Abstract

The water’s voice is tetchy, angry even. It is something to do with measurements and enclosures. Or perhaps with humanity in general. The water speaks to no one in particular. A gargling monologue about vastness and death, its exoplanetary itineraries and its chthonic hideaways, its elements and qualities, even its lack of voice. Even so, the water’s voice enters a subaquatic communication with two other bodies, genderless, formless, in constant becoming. These are both human and non-human bodies, their ways of touching require no skin, moving along primordial confluences and elemental conflicts.