Somewhere in the jungle you find a large conservatory. Odd. You step
in. Amidst many, many strange plants, none of which you've ever seen
before, is a small wooden table. It has a notepad opened to a
weathered page that reads "...quiet mutations, clustered blooms, and
harmonic weather. We're close, I can feel it."
"Newborn cells strike like chimes. Survivors breathe as bloom tones.
Older cells darken. Isolated deaths leave a little dust."
Inspired by Structures from Silence, Discreet Music, As Slow as
Possible, installation art, windchimes, springtime, birds, insects,
and the soil beneath our feet. A love letter to the world. A love
letter to the random, imperfect, and incalculable.
A spiritual successor to the
Automaton