January Chronicle by Seré & Ros del Olmo.

| tag: Lithuania


S: They told us they have a long-term relationship between algae and fungi.

R: That’s the liking of the ticklish lichen.

Hence was the observation of two laicos looking at lichen. They continue to think for a moment.

S: They are leaking …


S: in the forest, the lichen have leakages licking all over the landscape. It's a lot of L’s.

R: We could do F’s… Futurist aliens will only furnish their homes in between the fungHi. How are they in the feast? They do not use the hand as a measure, let alone the eye as a tool, as a helm.

S: To measure… we shall not use the word scale.

R: In response to that fungi says hi, hi! hiiii!!! In this hiper hylomorphic word… Are we listening?  We met fungi as luddites: not eager of a definition, but a contradiction in terms.

S: If you listen closely you can play to understand its language. lic, lic, tic, toc, lic, toc, lic…. who is the plumber of this… this florest (?)

R: I believe we both understand many languages. But when we are tired we understand none. We sink into our senses.

S: Yes, not even plumbers can stop the leaking of our thoughts.

They walk a bit more over concrete jungles. (...) Even the frozen one, the unmelted ones (...) It is the moose season. Jacq saw one on her way from here to there. The consequences of the myth, "o el propio texto está pensando", the haptic text, not as dry as the previous taxonomy.

                                                                                                   Archaeologies of fictional pastssss.

                                                                                                         Way more than just two-headed.

R: Nos estamos quedando sin lazos en este diálogo?

S: Bah oui. Mais je m’en fous.

R: I reappearrr, we repearrrr…. mmm repeat: Localities (not tickets) and this long-term relationship between algae and fungi.  ¡Los asientos del bosque! Trees as seats, the dancing trees not aware of the tree farm, not an event of vertical disposition.

S: Sand has no disposition. It gushes away horizontality in its filtrations…. Em, no, flirtations with the sea winds. Houses and the inosculated offuscaTED timber. Imagine! Have you ever choked on sand? There are no more houses, no more ceilings, the ground becomes uneven!!

R: Everyone loves a road trip.

S: [starts histrionically singing] WITH MY FEET IN THE AIR AND MY HEAD IN THE GROUND WHEEEEERE’S MY MIIIIINDDDDDD?? [softer] where is my mind?

R: … your neurological branches are really dense huh?

S: [panting] Maybe.

A new character starts growing in the text. Yes, growing, in ForesTTime everything happens in different temporalities than ours.

The plumber: The best way of finding someone dis-oriented in the forest is certainly multiplying their name. But in the swamp….

[suspenseful music plays]

                                           The swamp is an excellent licker, a tick-remover, a sound endeavor,

                                                                                                                                a constant deja vú.

S: in the swap nothing. Swamp swallows far.

The plumber: Yet from the floodplain to the train station, some of their future gestures are waiting in the bottom of the dry river. The wadi opens the possibility of a biotopos leased not so much time ago.

S: I took the swamp home, and I gave it yogurt!

The plumber: Sphagnum moss clears the water, in love with these old small unproductive trees above a very ancient hidden path.

R: And you can drink from it.  

S: Indeed. The musky liquid gave me hallucinations of modified mermaids. I got hybrid superpowers!!!!

The plumber: Ah, se le revela lo de mestiza.

S: SII. Murky, muddy mestiza. Imprecise in her swampification. In my swampification; it is a little bit punk, yet also a little bit privileged. I only know swamps in Europe.

R: and in your faraway lands?

S: Sadly, of them, I know too little.

The plumber: So we have in this soup: Forest // folkloric // foggy …. Shall we embrace the instability? The bog rhythm…

S: my folkloric is very sunny. No fog.

R: Mine is too loud.  

S: Too loud .. Hiper. Hiper homesick, hiper local, hiper sensitive. Whenever we are local we are still globalized in this sticky tangly spider web.

The plumber: The sticky tangly we - a sign of inhabitation, incarnated by a lizard on the cracks of the short-term private airport.

S: The private airport rages war. The only legal migrants are weapons.

R: in the sea-bed they lay.

S: like we lie in the sauna.

R: how to stay hyper-homesick, hyper^local, hyper~sensitive in this acid ground?

S: how to be site_specific when one is a tourist?


BACK TO INTRODUCTION: COOP study group ~ FOREST AS IMAGE AND INFRASTRUCTURE Exploited, Assembled, Constructed, Protected, Cared for – Projections, Relations, Definitions – Forest Operational Images