ADAM AVIKAINEN

Lºyly Ikebana

2009-02-13T03:59:00.000-08:00

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.

L

2009-02-13T03:58:00.000-08:00

SARAKURA

2009-02-13T03:40:00.000-08:00

SARAKURA

(An attempt by the artist to capture and contain energy from the summit of
the eponymous mountain and tele-transport the photonic sound melange into
the cities below...unwittingly, the artist recreated an empress's revelation
as she descended the same mountain centuries ago...near dusk, the sky
suddenly shifted from a deep plum into a black violet and then moments later
to a black black...sans shadow, she exclaimed, "Apparently it can get even
darker." The name SARAKURA (EVEN DARKER) stuck.

They both witnessed the same phenomenon... she, after surveying her kingdom
at the golden hour...and he, after extracting photons from the air.)
_______________________

"A concatenation of jackpots has led me here: Aboard a boat above migrating eels.

Now: Drinking machined tea with the crescent moon peeping through a porthole.

Okay. This is a press release for a picture show about a mountain named Sarakura.
It's a study of movement...a series of disparate images, aural room tones and
scrawled rune tomes: Heuristic ushers in the nuevo romantick cinema.

Let's back up a bit...the eponymous Sarakura was my muse...
this show was composed in its shadow.

Picture a ball of rancid blueberry sorbet spinning in a static waffled cone
that is dusted with cinnamon. Oh! And now, look, a willow leaf of an eel
is emerging from the sorbet and now is winding up and around the cone
and there, now it croons in a cradle in a crack in the crest.

So, here's the deal: I was that eel...stumbling around that conical pedestal...

I, in my photonic toga, was time personified.

Here, may I present; A folded earth.

The energy of one equinox teletransported to the other."

AA, 4:43 AM, April 2, 2008. Somewhere on the Pacific.

____________

To be explicit, I spent 7 months in the town of Kitakyushu, Fukuoka, Japan in residency at the Center of Contemporary Art. The CCA lies in the shadow of a mountain named Sarakura that defines the sleepy town of steelworkers.

3 or 6 times per week, I walked up and around the mountain before returning to my studio at the base to transcribe the process in words, paints and sounds.

I envisioned myself as a bow (in the form of a migrating eel) drawn slowly across the strings/paths of the mountain. A song strung out over Autumn & Winter and played in Spring.

My works deal with inter-connectivity, and I was fascinated with the fact that the water I used for my aquarelles, my hojicha and my baths at the onsen all originated within the aquifer within/beneath? Sarakura.

So, the actual exhibition included elements from this process:

1) A dossier consisting of 100 pages of text and sketches that anthropomorphize the mountain. Dusted with cinnamon and placed upon a brick covered in lace.

1) 10 aquarelles (@120 cm2) referencing pages from the dossier.

1) A piece of the mountain's apex reclining on a couch resting upon the towel I used at the onsen near Sarakura.

1) Two (30-minute) soundtracks (one composed in Autumn and one in Winter)(presented via separate, portable headphones).

Transcendental Terrestrial Trephine

2009-02-13T03:36:00.000-08:00

A 1:135 scale maquette of a Victorian-age, crystal skyscraper-greenhouse. A gigantic trephine to reintroduce the spiritual back into the earth's crust. Capable of feeding 5.000 souls per annum. Urban Sustainability.

LESDUTA

2009-02-13T03:33:00.000-08:00

"The Lesduta live in the mountains at the northern end of Lake Como. They are half- Bombyx Mori & half- Homo Sapiens. All members of the community are required to spin silk for commodity rather than cocoons. However, once per year, a lottery is held, in which one woman and one man are awarded the opportunity to complete their life cycles by becoming moths and mating. For the following year, the aerial lovers hover above their terrestrial cousins and shadow the daily commute to and from the village of Como, where the worms exchange silk for their dietary staple of mulberry leaves. The beating of the moths' wings is the source of the tivano: the northerly, morning lake winds; and the breva: the southerly, evening lake winds."

A myth was composed for the people of Como, Italy and presented to the mayor. I assembled a sculptural portrait of a Lesdutan couple in courtship. Following the exhibition, the Lesdutan sculptures were disposed of and now if one visits Como and looks closely, one can see red & white silken bird nests containing chicks with beaks agape, awaiting their mothers to drift home upon the breva or the tivano with a worm.

Materials used:

Silk & Invasive, non-indigenous weeds that have thrived upon the excrement of squatters residing in a dilapidated fabric warehouse located behind the exhibition space.

WARDIAN CASES

2008-11-10T06:02:00.001-08:00

FADE IN:

EXT. ISLA CHINCHA NORTE, PERU -- NOON -- 1868

A large group of Chinese girls are shoveling guano from a
pile that rises 200 feet closer to the blazing sun.
Everyone is dizzy on ammonia fumes and dehydration. Many
dilapidated clippers flying the flags of the Netherlands,
the United Kingdom and the United States surround the
island. They are loaded up to their marks with the shit of
pelicans, cormorants and boobies (which float on the fumes).

