This is a moodboard showcasing research material, excerpts of writing and script ideas for the Sick Lamb audio project.  


Start again -

The great moon harbours no particular site of worship. Cut across buildings we are charging through them, remaining in silence. In the Expanding Universe that seperates us from ourselves, or perhaps not seperating but being-with. We are listening to our own scores. I am listening to a universe expanding, I am loosening from the sound that immobilises the material of harmony.


“ Denis and Emmerez then introduced carotid artery blood from a lamb into the patient’s vein. They injected three times the volume of blood collected in the dish. The patient said that he felt strong heat moving through his arm.”

“He reported the case of a woman who developed the sheep’s melancholy after receiving blood from a sheep, as cited by Ryser [27].”

Xenotransplantation. 2007 May;14(3):208-16. Xenotransfusions, past and present. Roux FA(1), Saï P, Deschamps JY.

In this sickened flow

beating up my arm

it’s warm

it’s a delight

I’m positively livid

The dancing lamb lived in these moments transfixed. It was a fixed representation, that harboured all other experiences. The temporal fix, which we all played to. Which our time was told by. The  lamb closed itself. The  lamb was the exposure in the offset of slower events. It was the protest of time, the refusal of time, that was seeping into our zone.

The lambs danced in a circle, and we just watched them, not really undersanding why.

I’m slain but standing. I’m dead in the ground.

Ditch stood. I’m drinking the birds tears. I’m listening to the silence. I’m listening to the discomfort in the room. I’m listening to you taking my clothes off. I’m listening to the small pangs of dread i’ve said too much. I’m listening to you change the conversation.

you and I are together, under gaslight stars, pushing spikes through hillsides, purpled in the cornea of your eyesite. I’m reaching through those holes into something that might be further than what I have already ever known. The point is to stumble through it, even it it hurts a beat. My skin, rashes in the dark. I’m pulling myself out of those big holes, I’m pulling us all out, those big holes are a toxic mess, but so glorious, my lick, tongueing the back of your eyesite. This is holding you deeply, this is directing your vision, this is big big love in the eyesite.


If we were to convene in each others shadows, the invisibility of difference would absolve. I am transposed from the noise, still with you, difference in the channels, next to, talking, as you stay with; I wouldn’t want to force my own scream onto you. The universe expands but right now I am a shadow next to another, present, layered on but still just surface material.

Dissoluted, just incomparably there. Shuddering and vibrating, listening in each others shadows, stepping

Slow Violence & The Environmentalism of the Poor, Rob Nixon, 2011


being with and

accompanying in

the collective voice.

Absolving in the


The child jumps over the puddle and shouts “Life!”

ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power) took the cremated human remains of friends, lovers, and family members who were murdered by AIDS (killed by government neglect) and threw the ashes onto the White House lawn in Washington DC in protest on October 11, 1992. 


Begin again -

Becoming undone. Years ago I thought it to be impossible, I thought it was impossible, impossibility to be the only solution.


And then all of a sudden, i realised it is. It’s happening everywhere all of the time.

It only takes a snap.