The world for worlds to become

Recovered fragments, field notes, and mythologies gathered from encounters with darkness. A series of voices navigate a shifting terrain where darkness is not understood as absence, but as a living condition of relation, transformation, and becoming.

Moving between sensory observation, collective voicing, sound experimentation, and poetic reflection, the work follows a gradual reorientation. What begins as an encounter with uncertainty and disorientation develops into an exploration of proximity, permeability, and more-than-human forms of knowledge. Apple trees, stones, roots, bodies, breath, and atmospheric vibrations become companions in a cartography that resists fixed coordinates and stable meanings.

Drawing on ecological thought, feminist and decolonial critiques of enlightenment, and practices of listening beyond the human, the project treats darkness as a space where certainty dissolves and new forms of attention emerge. Here, opacity is not a problem to overcome but a condition for relation. Knowledge appears through touch, resonance, and partial connection rather than mastery or visibility.

Part sound piece, part speculative archive, part collective ritual, Archive of Encounters with Darkness invites listeners into a world where darkness becomes garden, compost pile, rehearsal room, and nursery for worlds yet to come.



Beggining with what drifts, circulates and remains almost impossible to trace in darkness, we have been thinking through layered voices, field recordings,  geological rhythms,  porous bodies, noise, vibration and distant signals. 




We share stories

THE GAPS
aeroplankton/field recordings/bird song/flute/the wind/the changing wind/listening to the trunk of a tree/darkness/the unseeable/soupy mix/finding comfort in the darkness/trusting without seeing/telling stories to the other/listening to the dark/telling stories to the dark/darkness within the body/cells/organs/

bodies that can't fly on their own/let themselves be carried by the wind 

speaking in the we 

exercises to help us explore 

Random order of offerings - "Brownian motion is the random motion of particles suspended in a medium (a liquid or a gas)." 
 



we are interested in atmospheres that can not be fully grasped "hyper-beings"?


Holding space for differences 
 

overlapping presences
bumping into eachother






Yuri 
more time between each section so give the sound space to breathe
stronger ending 
collective humming in between texts 
titles

we invite you to close your eyes/guide you 
invite onto the stage 


||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||INTRO [preamble to first entry]


(feel free to change, just a first proposition :) :)


The following documents were recovered from an archive of encounters with darkness. 
Their recollection is incomplete, fragmented 
The author remains unknown. We only know they begin here.
We await further entries 

The following documents were recovered from an archive of encounters with darkness.
Their recollection is incomplete, fragmented.
The author remains unknown.
We only know they begin here.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Listen to the sound of our voices.
Release tension.
Raise your curiosity.
This is a field guide through darkness.
We await further entries.

(this a mix of both preambles)




we invite you   
invite you to close your eyes
breathe in
breathe out
take a moment
listen
feel the tingling on your skin
breathe in and out
(with every outbreath, release tention, with inbreath raise your curiosity could also be active breathe out: release tension, breathe in: raise your curiosity)
we will guide you
(guide you through 1)a first encounter with the darkness, 2)possibility of exploration 3) of reconciliation and valuing 4) of learning from 5) of becoming,)
listen
listen to the sound of our voices
we will guide you
this is a field guide through darkness/visiting darkscape (maybe both? this is a fieldguide trough darkness, a visit of a/the darkscape?)

The following documents were recovered from repeated encounters an archive of encounters (?) with darkness. 
The author remains uknown 
Their recollection is incomplete, fragmented 
We do not know who wrote them. We only know they begin here.
We await further entries 

