Caress Me Into Clay


List of Ingredients

Wood covered in clay - clay collected from the cliffs & diluted into rain water.  Dirt, Beetle, a Numerous Amont of Essential Untouched and Unnoticed Elements


Day 3 - Eros-ions 



We live the seasons of plants, but the geological seasons of the Earth are wider. It seems that trees, holding the rocks into ground and the light into matter, are the bridges between the time of chlorophyll beings and the rhythm of fossil’s dance. Wood grows from a plant’s seed and petrifies into gems stones. Wood held by golden sap, feeding like a plant whilst remembering all the secrets of the rocks. Wood speaking the language of the heavens and the whispers of the underworld. Wood pulling up and pulling down, wood, the bridge mirroring the poles of bright air and solid darkness. Wood, Persephone’s arms pushing to the center, carrying mountains above the seas whilst feeding from solar clouds.

Forests of bridges between undergrounds currents of memories and futures spelt out by the stars.

Forests turning light into matter and matter into light again, living wider seasons through seasons, living several times at the same time.




Day 2 - Geting Clayin the Baranco


One after the other they would turn into little dust bins.

A dust bin? A bag of cosmic dust, blowing up blowing up blowing up.


- So, Here we are, turning twisting hearts and wrists into other forms of breathing.

It all trans-forms, that, we know. Nothing ends or begins, it be-comes. Death and Life as fixed states are unreal and morbid, para-lyzing and dry. We shall add the -ing to all that we are be-ing. As a pre-sent action continuing for ever, trans-forming into another, on and on, again and again. Eros-ion, in spanish, is a cosmic « Meteor-izacion ». Mr Oxford Dictionary of English, could we have your light on this word?


- Yes indeed. Eros-ion is the gradual de-struction or diminution of some-thing.

the eros-ion of the cliffs | the eros-ion of democratic freedoms: wearing away, abrasion, scraping away, grinding down, crumbling, wear and tear, weathering, dissolving, dissolution; eating away, gnawing away, chipping away, corrosion, corroding, attrition; wasting away, rotting, decay; undermining, weakening, sapping, deterioration, disintegration, destruction, spoiling; rare : detrition.


- Thank you indeed Mr Oxford. Well, I have just found the right back leg of a beetle. The rest of the beast was lost when I encountered boars. You know, I was interested in this Greek Goddess of the dead… Persephone… She circles be-tween and through all of life and death at the same time. Same - Time. Yes, for there are different times. A time for death, a time for life, a time for what is in be-tween. A time to ex-hale, a time to in-hale, a time to be a flesh bag of bones and a time to be a strange bird singing to the lady birds genitals. Even a time to be a foreign metal confusingly finding its way through empty space, captured by its own lack of orbit, looking at Jupiter for in-spiration. Persephone, she is captured by time. It is time that stretches her states of being, time that structures her identity, her becomings. Her existence is her passages, transgressing, trans-forming, traversing, trans-cending. Her agency and her voice are caught in a beautifully spinning wheel. Waxing and Waning have become the foundations of her lungs’ architecture. She erodes, undergoes abra-sion, grinds down, crumbles. It all slides down, limestone and clay, slide down when Demeter cries her daughter’s void, down the mountain into the sea. And up again from the chest of the Earth, from Hades’ bed, rising hills into cliffs and peaks, limbs of flowing fire reaching for the mothering clouds again. Another time, a time that sees us pass faster than a ridge’s blink. When Humans tell her story, Persephone speaks through flowers, fruits and fait. She feeds the life and death of women’s wombs and men’s desire. For the sierras, her seasons string along with eros-ion, the dissolution of rocks, boulders’ decay. Her wider season en-compass billions of years of fossilized onyx stone, turning them into fire or gas, into clouds again.- what is the opposite of erosion ?


- I don’t know… Well, maybe soar, growth, expansion, mount up. Fountaining up!


- Fountain! From her cave, from the center, she pulls out and pulls in. She is magnetic, she is the poles, she opposes and unites. I am here, in my time. I’m attempting a temporary fixation. I make milky ways of ephemeral embodiments. It is all I can do, really. Clay is sensitive to tears and tears. It erodes easily. Its sea-sons are faster than embodied carbon’s break down. For clay dissolves. Water opens transformation, transmogrification. This last word is of unknown origin, ironically it means « transform in a surprising or magical manner ». When it magically becomes, the origin gets lost in the surprise. Magic is only about forgetting how transformation has occurred. Persephone is not a magician. She works slowly and adapts to all of life’s sea-sons. She moves in different times at the same time, she is the erosion and the rising. She didn’t magically disappear when she was a little girl, she was taken by death who had fallen in love with her. Death had fallen in love with the beautiful daughter of life. Death knows it needs life, de-sperately needs life. Death needs life, and with death, life can start its course around the sun, dawn and dusk. Life is no longer fixed, time stretches into motion and the movement mutates, eats the mutes and sings itself into being, morning choir. Persephone tells the origin and the becoming, she generously offers a present. Hade’s hands or Demeter’s lament, they might not be love, but rather a pull of the tantalized heart, suffering from an excruciating lack. And in the motion set by the desire for the absent object, trans-formation births, opposes morbid paralysis. Even in sterile drought, Demeter walks. Persephone is the desired object, the invisible force between two magnetic poles, the unknown, silent yet central dark matter enfolding and sustaining space.  It is never about having her, but rather the tides her absence and presence create, the libidinal force of desire itself, orbiting poles into solar systems, milky ways of ephemeral embodiments. Seasons wider than our imagination.