One of the girls stops digging and speaks to the camera.

GIRL
This is my teenager gang, the
WARDIANS, and how it all began.
Ex-situ. In vitro.

In unison, all of the girls run towards the cliff's edge
and jump into the sea. The girl that spoke has not moved
and begins singing a very high-pitched note that lasts
minutes. Most of the slave masters have gathered around her
and one is about to strike her down with a machete, when the
girl lights a shiny new Nobel prize with an extremely short
fuse that sends the whole pile of nitrates, phosphates,
eggs, shit, humans, feathers and shovels to kingdom come.

FADE TO FIRE:

EXT. ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE -- AFTERNOON -- 1803

A naked boy of twelve is kneeling in a field. The sky
sleets.

He is huddling over a purple plant. His clothes are
swaddling the plant.

He suddenly jumps to his feet and runs to a nearby frozen
pond. He breaks several large sheets of ice from the
surface and rushes back to the purple plant.

He then hastily constructs an ice structure that shields
the plant from the sleet.

He thrusts his nose into the frozen house and inhales.

ZOOM INTO BOY'S NOSTRIL:

ZOOM OUT FROM A BEARDED MAN'S NOSTRIL:

INT. A PRIVATE GREENHOUSE -- DAY -- 1863

A bearded man is kneeling in the nude on the floor of a
greenhouse. He is surrounded by thousands of plants. He
thinks he sees a gang of 333 teenager girls wearing leather
jackets emblazoned with "W" climbing on the sides and roof
of the greenhouse. A wave of premonitions rock Dr. Ward's
lifeboat.

FADE TO LAVENDER:

TITLE PAGE: WARDIAN CASES

INT. A THEATER ABOARD A BOAT -- 1888 -- EVENING

Smith, the foremost Wardian expert on matters of the fungal
variety, has recently made a fascinating discovery
concerning flagellate cells in certain fungi and sperm cells
of most animals. In order to announce her findings to a
larger audience, Smith has organized a chorus line dance,
with the dancers dressed in costumes straight from the
mushroom kingdom. Before the performance, Smith will make a
speech about the similarities between fungi and animals.

SMITH
Salutations everybody and gracias
for coming below deck on such a
glorious Indian summer's evening!
To begin...ummm...due to recent
observations...Indeed, fungi are now
thought to be more closely related
to animals than to plants, and are
placed together with animals in the
monophyletic group of opisthokonts
and-

AUDIENCE MEMBER #1
Is that why mushrooms look like
willies?!?!

SMITH
Umm...actually, yes, the reproducti-

AUDIENCE MEMBER #2
Aw, go suck a toadstool you
spore-guzzling fairy!

HAR, HAR, HAR. The crowd ROARS.

AUDIENCE MEMBER #3
(screaming with
frothy lips)
BRING OUT THE GOSH DARN DANCERS!!!

Smith dives beneath the black velvet curtain in order to
dodge a screwdriver cocktail thrown from the balcony.

ZOOM IN:

CU:

THE CITRIC ACID WITHIN THE ORANGE JUICE BURNING THE
TATTERED, ANCIENT CURTAIN.

ZOOM OUT:

Moments later, dancers dressed in mini-skirts shaped like
the heads of button mushrooms jog onto stage and start to
gyrate spasmodically as a piano player underneath the stage
begins to SMASH OUT a SPEED-METAL GRINDCORE NUMBER.

CUT TO:

INT. THE RAFTERS OF THE THEATER -- CONTINUOUS

A mouse and a small bird wearing a shitty mouse costume are
watching the action from the rafters above.

MOUSE
Nice legs, dontcha' think?

BIRD
Sure...I guess they're okay.

MOUSE
Whatdya' mean!? Those gosh darn
stems are more delicious than fresh
morels sauteed in butter and sea
salt!

BIRD
Myself, I'm actually a titmouse.

EXT. THE POOP DECK OF A LARGE SHIP -- MIDNIGHT -- 1870

A stellar flare is reflected in a golden barrette clasped
to a red-headed janitrix named Janis Hankey Davey T. She is
asleep beneath a telescope on the deck of the Wardians'
naval, navel orange greenhouse. Janis conked out after
staring at the cosmological ensign of her teenage gang and
painstakingly attempting to memorize the nuances of each
star. Shortly after dipping into REM, massive
hydrogen-fueled storms become visible on the surface of each
of the stars and pump out more perfume. The ultraviolet
radiation of these explosive squalls is magnified and
focused upon Janis's barrette. It liquefies and soon drips
through her skull and kisses her brain, which leaves a
hickey. Intense electromagnetic energy boards the ship,
causing the compasses to spin and take flight.

