This is the tumbling tundra.
A figure tumbling through that tundra,
loose teeth and fell-off shoes in its wake.
That tumbling figure appears to be me.
My body tumbling through that tumbling tundra.
My moss-suit cushions the blows, but my body – purple – green – will be bruished by morning. A dandelion signal stirrs in my nostril EVADE! EVADE! and I slide horisontally through the soggy soil of the hillside and into the oldcold permafrost. Cables snap from my arms and spine and I feel my bloodsugar drop instantly. Stuck between sediments, suspended in time and I have broken an antlar. My signal will most surely be delayed.
I regain consciousness by dawn!
The luxury of a name was never given to me. Where I come from we eat what is living. My sense of language is very rudimentary. We mainly communicate through whistles, taps and clicks. In fact, I do not understand what you say. I stuff my mouth with lichen hoping my signal will improve. Above me eaglecopters circle in a mid-air mating dance. Buzz buzz buzz. I shoot one down and throw it on the fire. Pop pop pop.
Shadows stretch thinly across low growing shrubs commanding me to sleep and I wedge my body between stones and cover it with dirt and moss. I switch my Necrovalve to /Uu. Breathing sky. Goodnight Malevolent Mother. I go into a starless sleep and move on to new flamescapes.
Photography: David Stjernholm, all images copyright and courtesy of the artist and D7, Copenhagen
