Forest solitude is not a flight from authority, but to cut up the withered abject that got too intimate with the woods. With the loss of boundary goes also the bark of communication, which is structured by a touch of breath and sustains a critical closeness with the object. Reaching out yet signals inner growth and marks the passage of primal obligation to care about the continuum, that puts a considerable amount of strength into the reimagination of the subject as a frugal complexity. Only if taproot is tied up with the construction of extensions from scratch and released from the inhibitory sense of how far can one go, it worms down to the point when matter, technology and thought collide. The unintentional but desired collapse of fabricated enmeshment is quick and painless for the presbyopic existentialist, who is inhabitated by depth and picks death as organising principle for the subcontrolled environment. Black intelligence attracts from below and haunts in demarcated cartographies of cursed grey matter, that is dominantly informed by the jealous gaze. Most obvious evidence represses any sense beyond his lazy electromagnetic spectrum and stimulates the absurd adaptation to eternal darkness, which folds the whole universe and remains yet unaffected by the diseconomies of scale.
The unsolved mystery of the woods proceeds without any god or rule and a thing-in-itself appears in abandoning its very own idea at the moment of conception. Disgorged into light, one ego forms through the interlocking sense of domination and orders cycles of sprout, bloom and fructify to be treated on their own merits. And right now, thickets of forest dwellers partake in rising numb excesses under the stifling mask of temporality, only a breath away from faceless chthonic control, which outwits pathological virtual states any moment, as it functions according to the inevitable principle of time, that all is wasted. In despair and horror branches reaching towards the sky to beseech and hunt down the horned Other, who camouflages in white mist for a whiff of diversity and illusions of a new beginning. To this end, a wooden figure carves into the endless log of obscure code and rots away by wasting all time in this world to decrypt the Sacred in the heights of no shade, where light serves as a sufficient replacement for matter. Like sap it gutters through petrified long twigs and leaves highly inflammable, off-the-shelf skeletons of tinder empty handed, which animated by emotional wind, desire in competing higher. Consequential spatial separation is measured in symbolic flights of energy - the attempted escape lasts whilst taken down by the burdens of time and burns into the age-old prophecy of return to a magical forest.