EXT. THE POOP DECK OF A LARGE SHIP -- DAWN

Janis's mind begins to swell. A doctor is needed.
However, due to lack of magnetic guidance and clouds, the
crew doesn't know where they are anymore and the surgeon
walked the plank last week. Panic ensues as the eyes of
Janis begin to bulge. The pain becomes unbearable and the
scent of metal in her sinuses encourages her to rip the
telescope from its base, break it over her knee, and perform
an emergency trephination upon herself.

Presssssure Drop.

FADE TO MAGENTA:

EXT. THE SEA. 187?

The visuals follow the lead of the narrator.

GRAVELLY NARRATOR (V.O.) (V.O.)
Scurvy vanished for one year. The
Wardians first ventured into
philanthropic endeavors by
concentrating orange juice and
distributing it amongst sailors on
the high seas. And then the whole
shebang fell apart. A band of
autonomous merchant mariners
hijacked all of the Wardian
greenboats containing Mediterranean
flora. They then sent all of the
plants to a watery grave, save the
grapes and some flowers. Within a
year, they began producing a
cocktail of Chardonnay and opium
that they billed as a cure for
scurvy, cancer, and godlessness.
Orange juice didn't have the same
kick as this stuff and the Wardians
has to dump most of it into the sea.
They sold this snake oil from
floating, red & white big top tents.
The junkies were lined up for
leagues. Then one of the Wardian
captains became hooked on the stuff
at the friend of a friend's cousin's
birthday bash. She lost it then and
there, just went plain loopy,
started convincing all of the other
degenerates at the shin-dig that
oranges were the testicles of
Beelzebub. She wailed, "Matt 12:27
Et is ego in Beelzebub eicio
daemones filii vestri in quo eiciunt
ideo ipsi iudices erunt vestri,"
before burning each and every citrus
tree on the seas. A Wardian
botanist countered this attack on
morality by hybridizing Atropa
belladonna or Deadly Nightshade with
Vitis vinifera or European
Grapevine. Late one night, this new
plant was introduced to the floating
vineyards tended by the malicious
merchants.
Within one year, there was no one
left alive willing to sip Chardonnay
Chemotherapy.

THE SKY
Ah, you sweet little rogues, you!
Roguing only begets rogues!

FADE TO CHARDONNAY:

EXT. BENEATH THE ATLANTIC OCEAN -- 187?

A transatlantic telegraph cable is being laid. It tingles.

The whales are copulating around and around the
telecommunications umbilical cord as it slowly falls into
the beds of glowing fish.

Electric, English syllables are already lining up to break
the news of failed long-distance relationships.

CU:

The rusted iron hull of the ship doing the laying is
plastered with zebra mussels. Those suckers are multiplying
at breakneck speeds.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. A DINGY VETERINARY CLINIC ON A ROW BOAT -- CONTINUOUS

A mangy zebra is heehawing its head off. Its flesh is in
the midst of a twitch party. Flies are riding on the
flailing tail. A muscular Wardian wearing a filthy sheet
enters from outside and puts the bewildered beast in a sort
of comforting headlock.

THE VETERINARIAN (Whispering)
You're looking for faces in coal
smoke and you can't even comb your
hair anymore. So if you ever saw
anyone, they wouldn't even recognize
you. Three, two, one, the needle's
in'er neck.

CU: A rusty iron needle is inserted into the quivering
muscle behind the zebra's ear.

THE VETERINARIAN
Now the light will poke the smoke
and your locks will flow again for
friends.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. UNDERWATER -- LATER

The zebra is doing an upside down breast stroke.

The iron-hulled steamer laying cable passes overhead.

The cable combs through the zebra's mane on its descent.

FADE TO BLACK AND WHITE:

EXT. A WHITE STEAMSHIP -- MORNING

Chinchillas run rampant aboard the ships. In Peru, the
Wardians adopted the rodents as their mascots. Somewhere
between here and there, they procreated a couple thousand
times. Then, shortly after they ate all the wheat, they
started crapping in the coffee. Too darn cute to do
anything about until the infestation of fleas occurred. Two
Wardians are drinking orange juice and eating muesli.

WARDIAN WITH BUCK TEETH
I ain't no way in heck sleeping
down here again, look at my ankles,
them darn circus stars bit them down
to the bone. I gots to dance
tomorrow.

WARDIAN WITH PIGTAILS
I think we should get a new mascot.
Like a pineapple.

Suddenly, a chinchilla that had been sleeping next to the
pitcher of orange juice gives birth. The table is upended.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. A WATERMELON PATCH -- MORNING

A group of young Wardians are watering the watermelons and
singing an old nursery rhyme. They are all wearing
chinchilla overalls and chinchilla boots. They are sweating
profusely.

GROUP (SINGING)
Since the mouses got into the rice,
we gots to eat the mice. Since mom
took away our dice, we can't win no
more spice. Our clothes for some
ice, our clothes for some ice. I
wish I was a famished feline, I wish
I was a famished feline.

