Tagger Julio Stevens discovered from a paper published by the University of Oxford that the ‘complex tidal dynamics of the Bristol Channel are not yet fully understood’, in particular ‘the sensitivity of the quarter wavelength resonance to changes such as those caused by energy extraction.’ For years, Stevens, in deep meditation, has watched the tides of the Channel rise and fall: a difference of twelve point two metres from low to high. Close by his observation seat is the site of the receiving station to which Marconi first transmitted radio waves across open sea from Holm Island to Lavernock Point in South Wales.
Stevens is convinced that the natural resonances of the sea tides, and the manmade resonances of the telegraph have combined to open a vortex in space/time so that signals from parallel dimensions, postulated in the quantum theories of Anthony Aguirre and Max Tegmark, are received and recorded in the molecular structure of the concrete of the abandoned Lavernock bunkers. By attuning himself to the resonances of sea, air and light, Stevens claims to record in his wall art fragmentary transmissions from an island (or islands) in one (or more) of our parallel multiverses, that are not limited to any fixed moment in malleable Time. —David Enrique Spellman
Since the discovery of a hidden trench dwelling dug into the hillside behind an electronic appliance dump in a small town in Massachusetts, reports are emerging of the discovery of more underground chambers connected with the disappearance of Gerardo Fischer. It is thought that Fischer ran one, or more, archaeological projects in conjunction with the productions of his theatre company. The latest hidden chamber to be discovered lies close to the remains recently unearthed at Göbekli Tepi, in southern Turkey, that indicate the presence of a Neolithic skull cult.
There is no apparent indication of any connection between the Fischer chamber and the Göbekli Tepi archaeologists; other than coincidence, and Fischer’s known fascination with etched glass skulls. Amira Hamade, founder of the Iranian theatre group Gulmohar, is known to have worked with Gerardo Fischer on a production called The Flame Trees in a cave complex near Göbekli Tepi after she chose exile in Turkey following the Khomeini revolution in Iran.
Amira Hamade is convinced that these recently discovered skull remains are evidence of a force that resides in a deeper plane of being that links up author-nodes across continents via a spiderlike network in the collective unconscious. It was her daughter who discovered the cave chamber where Gerardo Fischer appears to have conducted his own archaeological research in this zone in southern Turkey.
The Museum of the Novel in Buenos Aires – that was once housed above a boxing gym on the Avenida Rivadavia – disappeared this year not long after the great novelist Ricardo Piglia passed away. The museum was the site of intersecting plotlines and home to the automaton created by Macedonio Fernandez to contain the memories and spirit of his wife Elena. The automaton outlived her husband and became the source of hundreds of stories that escaped from the white nodes of language hidden in her circuitry. A number of nodes – no one knows how many – unknotted during the clandestine removal process, and caused power surges along the fibre optics of the new broadband infrastructure in the tunnels beneath the Argentine capital. Subliminal pulsations of light, that flash via the screens of international video calls, have caused stories to jump across continents in fragments, and to emerge as automatic writing on the mobile phones of sensitives as far away as Mongolia and Australia. It appears that the automaton Elena may be composing and transmitting a vast elegy for Ricardo Piglia, who did so much to preserve her immortality. Programmers from the Far South Project are working to reconstitute the complete text, but they are unsure that it will ever be possible, or even if Elena intends it to be. —David Enrique Spellman
While searching for Gerardo Fischer, I came across a trench dwelling dug into a wooded hillside above a small town dump in Western Massachusetts. I thought the equipment obsolete and long since defunct. The moment I crossed the dark threshold a reel-to-reel tape clicked into life, and among the screens that I assumed were dead, three tubes flickered into silent life, monitors for cameras that I would fail to find, transmitting, as they were, from an unknowable source, a stream of images antic and alien. —David Enrique Spellman