Period of HOZ

Your other body floats in what appears to sit somewhere in the latent space between a rainforest during monsoon and an undersea brine pool. Nature drips in continual putrefaction. You get entirely carried away, dissolving and becoming indistinguishable from the uncongealed space that holds you. It feels impossible, losing any sense of its limits, confused and turning endlessly into itself. What is left of your identity flickers out of focus. One layer gets stripped away at a time, in exact correspondence to a successive dismantling of neural levels from the top down: the human is the first to go, followed by the mammal, the animal and — finally — life. You feel nothing as you migrate into the desolate plane of raw impulse.

Where there was surely you mere moments ago, there is now the clear figure of some archaic mummified god defined only by its constant wasting away. Asian mystery schools once commemorated this in their veneration of such resurrected vegetable deities as Attis, Osiris or Dionysus: iridescing, green, thorny slivers of shellac or keratin come undone from a barely anthropomorphic creature, more sea serpent and part aquatic insect.