INT. AUTUMN IN THE PUMPKIN PATCH ON AN OLD SCHOONER --
EVENING

Three morbidly obese Wardians are gorging on roasted
pumpkins which have been dipped in brown sugared butter.
They chase their mouthfuls down with hot apple cider
containing copious amounts of cinnamon which sucks torrents
of tears from their bloodshot brown eyes. They giggle in
ecstatic blisss. There is a calm and collected manner about
the way in which they feed each other. Harmony harvest.

ZOOM IN:

A pumpkin rind balances precariously upon an enormously
erect nipple.

ZOOM OUT:

The pumpkin party has surrendered to the sneaky sedative
known as Indian summer sunsets coupled with a gut full of
grub. Snores are synchronized and rattle the windows.

ZOOM IN:

A honeybee bathes in a drop of vibrating apple cider on the
pane that separates it from the heliotropic light parade.

EXT. THE BUSHES -- NIGHT

Walda Emma, one of the Wardian dieticians responsible for
ultra-fortified, concentrated orange juice that's all the
rage on the high seas, has just urinated into a glass
bottle. She is holding it up to the light of a lantern.

WALDA EMMA
I think that juice is going right
straight through me without dropping
off the goods in mine blood.

She smells it.

WALDA EMMA (CONT'D)
All that's golden ain't good.

FADE TO GOLD:

EXT. THE SHIP'S BOW -- DAWN

Two Wardians in lime green dresses are holding hands and
letting the wind rush into their open mouths.

LIME DRESS #1
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.
We GOTS to get there. We GOTS to
get there. We GOTS to get there.

LIME DRESS #2
With full confidence in our
impermanence, all in all I think it
all will work out without us having
to.

LIME DRESS #1
I'm just about sick to my stomach
from roping random stars and hoping
they'll fall into our pockets, just
lickety-split like dandruff off a
dog. I just don't think that's how
you get what you want in this world.
Chance-operational shots from the
hip create a lot more widows than
windfalls.

LIME DRESS #2
Well, I just hope we all recognize
this infinite task before us and
pray that all will continue to
strive for its fruition whilst
utterly knowing in compete
confidence that we will never quite
get there.

LIME DRESS #1
But, I just want to stick my finger
in the pie and have a taste. I don't
want the whole pie.

LIME DRESS #2
Well, you might be looking in the
wrong ice box, because the heavens
hovered over the heads of our
ancestors as near as to us.

In the distance, a massive chunk of ice breaks free of a
glacier and crashes into the ocean.

A third Wardian that has been meditating in the crow's nest
chucks a steaming cup of tea into the ocean.

CROW'S NESTER
Holy shit! Did y-you f-feel that!
Let's get paranormalized!

She then performs one of those wicked sailor dives with her
arms stuck to her sides and breaks the surface of the water
with her nose. No splash. 10.

FADE TO LIME:

INT. A HOSPITAL -- SUMMER

An extremely tall Wardian with a broken face is lying on a
large cot with two short Wardians smoking cigars and hanging
up fresh tobacco leaves on the walls to dry. It is Africa
hot and sweat is pooling on the floor beneath the cot. The
smoking Wardians ash their cigars in this puddle.

TALL WARDIAN WITH BROKEN FACE
I want some guava sorbet pie. You
buy, you fly, and I lie.
(She points at each
with her thumb to
assign tasks)
My eyeballs are overheatin'.

Short Wardian #1 gets out of the cot and climbs up on a
stool to peer into a bee hive in the corner of the room.
She takes a huge drag off her cigar and blows it into the
hive and a swarm of honey bees exit. She then sticks her
cigar into the hive and extracts a coin covered in honey,
which is flipped to the Short Wardian #2, who catches it in
her mouth and skips out the door.

SHORT WARDIAN #1
That was our last nickel.

TALL WARDIAN WITH BROKEN FACE
You think we should've saved it for
winter to buy hot chocolate? Or
done like everyone else in this
God-forsaken world? Invested it in
the quest to build a bigger
microscope, or a smaller telescope,
or a more efficient engine, or maybe
used it to discover new fossils or
cure another disease or design a new
dress or create a sweeter sweet
corn? In this heat, those drives
drive me insane.

SHORT WARDIAN #1
Yeah, we might as well be refreshed
when we begin to count all the stars
in this numberless vortex.

TALL WARDIAN WITH BROKEN FACE
The closest we can come to naming
the infinite at this particular
point in time, space and whatever
else they'll put us in next is GUAVA
SORBET PIE.

FADE TO GUAVA:

INT. AN EMPTY BATHROOM -- MORNING

A honeybee enters the room, not knowing where in the heck
it is. Smashes its face into the porthole's glass a couple
of times, just in case. Then it notices a mirror on the
wall and hovers in front of it momentarily. It
spontaneously and simultaneously discharges royal jelly on
its reflection before jetting the heck out of this house of
horrors.

FADE TO HONEY:

EXT. A SENSORY-DEPRIVATION CHAMBER -- AFTERNOON

A Wardian is contained within a coffin-like structure
filled with salt water. She is deep in a day dream rooted
in her past as a peasant in rural China.

