lena knows that she must address it, but she prevaricates in favour or pretence of a fervent wish that it will abate.
BUT IT WON’T.
She massages her temples.This happens regularly.
A new development – a feint, gentle, high pitched
HUMMING
in her ears. She can hardly see the bio-bags, or concentrate on the settings. So many lives are at stake.She knows she must apply to reset.
She is starting to
PANIC
. An ancient anxiety that is ingrained and buried. An antique emotion that defies ‘REASON’
– yes, Sapiens still value REASON.Under the current world view, no one should feel pain. This episodic torture is unmentionable. She dare not admit it.
She settles her bulk into the space, and she tries to conjure the Kundalini. Transcendental practices are forbidden, even as a prophylactic measure.
Aware of the dangers but
FRANTIC
she tenses and relaxes, visualises and internally chants the primal sounds.Movement is problematic. Hominids have not moved much for generations now. They have prosthetic limbs. The only skeletal traces left are armlets and a truncated spine. These limbs are traitors to her body. They are retro-fitted with quisling intelligences.
The spine
HOWLS
at the deficit. Severe migraine is commonplace but never disclosed.There are just moments before the correction is applied,she knows this and she waits, miserably expectant.
The air is filled with trillions of dust surveillance pods that shadow every motion of her being.
She can see them dancing in the holo-monitor light.
She can feel the lenses taking her in.
She slips off into her interior.
She becomes aware of being roughly manoeuvred onto a trolley.
Bright lights, surgeon-bot–the uncomfortable
WHIRRING
and rummaging in her skull.Can’t move, there are chemical ligatures.
Mercifully the procedure is momentary.
Back to the desk immediately but no screens, no memory, no
PAIN.
Now her stomach hurts.
The stomach shouldn’t hurt. There are no longer primitive intestinal digestive tracts. Old terrors seep to the surface and play there with new fears, Lena knows that she cannot reveal her predicament. But the air is thick with the fog of tiny spectators. Nothing may be concealed.Something is
oozing
from somewhere. This cannot be NORMAL.In her mouth there are white eruptions,
more pain here, but bearable.Something soft but spikey is emerging from her skin – she likes how it looks and how it feels,but apprehends the consequences.
They leave her for much longer than she thinks that they will.
She hopes that this time the reset will be
FINAL
, that there will be no return.She closes her eyes. In her mind she is
floating, formless, weightless, timeless, invalid, irreplaceable.
She is ready, more than ready to leap into
THE UNBOUND.
© Jennifer Redmond + Eavan Aiken 2020.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.