On the threshold of language and experience an ancillary gestural dialect will step in to close the distance between the present and the word. A particular arm raise to acknowledge the already peopled space of the theatre, a proposal cairn, a pilgrimage made in mourning, a breath held at the base of the oldest tree.
There will be many points of entrance, myriad door sills to tempt our toes against, in many different architectural configurations.
Think neon signposted machines that distribute hrt so that you can be slimmer of hip or fatter of ass or softer of jaw.
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Think gymnasia or lush surgical suites where our bodies can be unfixed to a soundtrack modular synth better to play on the möbius strip betwixt this and that.
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Think little boats to be pushed out to sea that we can move from this land to another, this language place to a different language place, or this shared space time to the next.
Runes in honour of the departed will pepper the land, like the carving of family names into the old stone shop fronts, not as a mark of permanence but of their having-once-been-there-ness.
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