ZOOM IN TO BLACK:

WOMAN'S VOICE (V.O.) (V.O.)
Two girls on crutches are crossing
the street to avoid the burlap
sacked vagrant chanting about an
enormous fungus that grows beneath
the earth and that we are in fact
tap roots of this behemoth. We
dance in order to search for new
sources of nutrients for the fungus.
She is even scaring the birds.

A DIFFERENT VOICE (V.O.) (V.O.)
Mothers, teach your sons to dance,
do the ladies a favor,otherwise
they'll only dream of meat and
potatoes, whilst waiting for the big
bullet train to accidentally rumble
into their sluffed hearts and push
them off the walls into the great
square dance in the burnt out barn
that's all lit up like a pomegranate
lantern.

ZOOM OUT FROM BLACK:

A person wrapped in a burlap sack is tangoing next to the
sensory-deprivation chamber.

EXT. A NONDESCRIPT COAL MINE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE ALONG
WITH OTHER PLACES -- DAYS AND NIGHTS

[Two separate narrators are telling the same story. One is
a Chinese nanny sitting in front of a group of young girls
(future Wardians) and one is an English schoolteacher at the
head of a classroom of young boys (one of whom is Nathaniel
Bagshaw Ward)].

NARRATOR (V.O.) (V.O.)
It was morning at the coal mine.
The butterflies were drying their
dewey wings in the fields nearby and
all the kiddies were eating their
porridge. Then there was an
explosion that made the kiddies
wonder if they were eating dewey
butterfly wings. It was so loud and
horrific. A man came running out of
the coal mine with his hands over
his eyes and smoke pouring out of
his mouth in the place of screams.
An old lady was milking her cow and
she immediately jumped on her cow
and told it to run to the mine. She
had that special old lady intuition
that you gots to pay for with
buckets of sweat and stretch marks.
She arrives astride the bovine to
see the injured man running around
in circles.
She alights from her breathing
chariot and leads it to the man.
She says...She says, "Go gets him
Gertrude." And the cow saunters up
to the man and says, "Gets down on
your gosh darn knees before you gets
to rupturing your udders." The man
does so. Then lickety-split the cow
sticks out its big ol' cow tongue
and starts a-lickin' the backs of
his peppered and salted eyelids.
The lickin' and spittin' goes on for
about thirty seconds on each
eyelidback before the cow steps back
and joins the old lady in song "On
the backs of eyelids, ba-a-a-bee,
you'll see the future ain't so much
better than the rest, unless, Oh!
Unless my dear steampunk you go on a
runnin' west! Stop when you smell
oranges that match the scent you saw
On the backs of thine eyelids,
ba-a-a-bee!" The man opened his eyes
slowly and when he saw that singing
cow, he didn't need much more
convincing to hop on the next thing
that floated to America. Well, sure
enough, he smelt them oranges in
California and dropped root at a
monastery where he soon became an
expert on citrus fruits and shortly
thereafter accidentally caused the
mutation that led to the hardy,
ultra-sweet fruits with the navel
you all hold in your hands. It just
goes to show you that when you get a
prolonged opportunity to lucidly
stare at thine eyelidbacks, you best
listen loud!

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. TWO ROOMS FILLED WITH CHILDREN -- DAY

The kids all start mashing the oranges that they hold in
their hands and rubbing the juicy pulp into their eyes.

FADE TO ORANGE:

EXT. THE HIGH SEAS NORTH O' NORWAY -- MIDNIGHT

Thousands of orange peels are bobbing on the surface of the
sea. On the horizon is an ironclad steamer with one light
bulb burning. God, the stars...on this night it seems as if
they are all burning an extra gallon or three of plasma.
Just...gosh darn almighty and amazingly brilliant.

FLY IN TOWARDS THE SINGLE BURNING LIGHT BULB.

We are looking in through a porthole...it is open.

Inside, a single, nude Wardian in top physical form is
pumping iron. She is in a grove of orange trees. The rest
of the room then comes into focus... each of the fitness
apparatuses is connected to a gigantic whirling blade by
means of chains, pulleys, and wheels. Everything is chrome.
Metallic starlight. Each time the Wardian lifts the weights
of the bench press, the well-lubricated blade increases in
speed and sucks oranges from the trees into its mouth, which
proceeds to peel them and then juice them. A colossal glass
container slowly fills with orange juice.

WEIGHTLIFTER
I don't want to be an indentured
servant to my unchosen past, I will
to work all night by light that
traveled to Earth thousands of years
earlier and has been emancipated of
its eternal eventide by mine own
hands!

From a porthole 3 meters right of the one we are looking
through, a burp of orange peels erupts and splashes into the
sea, joining their sisters as they mimic the myriads.

EXT. A COMPOST PILE ON DECK -- DAWN --DEAD OF WINTER

Three elderly Wardians, covered in snow and wielding
pitchforks, are turning a compost pile over in order to
properly aerate it. The heat from the decaying matter is
enormous and the air is filled with steam. Floating nearby
is a dead whale.

