Lºyly Ikebana

Several years ago, I squatted a former bread factory in the city of Helsinki.
The porous walls of the factory had absorbed millions of yeast cells that had been used by the bakers for leavening dough. The yeast, in conjunction with various other fungi, such as mold and native mushroom species, began to sculpt the wooden infrastructure of the factory. Also, as a result of my cohabitation with these organisms, my lungs underwent a similar process of decomposition.

The fungal infestation of the building became so extreme, that health officials condemned the building due to its toxicity and I was forcibly evicted. Workers in aseptic, plastic suits began removal of the infected wood. The dumpster where the refuse was deposited began to resemble a massive ikebana arrangement. The fungi had carved and repositioned the cellulose into spectacular, transcendental tumors that resembled fallen clouds. I could only imagine the splendor of the mycological manifestations within mine lungcaves. Alveoli transmogrified into pulsating cherry blossoms on shimmering mucus fields...amber bronchioles, in the key of hibiscus, french-kissing one another at the thoracic cavity twitch party.

Time passed.

Summer, upon a sojourn at an isolated cabin in the Finnish wilderness, a peculiarity involving mine respiration transpired. Whilst meditating during one of my nightly sauna sessions, I felt løyly enter me (Løyly is the steam composing eighty percent of the heavens that rises from the rocks in the sauna's stove). Magnificent Magmatic Massage. Afterwards, I swam in the lake next to the sauna, letting fish lick the sweat from mine skin. My breath was visible as it often is on chilled, boreal nights...except now it did not dissipate as usual. It hugged the surface of the lake and rode waves to the shore, where it clung to driftwood. The wood began to morph. The bell of a new school of ikebana rang clearly in the twilight.

Since this initial lesson of Løyly Ikebana, I have discovered that it is in fact steam that reanimates the dormant fungal cells within mine lungs and for several hours after exposure, my exhalations are laden with spores specialized in arranging organic materials into macrocosmic versions of the eternal orgy occurring within mine bags of wind.

Near Rome, betwixt sea and mountains, I have inhaled the superheated vapors that a sulfuric spring spewed. IT HAS BEGUN.