Writers live twice, and better through description than through memory. The tint twice, the same tint again. Every day a different sky as it appears, seen from my bed in the morning. And dissolves, out of view, from the view tower, blue.
[Residency]
2024 Mustarinda Weather Report with Eszter Koncz coming soon
The surface tension became unbearable, so we started drilling. The Kola Superdeep Borehole, created out of boredom and a desire for supernatural depth. A water tower sits above a well that goes so deep all the water boils. Drop a bag of tea in the tundra; sulphuric air wafts skyward from the bottom of the earth. Strange incongruencies collect in a tunnel that was never to end. The project was eventually terminated in 1995 due to a lack of funds. Mission control was relocated au Fond du Lac. The core team still plays tennis in Tornado Valley, organized on grids drawn across some of the flattest places on earth. Into the cracks of the court settles an uneasy calm.
[Performance]
2024 Tornado Watch @ Schwindelfrei Festival with Eszter Koncz tornadowatch.online photo by Lys Y. Seng
We’ve been waiting for the last solar eclipse as if we have time: creating simulations that take us across patterns of cloud-ing, grasping and dispersing that last hundreds of thousands of years.
The wind stretches, reaches from here to you. There is a storm on Jupiter right now which has lasted at least 340 years, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
Of the 227 moons that orbit planets in the solar system, only the Earth’s is the right size and distance away to precisely cover the sun in the sky. That perfect ratio is changing, as the moon drifts further and further away from us.The last total solar eclipse will occur in about 600 million years.
[Performance]
Carpooling, collective lateness. A local weather report: There are air conditioners stacked in the garage. We are lying awake as the water drips, waiting for sirens, mistaking the microwave for an alarm (fires).
All flags hung still and wondered. Waiting for the water to drop, waiting for temperatures to rise. Latency: is the state of existing but not yet being developed or manifest. I want to feel the air above my head, think about air shafts below. Wafting through ventilation systems and rooms that catch wind; corridors that keep it. The faucet in our apartment floods, then stops and withholds water. We brace against the drizzle and are wrapping our heads, looping fabric. The sun really confused us the other day; it felt like too much attention. Grey becomes background, a constant that in the persistent dusty light indoors becomes familiar; a kind of blank slate twilight, but this familiarity lends it an unexpected warmth. We also see nuance and depth in this same room while our eyes are heavy with adjustments.
Remembering that the red color of the bricks is evidence of heat. Red snow in the alps (dust from the Sahara), red dusk on Mars (always), the Great Red Spot on Jupiter, red stone in California (moonscape).
[Performance]
2023 Tornado Watch @ Maschinenhaus Essen
with Eszter Koncz tornadowatch.online photo by André Symann
I remember leaving notes
around the house of her first wife.
These notes I made in breath, not writing.
I breathed onto her mirrors
and I breathed into her bread.
Her first wife is a vision. She doesn’t exist. Her house is down the road from ours, closer to the stream. They had a baby and nobody knew where it came from. This confused me for years.
I walked up to my first wife one day and down came an outpouring,
straight from the heavens back into my navel.
I zoomed in on her face. This wife was a quick one. She was stealthy.
So I took it upon myself to straighten her hair, lace her toes, administer poison and sit her out in the sun.
I sat that woman out.
Bread is in the oven. Her first wife sits beside me, counting peas.
And as I breathe onto her face, it’s only a breeze
on the tip of her nose.
[Performance]