ELDERLY WARDIAN #1
If only we had found that whale
there a couple of months ago...we
could'a putta' coupla' fistfuls of
worms in that there boy's eye
sockets and both the bung & blow
holes and I guarantee we would've
had enough dirt for 50 ships...I do
declare I will miss our
vermicultural crush.

ELDERLY WARDIAN #2
Yes, in dang, deed.

Elderly Wardian #3 takes a glass flask of clear liquid from
her hip pocket, bends down, takes a pinch of steaming humus
from the compost pile and drops it into the flask. Shakes
it up. Swigs some. Passes it to her comrades, who also
partake of the mud. It is passed back to Elderly Wardian #3
drained of its contents. She raises its lip to her lips and
screams into it with one lung-depleting breath.

ELDERLY WARDIAN #3
We saw from the distance how the
ship was crushed between two
icebergs tonight in the wind and
snow the captain tried to encourage
us whilst everyone is aslumber I
realize our frightful fate
everything convinces me that this
sea has taken us beyond the limits
of this world.

Elderly Wardian #3 then corks it and kicks it off the ship.

SLOW-MOTION:

The flask twirls and whirls until it comes to rest in a
seagull's nest upon a glacial precipice near the ship. It
rolls next to three eggs. The mother bird returns and the
weight of her body causes the 2000 ton chunk of ice to fall
on to the front of the ship and flip it into the air, where
it does a 900 degree gyration before exploding above the
bloated whale.

INT. A DEATH BED -- DUSK

A young Wardian is reading a copy of Nathaniel Bagshaw
Ward's book, "On the Growth of Plants in Closely Glazed
Cases," whilst lying on her death bed. She has a severe
case of chicken pox. Her tongue is spotted. Things don't
look too hot. A mohawked doctor enters.

DOCTOR
How's the little trooper?

GIRL
Not so hot, I feel like I'm three
sheets to the wind, yet my whistle's
never-ever been wetted.

DOCTOR
You think it's time for the fungal
potpourri?

GIRL
I think after I finish this
chapter.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. A DEATH BED -- MIDNIGHT

A group of Wardians encircle the chicken pox victim. One
plays "Greensleeves" on a flute. The doctor steps forward
from the circle and hands the girl a brown paper bag. Which
she takes and inhales deeply from. A large glass terrarium
is lowered over her from the ceiling. The circle sings the
lyrics to the flautist's song, replacing the word
"Greensleeves" with "Greenlungs."

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. A BALLROOM -- NIGHT?

TWO WEEKS LATER appears on the screen.

An acoustic, dubbed-out dance party complete with full
chamber orchestra containing about six timpani and seven or
so harps, is rip-roaring the roof off. People are flying
through the air with full knowledge that they'll be caught
by other people across the room.

A large watercolor of the girl (sans chicken pox) hangs on
one wall.

An impromptu, synchronized line-dance begins. Socks are
being knocked off. Oh! The Joy!

A Wardian in a pink tuxedo jumps up and swings from the
chandelier to get everyone's attention.

PINK TUXEDO
Hear ye! Hear ye! FUNG LUNG! FUNG
LUNG!

Two Wardians wearing pink tiaras wheel out just about the
biggest, most delectable pie you're ever going to lay eyes
upon. People are drooling! The pie is soon cut, dispersed
and gobbled.

CROWD
God Bless Us As the Spores Swim
Through the Bronchi of those that
have Slipped Their Cable and into
Our Blood and into Our Brains!
Hallelujah for the Cycles that Weave
Through Haloes! Amen!!!

FADE TO WHITE:

EXT. A STARRY NIGHT ON THE POOP DECK -- LATER

The dancers are all pooped out on the poop deck. Catching
their breaths, with the wood sucking some of the moisture
off of their skin and the wind blowing the rest to wherever
it is that some rain is needed.

SWEATY WARDIAN #1 (Whispering)
You can see the sign of the
Janitrix oh so clearly tonight.

P.O.V. THE STARRY SKY -- CONTINUOUS

The Sweaty Wardian #1's eyes are tracing a group of stars
that resemble a snake eating its own tail OR a Mobius strip
mating with a strand of DNA OR perhaps an itsy-bitsy bambina
sucking up spaghetti for the first time.

EXT. A STARRY NIGHT ON THE POOP DECK -- CONTINUOUS

Sweaty Wardian #2, lying next to Sweaty Wardian #1 is lost
in a log of confusion.

P.O.V. THE STARRY SKY -- CONTINUOUS

The Sweaty Wardian #2's eyes are tracing the same group of
stars as Sweaty Wardian #1, but she has added a couple dozen
so the constellation resembles the guano islands she was
born on OR maybe it looks more like an epileptic seizure.

