B r e n d a I i j i m a —

BOUNDARYLESS QUANDARIES

The forests, jungles, savannahs, and meadows have been razed and we know some of the reasons: the agro industry converted most of Earth’s arable land into factory fields that grow five main crops: soy, corn, sorghum, barley, and oats. The crops are for CAFO’s: concentrated animal feeding operations. Yearly, seventy billion farm animals are raised for slaughter. They are fed a mash of chemicals and food substances that are not their natural diet. They have diseases and many cannot support their bodies, unable to stand up, they slump in the mud, in their feces and urine or on hot baked soil. Thousands of skinned pink animal carcasses swivel past suspended on hooks. The pooling blood of the slaughterhouses overtakes the view of the tan tractor-harvested fields that stretch for miles. The haze is caused by small filaments of stalk that have whirled out of the tractor blades that float in the hot air. To come anywhere near the fields is hazardous. Along the oceans of the world there are thick outlines of vivid green spongy sludge that bubbles and burps. Algae outgrowths caused by toxic runoffs from the agro chemicals and waste used to fertilize the fields and raise the livestock. A woman in a blue suit points to a map that indicates the dead zones in the oceans. The topographical representation details the scant locations where wild fish remain. With red markings the map shows the proliferation of industrial fish farms. A ballerina twirls by out of the corner of our vision. The musical score she dances to is incongruent to her movements. Explosions resound distantly. She pirouettes under the galactic refractions of a disco ball. The audience claps profusely. There is a mosque with a vaulted dome. An imam intones the call to prayer over a powerful microphone. A thousand worshipers bow in holy prostration on woolen rugs facing Mecca. A lightning bolt strikes the mosque with blue static light. What we experience next is a series of television commercials for all kinds of products: toothpaste that whitens teeth, adult diapers that are gentle on sensitive skin, a snack food that has the flavor of fire. Another jarring video shows up, a fight breaks out in a fast-food drive through line. One person rips a bag of french fries from another person’s hands. There is gun fire. Four people fall to the ground by their cars. We become disoriented again when the eyes of a calf are zoomed in on. The eyes are soft, expressive, and kind. The feeling that the calf conveys changes the mood. The angle of focus shifts. The emphasis is on her torso and then her ankles which are bloody, fungus covered. Her nipples bleed. Thousands of cows come into view, crowding the horizon. The cows are crowded into a pen. The cows walk on ramps toward a mammoth building. They are tased one after another after another in a relentless procession that leads straight to death. We’ve seen documentation of how cows are processed, turned into food, packaged, transported to supermarkets. There is a correlation opening up between need and death, death and need.

Death moves beyond filiation, or does it, as a process, as a state of mind, as a condition? In the rolling uncertainty of the questions that arise, the world offers us clues. That’s when we see one of the performers. They lean over a cow and the cow transforms into sheer nothingness. Instead of the mono fields and the cows the other performers come into view. The early moon is a focal point in their setting, and it is also in ours. One particular performer walks steadily toward us. The performer is able to walk through us, as if we are immaterial, or they are. They circle around those of us who are standing in front of a garbage patch explore. Their breath forms condensation on our cheeks. The performer is taller than we are and looks slightly askance and peers into our faces, into our eyes. Their eyes are covered by a plastic shield, part of their uniform. Their body gestures shed the skepticism that they telegraphed to us. They hold still, continue their gaze. The smell of plastic and crushed herbs rises to our nostrils. The performer holds a sprig of mugwort in their hands. Should we attempt to speak with them? They are always silent, unless quietly convening with each other. We don’t want to disturb the peace.

We’ve been experiencing bouts of madness. Unhinged visions. Pockets of reality become heightened in dimension and in various patterns. An instability of place and time. Displacements have become a frequent occurrence since the algae bursts and since the visitors and the performers exposed Treasure Island to us. Sometimes the barrage of sensory stimulations is horrifying, other sequences we feel ecstatic about. Affectively they encompass a spectrum of sensation and emotion as well as geographic location and historical time. The sensory stimulations are interoceptive. Worlds unfurl in us as well as around us.

We are expecting a baby soon. The prospects for the birth are promising. The anticipation gives respite from other more disquieting outcomes. Our community continues to shrink. Still, we feel glee that a birth will occur. In the present, there is love, desire, enjoyment, and togetherness.

The performer holds a lake above their head cupping an unfathomable amount of water, or a giant crystal. When we look again it is a half-full water bottle that casts glistening flashes of light in all directions. The scale readjusts. A second performer joins their peer. One comforts the other. They embrace, eventually they both sink to the ground. They are distressed, we cannot figure out the reason. One is faintly sobbing. The other offers them their water bottle. They sip willingly, thankfully. With the lightest touch, we caress them, reassuringly. They seem to respond positively to our touch.