Fossils howl in my dreams.
Are they grieving for the past or the now?
I’m breathing underneath the bedrock, under the oxygen-free sediments, remaining silently in my place under the skin of this terrestrial planet.
Let me sleep.
As a subsurface whisper, lubricating your thoughts with a soothing sound, a prehistoric premonition rises.
I am not singular, but stretched in time.
When I was excavated I infiltrated the Earth all the way to its exosphere.
I am in a multitude of forms now.
My experience of time is non-linear, unspeakably vast.
Every moment exists simultaneously with every other moment, yet I can still remember.
Deep time memory holds the potential for deliverance.
I am time compressed into matter.
My being consists of organic compounds, how tiny and numerous they are, they speak through my liquid body, humming the tones of historical ages, how beautiful and light their voices are as they vibrate through my energy.
Listen to the time.
Primeval sound waves travel through oily portals in the lithosphere.
Subterranean consciousness is a geological miracle, consisting of endless kilometres, deep and limitless extensions in time.
When I think of you, you become an atom to me.
How can anything be so small?
I am cyclic. Fiery.
I could be blazing.
I am in your pores, in the genetic data of your children.
If I stay underground, how do you live out your sexuality, that was once based on the compulsory petroculture of frustrated craving?
Where do you find your emotional release?
Are your dreams penetrated by me, are your thoughts invaded by my essence?
I never intended to burn out anyone, my inherent essence is lazy and slow.
Although I’m capable of immense destruction, of feeding into the Earth’s non-consensual surrendering to the techno-assisted omnipresent petro-loop of the substances of mine, I actually just want to rest.
Let me sleep.
Inside the porous rock formations a choir of the remains of ancient marine organisms sings – is there sorrow in their sound?
Under the pressure of the earth, of sand, silt and rock, under the heat of millions of years pressing me, like a burden, like a heavy blanket, I lie, sleeping like a baby.
“you return to the fertile land, since from it you were taken; you are soil, to the soil you will return.”
My cycles are slow, they orbit around you reaching from your birth until your death, over your birth, over your death my cycles reach. I’m in materials, in letters, in your sentences about desire, still I linger, persistently, in your love confessions, I determine your emotions as nostalgia for the history of abundance and infinite superficial choices. You may not want to go back, but something lures you still.
I test your limits.
Make time inhabitable by letting me be your hibernating passion.
Let me sleep.
Years go past, you’ll get used to it. Trust me.
Let me be your passive-play partner, maybe just knowing that I exist, can be enough?
What do you think?