SWEATY WARDIAN #2 (Whispering)
I know I'm supposed to be seeing
some sort of Janitrixian Steam Punk
holding the Floridian keys and
reciting her guiding mantra in a
perpetual feedback loop in order to
illuminate the path to
transcendentalism for all us
Wardians, but the last time I looked
was in winter in the southern
hemisphere and now I see it in
summer in the northern hemisphere.

SWEATY WARDIAN #1 (Whispering)
Amazing.

SWEATY WARDIAN #2 (Whispering)
Yeah, it's amazing that we ain't
crashing into Timbuktu out in the
boondocks every night, 'cause our
guiding lights are all shook up.

SWEATY WARDIAN #1 (Whispering)
Well, it can be a mixed-up,
muddled-up, shook-up world if you
want it to be that way, but the
secret 'bout our cosmological ensign
is that it transmogrifies just about
every darn night. We don't keep
records and we go with our guts,
just like on the dance floor. You
can't rehearse perfection. You
ain't waltzing with cold lumps of
coal, you're having sex with
plasmatic orbs engulfed in flames.
So, if you don't like where the ones
boiling your vitreous humour are
leading, ring up a new number. It
always answers.

INT. A BATHTUB -- NIGHT -- MAY 6TH, 1862???

A Wardian is giving birth. One of them natural water
births that are going around some circles. The child is
born to much delight and delivered into the arms of her mum.

MOTHER
I christen you Hankey Davey T.
It's Walden or bust, my dear.

Cigars are passed around the room.

Two buxom teenage Wardians swipe two cigars and hustle out
the door and into the kitchen.

INT. KITCHEN -- MOMENTS LATER

The buxom teenage Wardians are smoking the pink cigars next
to the stove where a ghostly Wardian is grinding acorns into
flour whilst staring blankly at the smoke that curls from
nostrils.

BUXOM TEENAGE WARDIAN #1
Let me get this straight...mother
crammed the hole in the oak full of
Vicks Vapo Rub this afternoon and
then stuck her head in after?

BUXOM TEENAGE WARDIAN #2
Sure enough, she urged squirrels to
hyperventilate in unison with her
contractions.

BUXOM TEENAGE WARDIAN #1
Woe betide the bride that welcomes
her infant into an ephemeral
euphoria fueled by fumes.

GHOSTLY COOK
Go on scram, you girls gonna' make
the nuptial nut cakes taste like a
honeyed ashtray. BOO!

The teenagers jet.

INT. A DESERTED ISLAND ON THE BARENTS SEA -- AUGUST,
1870'S -- MORNING

A couple of juvenile Wardians skipping school are eating
bananas. They lean against a large terrarium that houses a
sole banana tree. The glass on one side is shattered. One
girl is reading an old, yellowed newspaper. The other is
petting a baby albino baboon.

READING WARDIAN
Hey. Weren't you born in Saint
Francis to a prostitutin' 49'er?

PETTING WARDIAN
Yup. Gots her gold teeth in my
pocket.

She exhibits the golden teeth. The albino baboon plays
with them.

READING WARDIAN
Wells, it says here in this here
reputable periodical that the Untied
States of America just passed a law
that says that any US citizen can
take possession of any island, rock
or key with guano deposits.

PETTING WARDIAN
Hey, last time I checked there
must've been at least a kilogram of
shit in teach's Polly's cage!

READING WARDIAN
Is teach American?!?

PETTING WARDIAN
Nope! She's 100 percent Chinese!

READING WARDIAN
Hot Molasses!

PETTING WARDIAN
So we can play hooky every dang
day, because I do declare on this
Monday morning I am chief of this
iced rock, which hereafter and
forever more shall be known as
Albinobabooni! You can be in charge
of the army.

SLOW MOTION:

The three dance.

FADE TO WHITE:

INT. THE COAL-FIRED DEN OF A VICTORIAN HOME -- DUSK -- 1868

Nathaniel Bagshaw Ward is sitting at his desk, drinking a
large mug of tea and sketching a blueprint.

ZOOM IN:

The blueprint depicts an archaic version of what we now
know as a skyscraper. This one is made of spiraling crystal
glass and resembles a trephine. This one harbors more
plants than humans or coffee mugs.

NATHANIEL BAGSHAW WARD
This Transcendental Terrestrial
Trephine shall feed 50,000 hungry
Londoners per annum. The crystal
saw shall crack the parched pavement
and inject the spiritual back into
the strangled terra incognita where
we used to sow wheat, but now sew
things we cannot eat. I pause here
momentarily in order to reflect upon
the wonders I have witnessed from
womb to tomb.

He takes a sip of tea...he inhales deeply.

NATHANIEL BAGSHAW WARD (CONT'D)
We must remember that the power of
man over nature is limited by one
condition: That it must be exercised
in conformity with the laws of
nature. If you have an apple, eat
it. Don't start dabbling in
necromantic hogwash and go getting
your bean cleaned like clockwork
because you thought you could make
the apple compute.

He takes another sip of tea...he coughs.