FIRST ENTRY 
I know the gate is open. I hear it. Whatever is moving outside in (still tendency of staying more abstract, no place? agreed) 
the garden, it moves slowly, and soundlessly, I move towards it, it pulls me in. I try to open my eyes, to see.
To see it. The lids are already open, the eyeballs are moving nervously. I see
but I do not see. I’m intimidated by the density of it the black. I almost can feel
it, I almost can touch it.
No. It touches me, it catches me, holds me, holds me tight. It doesn’t let me
move. I cannot see my arms, I cannot see my feet, I cannot see my legs. It
pushes me, pulls me, scratches me.
No, it lies silently on my shoulders, on my head, on my hair, covers me like a
blanket, a soft cloth of smooth black velvet. I notice the friction of the soft cloth on my
skin, on my hair. It nestles around me, caresses me, whispers to me. I gratefully
reach out my hands towards it.
I push it softly with my thumb, I form with my fingers as if it was potter’s clay. I
dig a hole, try to make it bigger and bigger. I push with my palms, push it
back. Here I am. I reclaim this position.
Here I am.
I say it doubtfully. Please do not take me over! Do not swallow me, I’m begging.
But it laughs scornfully (does it? is it maybe a softer snort, laught, gurgle? yes, cool :)) . It pushes me, punches [again, maybe something softer? trips me up?] me and lets me sway. It pushes me, makes me stumble and lets me sway.
is rotating, rotating around me, driving faster and faster. I’m caught in the eye,
in the centre. I feel dizzy. It solidifies itself. Is it making fun of me?just to make fun of me. I’m worried
about hard objects, I do not see, sharp edges that are moving closer and
closer. I reach out my arms, my arms, without knowing how far they reach,
they are lost, lost in the darkness. I cannot distinguish anymore, what’s out
there, my arms are out there, out there. My legs are out there, out there,
somewhere. I’m in the darkness. I’m dark- I'm darkness. I’m the darkness.(too early to become maybe? or maybe not, a first little swallow, yet not a commited but rather unintentional one? or a question. Am I darkness? i've added this segment to the end, becoming darkness. perhaps we could repeat the 'out there out there' and then add in the becoming darkness -> makes sense!)
Suddenly, I hear a noise. We/I [too early for we?] hear a noise. It stops moving. We both [i] jerk, remain
silent to listen.
It is just the wood of the chamber’s wall groaning and moaning.  I feel relieved.
Here I am. Back in the garden, back in this garden. For a very short moment,
it’s permeability is revealed.
Darkness, darkness, I’m laughing (do we laugh about darkness?) about you. About me? About me, here, (laughing as relief, but maybe not necessary, i imagine nervous laughter)

MAPPING THE DARKNESS [second entry]

Pressure feels like my only body, as if the compressed knowledge of I myself decompresses somehow, bubbly.

Taking one step after the other, I notice how much attention I have to give to this simple action of walking, the surfaces vary, from smooth to spongy, the levels of dryness alter my sense of stability,become another way of orienting myself, and the sharp and pointy parts of something scratches my skin, and I live a microscopic parts of epidermis on what I imagine to be a very old species of apple trees, I assume. Perhaps this is another way of meeting. I can barely notice particular shapes, maybe just a small differences of blobby outlines in the shades of gray of penumbral perception, and even tho the darkness seem to be all encompassing, and definitely altering my perception, I can distinguish it’s different forms, and the longer I’m here, the more apparent it becomes that it is not a monolith, but a composite always containing a light too, even if I’m not equipped to sense that precisely. 

I could partially sense it a moment ago, when my skin was meeting with something else, and that indeed caused some sort of pain, but also brought the possibility of having my skin open, letting something enter, letting something flow out. An apple tree? A skin? Their meeting in these conditions make me think how much the situatedness and relationality of this moment, how much knowledge they keep about the dark. As of the apple tree, grounding and nourishing in the underground with its roots spreading, housing various types of beings, and thriving in the sphere of decomposition. And above, at night, resting from the photosynthetic activities. The eaten apple carries the seed, germinating, expansion, and growth, all happen in the field of darkness, and even beneath my skin, the fascial network allows for the flow, for the elasticity and receptivity, and the unclear outer layer of my body, that I can barely distinguish now from the surfaces I’m stepping on. 
Certain things become difficult to describe.
Others easier.

