Scrabbling for the next phoneme placed on a fragmented board, letter by letter Hekate's ecology is wired with fetishes inwardly lit, with swarms of photons outwardly glowing with slow radiogenic decay...


on a journey of rags, gowns, white abalone shells, fluffy green plutonium powder, condoms secreting drops of turquoise, punctured protective gloves...jars become 55-gallon drums, feeding holes sealed with locking rings, fourteen containers swaddled in processed foam and stainless steel skin.


Caustic fumes of bitter love are inhaled from the cave salting away memories of domestic tranquility beneath domes of collective dreams, as seen from a distance: history is highbacked and wide-drifted, its corridors braced with six million cubic feet of noxious debris. Here we unearth the remains of an ancient tribe whose powerful machines exposed the black belly that eats birthdays, sacrificing them to their radiant wealth.