Lucrecia Dalt writes as “we.”
This is the first time we’ve undertaken something like this. Scientists have found a way to detect sound waves on a minuscule bacterial-length scale with a nano-ear. Bacterial cells enhance the proliferation of neighboring cells under stress conditions by emitting a physical signal. Sound waves emitted from cells of Bacillus subtilis at frequencies between 8 and 43 kHz with broad peaks at approximately 8.5, 19, 29, and 37 kHz were detected using a sensitive microphone system. Continuous single sine sound waves produced by a speaker at similar frequencies promoted colony formation. It is then suggested that the sound produced by the Bacillus subtilis could function as a growth-regulatory signal between cells.
Filled, covered and conquered by non-human entities, we can no longer act as individuals. How can we be otherwise. How can we just be these bodies? We are bizarre collections of data, bacteria, bacteriophage and dust. And like this, we walk, we operate, we intend to “decide,” we go to concerts and get stimulated by them, we read documents and try to analyze them.
We, multiple, are invited to give appreciation to this work. An album-made-video. A video made album. An infernal documentation of some sort. We managed to survive without getting burned. We rest our experience at the center of the lens.
First sound we hear comes from the audience, the observers, through the microphone. Very quietly, very briefly before the music starts. We follow. Lolina leads us and helps us understand where we stand. We are outside. We are inside. When the truth is not told or hidden we are going to be driven to a state of total speculation. We scream “Live in Paris” a few times, but we don’t know why. We are in a room, and it’s dark. First song ends and we applause without moving our hands. Telepathically.
We are observers, whose very perceptions are impaled by an intrusive, inescapably bizarre alien otherness. Electric sound breaks—we like it. Silence breaks—we wait. What a silence; it feels like a giant anechoic cabin for a moment, but there’s something, these tiny little claps, something at around 8.5 kHz. How many We are standing here? Multiply. Bacillus orchestra. Bell sounds breaks.
This document presents itself as a set of realities trying to get lined up at times, overlapping, juxtaposing perpendicularly, sometimes mimicking others from the outside. We evidence some sound alignments. It’s clear at times by Lolina’s lips, it’s clear when that button is pressed. Other alignments come from the sound of a giant shoe. The shoe has been rendered as a high-hell. And those giant bells look now so tiny. No extreme body movements to operate them. The body, though, has been rendered totally vulnerable by this subtle movement. Realities here also get blurry.
We are in a contemporary musical theater with monopolized walls. The room itself slowly moves counterclockwise. Emergency exits are well indicated. We follow the shoe as Chance is given. Its telluric arpeggios makes us feel instantly ensconced, we murmur oh!. We are obliged to remember there is an outside. Who wants to remember the outside? Let’s continue. Reality seems wider now, we are thrown in a pool of desperate, accelerated cripple baroque arpeggios. We start to feel the inferno. Like we did with Syzygy. Does Lolina also wants to lead us to a state of eternal oscillation? We meet the parallel wife on a plane. We think we might be hearing some Songs For Swimming Larvae. It’s getting hot. Houses also multiply until we see no more. This dust, this smell, sulfur smell, more dust. We take the first emergency exit before the fire sets and manage to evidence the aftermath from a glossy device.
Sound-crafting delight to our ears:
– 00:19 – 01:54
– 5:03 – 5:13
– arpeggio at 11:42
– sound starting at 14:43
– 14:57 – 15:00
– 20:36 – 20:38
– The Logic at 28:53