Observations:
 the air thickens around an absence
 the terrain registers it differently depending on how long one stays
 in this environment, alignment is avoided 
measurements are taken but never compared 
records exist, though they contradict each other 
 no effort is made to reconcile them 
 consistency is considered a form of damage
 
 when patterns begin to stabilize, small errors are introduced
 these are not corrections, they are adjustments to prevent closure 

Beneath my feet, I bump into something, beneath my feet

the oldest stone in the garden, it kept absorbing the warmth all afternoon then releasing it slowly after sunset
people sit near it when language becomes too sharp 



PLAYING WITH THE DARKNESS[third entry]


BECOMING DARKNESS [fourth entry]



 a space 
 
 between


thoughts emerge in atmosphere without a place to land 
but this is no longer a problem 

 
 it it it it feeeeeeels 
feeeels like 
beeing 
in air 
never alone



 a nice spot to rest, to let go

 a link to being with 

rekindling with the air 
inhaling while exhaling 
remember 
to 
to 
to 
to 


 disperse and reassemble
while becoming a porous entity  that allows to hold the unknown, the incomplete, the infinite 


I cannot distinguish anymore, what’s out
there, my arms are out there, out there. 
My legs are out there, out there,
somewhere. 

I’m in the darkness. 

I am the darkness.



There was a time when we searched for orientation. Now we search for proximity.
Pressure,
Temperature.
Weight.
The movement of air around another body.

we become porous entities.
Holding 
the unknow.
the incomplete.

no weight,
no weight.
light.
nothing.
everything carried.
carried away.
carried closer.
be carried.




I'm in the darkness
We are in the darkness
we are the darkness


(i dont think we need more text actually and we could just end on "we are the darkness" but i wrote a bit more so ill just let it here)

Sometimes it travelled with me.
A small pocket of darkness tucked inside a sleeve.
A fold of darkness hidden beneath the tongue.
A darkness carried in the spaces between thoughts.
I had spent so long observing darkness that I failed to notice it had also been observing me.
Learning my habits.
Learning my rhythms.
Learning my shapes.
We began exchanging them.
Darkness borrowed my voice.
I borrowed its patience.
Darkness borrowed my memories.
I borrowed its ability to remain unfinished.
The distinction became increasingly difficult to maintain.
I would reach for my arm and find a root.

Darkness did not ask me to disappear.
Only to become porous.
Only to become multiple.
Only to loosen the borders I had mistaken for myself.






















We share stories

THE GAPS
aeroplankton/field recordings/bird song/flute/the wind/the changing wind/listening to the trunk of a tree/darkness/the unseeable/soupy mix/finding comfort in the darkness/trusting without seeing/telling stories to the other/listening to the dark/telling stories to the dark/darkness within the body/cells/organs/

bodies that can't fly on their own/let themselves be carried by the wind 

speaking in the we 

exercises to help us explore 

Random order of offerings - "Brownian motion is the random motion of particles suspended in a medium (a liquid or a gas)." 
 

Beginning with aeroplankton, with what drifts, circulates and remains almost impossible to trace, we have been thinking through layered voices, field recordings, darkness, geological rhythms, weather, porous bodies, noise, vibration and distant signals. 


we are interested in atmospheres that can not be fully grasped "hyper-beings"?


Holding space for differences 
 

overlapping presences
bumping into eachother




***************************

hi:)

I reach out, try to grasp
i?
no I!

rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr tremble
sssssssh, hum
psssss 

pressure feels like my only body, as if the compressed knowledge of I decompresses somehow, bubbly 

 !
 
 a link to being with 


 the air thickens around an absence
 the terrain registers it differently depending on how long one stays              syats eno gnol woh no 
 in this environment, alignment is avoided     dediova si tenemngila 
 measurements are taken but never compared             derapm
 records exist, though they contracdict each other 
 no effort is made to reconcile them 
 consistency is considered a form of damage
 
 when patterns begin to stabilize, small errors are introduced
 these are not corrections, they are adjustments to prevent closure 
 
 sand does not linger when wind blows over former mountains
 whispering of times yet to come 
 embrace 
 
 heat
 pushing the air under the water and then not being able to or wanting to recognize 
 all the p p p p parts s s
 
 so so s somewhat
 
 sssssssssssssssssssssss
 there is a delay , I can sense my senses wrapping around my inner dots
 somewhat lost in dense liquid space 
 trembling 
 
 turn it upside down and push, push, push
 wide open, receptive
 
 eversince my, or rather our, sight became useless, our eyes got closed by the thick membrane filled with sheaths sprouting elongated bodies of new organs, lush lashes of a sort, or maybe annteneas, or hair, we'll just call it a [....] for now
 
 disperse and reassemble
 (((dis)))location, ((((dis))))location, how to translate it even to make sure it keeps the meaning of presence in the whereness and a granular travels with and without the control
 attention produces HEAT
 attention, if sustained, becomes a small climate.
 