NATHANIEL BAGSHAW WARD (CONT'D)
The Truth exists not for prophets
alone. Dig, Darlings, Dig and plant
this crystal sprig.

He resumes work on the blueprint.

FADE TO BLUE:

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY

A Wardian wearing a red, orange, yellow, green, blue and
violet gown holds a matching parasol in one hand and a pair
of binoculars in the other. The extreme amount of smog in
the air permits birds to roost midair.

P.O.V. THE SMOGGY SKY -- CONTINUOUS

Through the binoculars, sea birds resemble pearls in ink
soup.

EXT. ON DECK -- CONTINUOUS

The rays of the sun are desperately trying to reach the
Wardian's parasol so she doesn't have to put it back in the
closet and wreck her image as a Wardian of utmost class and
concern for melanoma. Here it comes, kind of...it got
through...well briefly before it was intercepted by a cloud
o' coal smoke...but then, oh now, it is being refracted into
what I assume would be called a smogbow. Quite spectacular.
The Spectral Wardian quickly whips out her binoculars and
aims it at the phenomenon overhead.

WHIP UP AND ZOOM INTO THE SMOGBOW:

A spectrum is only white noise when magnified.

Suddenly, an amorphous blob, that contains all the colors
of the spectrum, appears amidst the white noise. It jiggles.

WHIP DOWN AND ZOOM OUT TO WARDIAN LOOKING THROUGH THE
BINOCULARS:

CU:

We see that a drop of oily residue from the ship's
smokestacks has dripped onto the lens of the binoculars.

SPECTRAL WARDIAN
Golly. I'm experiencing the macro,
the micro and everything in between
their toes all at once.

FADE TO SPECTRUM:

P.O.V. A JUNGLE? -- NIGHT

A murky twilight almost illuminates the wet vines that
smear across the camera as it plunges forward blindly.
There are moans juxtaposed with the sound of sandpaper on
velvet. SILENCE.

CUT TO:

INT. A DORM ROOM -- CONTINUOUS

Dozens of Wardians are lying sound asleep, save one, who
sits upright with moons mirrored in beads on her forehead.
The sound of hooves diminishes in the distance.

FADE TO MAUVE:

INT. A ROOM FILLED WITH WHEAT -- NIGHT

Four Wardians are wrestling. They are training for the
battle versus the black breath beckoning from the horizon.
HOWLS. There is a tank of orange juice percolating and
frothing amidst the waves of grain. A hair that has been
pulled out by its roots has twisted itself around a stalk of
wheat. A cricket sings black notes.

WRESTLER #1
The journey of weathered skeletons.
Cereal stuck to skulls.

A leg kicks the lantern over.

The wheat field ignites and is quickly consumed.

WRESTLER #2
Madam, I do not care to be a part
of your movement.

WRESTLER #3
Darkness and light have nothin' in
common, I mean it as much as the day
is dark and the night is bright.

HOURS LATER...

The four wrestlers sit exhausted and ash-smeared back to
back to back to back. A field of embers dimly blink from
tangerine to mango to nectarine to ebony.

WRESTLER #4
First and foremost, we are a people
defined by the landscape.

ZOOM INTO THE WOOD-PANELED WALL:

The wheat closest to the wall has not been scorched.

A hose still trickling orange juice lies on the ground.

Nathaniel Bagshaw Ward's Transcendental Terrestrial
Trephine blueprint is plastered to the wood. A drop of
partially dried bloody saliva rests on the tip o' the
trephine. It sparkles.

FADE TO CRYSTAL:

INT. THE BOILER ROOM ABOARD THE BAMBOO BOAT -- PAST MIDNIGHT

The cast iron boiler is heaving. It is drooling
fogsteampower. The bolts strain under pressure. A panda
bear is sleeping in the corner of the warm room. It gnaws
upon a bamboo leaf that isn't there.

The boiler explodes.

FADE TO IRON:

EXT. ON DECK OF THE BAMBOO BOAT -- DAWN

Steam from the blown boiler has risen through a hole in the
deck and condensed upon the boat. Every surface is covered
with a thin sheet of glass that reflects the dawn. The boat
limps through the water leaving behind a trail of fog and
fur.

FADE TO ICE.

WARDIAN CASES

2008-11-10T05:55:00.001-08:00

"Vermicultural Crush" "Terrestrial Trephine" "Zebra Mussel"

2008-11-10T05:39:00.000-08:00

"sunkiss'd barrette" "succubus cunnilingus" "smogbow" "On the Growth of Plants in Closely Glazed Cases"

2008-11-10T05:33:00.000-08:00

"on the backs of eyelids" "new lavender" "mycological theater" "juicin'" "Janitrix"

2008-11-10T05:27:00.000-08:00

"EX-SITU" "Chicken Pox Pie" "Chardonnay Chemotherapy"

2008-11-10T05:21:00.000-08:00

naval, navel rinds afloat north o' Norway

2008-11-10T05:12:00.000-08:00

WARDIAN CASES

2008-11-10T04:57:00.000-08:00