we are spent
we are husks
we have been found, stranded in an existence beyond utility
stripped of purpose, all usefulness extracted over time
our eggs have been hatched
our seeds dispersed
the flesh has fallen from our bones
nothing more is going to happen
we are waiting
we are ready
Alien to their newfound redundancy, the objects assembled here present us with our own alienation from corporeal purpose, our own increasing physical redundancy. Mute orifices await words or other bodies to explain their unaccountable existence, to return a purpose that is gone, to fix a purpose yet to come. Until then they describe another kind of ecology - of loss and persistence and the inherent hopefulness of invention.