 they were told, before arriving, not to concentrate for too long. 
 the instruction was brief and not fully explained. no one asked for clarification.
 the environment appeared temperate. there were no visible sources of heat, siurfaces remained cool to the touch. air circulated without noticeable variation. for a time, this was accepted without question.
 
 it was only during extended observation that the first deviations occured 
 a slight increase in warmth was registered in one area, then another.
 at first, this was attributed to external factors.
 equipment perhaps?
 or proximity between bodies 
 but
 the increase did not correlate with movement, density or time of day.
 it took time before anyone connected it to attention.
 no one agreed on when it began
 some said it had always been there, only now becoming noticeable, others were certain it had not. 
 it was difficult to measure because any attempt required a degree of focus that seemed to intensify the condition. 
 
 i thinl over time certain habits changed. 
 
 
 a dot could mean an end and a new beginning, it's a circle after all 
or a grain of sand. hyperbolic. sand. 
still a mountain
recollecting its form. 

forms s s s s s 
p p p p p point 


.

 today the books are good no words wrapped between the pages 
 
 no weight, no weight, light, no, nothing, 
 
 if thhhhhhhhing had multiple h how would it fold into a cristaline, manifold structure
 if the word would be burried, or suspended, or sinken deep into a penumbra, or lack of something thicker 
 would it thrive or try
 
 trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
 
 a sort of whirring
 our pulsations in unison
 only by touching, feeling the jolts going through us
 
 something tells me, making tools defines us more than language
 making fools 
 
 it is only the weight of your body that makes me aware of your presence
 when you move trough space I know that you too are 
 what you are?
 a question might be the answer
 a touch a way to remember 
 sound sound sound 
 clouds clouds clouds passing by 
 drops drops drops 
 p p p p p p 
 s s s s s s s
 
 space 
 
 between
 
 
 a nice spot to rest 
 
 
 longing for this expansion
 
 a kind of extended fascial network
 
 days passed without incident. there was no indication of external interference.
 
 
but a good time to dwell 

desire for this compression

sssssssssssssssssssssssssss
p p p p p p p p p p p p p p

a breathing territory, breathing
breath
breathe through you

...and then, a crackling sound
a jolt
a tingling monument, the opposite of a stone!

and there is still whisdom, in all of it, lingering, waiting

rekindling with the air 
inhaling while exhaling 
remember 
to 
to 
to 
to 

dissolve?
suspend! 



smallest pieces, unities, how small
sand
when everything becomes..., no, is it the contrary of becoming?.... uncomes, un-becomes
you are nothing, but excited
lifted easily
moved easily
carried easily
immersed easily
not found easily
hidden easily
lost easily
muted!
are you sure? because no indication, trace, nothing


ssssssoooooo

at once the smallest and biggest of all 

it it it it feeeeeeels 
feeeels like 
beeing 
in air 
never alone 


wind brushing of drops of water 
smalles molecules, once water, 
now air 
air
air 
air 

blip blip dripdrip  drip    drip      tip     blip                blip 


we ate dandelinion roots when no other food sources were availible
and we puffed into the air 


do you recognise the grains of sand when you are done unbecoming? 


carried 
carried away
carried closer 
un-carried
be carried 



we suspended all belief as if it were possible to pull the thoughts from our heads, hanging in the air, drifting, dissolving, melting, evolving 
instructions for suspending belief 


oh, 
its  matter, energy, movment, in space, in time, beyond
oddly familiar 
way way way beyond 
Air without gravity 
no pull 
no longing 
uncanny dreams might linger 
strangenes to become the unbecoming 

new dust 

line 257 
row 258