//Collaboration//

Long time friend, artist, and collaborator, Zeke Campbell of Corvallis, Oregon, writes prose to pair with my photography.

The visitor. The Stone. It arrived on this planet atop a carpet of vapor; it sat itself down in a field of stone and the vapor condensed. bathing in its lifeblood, conduits of jutting water entering formation coinciding with nearby water, interfacing, speaking through a liquid medium, surges wrapping the world in a ribbon of its thoughts many times over. inside of a second. reversing course, redirecting, advancing in every possible permutation until all the dead weight is sent along, until every dam is busted.

 

before you had a periphery you had a cave. now, vomited out of the grotto you go, beset by wraparound vision, you won’t do that again. now, apparitions in the bright haze, out you go, do you see that, a ways off? an arched doorway. the owls talk; the slugs creep; and you steal along in the suddenness of day.

 

this half triangle, he thinks, this stone, am i inside someone’s skull? am i a conversion of energy? i am in the organ of a creature that i do not understand?