Geo-Effigy Walkthrough – Mike Corrao

December 18, 2019

I see the slow dance to xibalba. A geological corpse engulfing the landscape. The trance of my desires drags me towards the interiors of the cave. I do not remember an entrance, I only remember that I have entered.

Strata crumbles in the exposed flesh between each bone. Dust and rock trail onto the floor, forming pyramidal mounds. You consider utilizing them in some geomantic fashion. Performing a ritual that might convert them from a sculpture to a tool, but for some reason you do not do it.

Instead you progress deeper into the cave, guided by a luminous fire that curls over the bend, and the echo of thudding court hammers. Traveling down the planet’s intestines. Until, you assume, hours have passed and you are no closer to your destination.

With each turn you have become more lost. Or if lost is not the right word, embedded. The cave becomes a new world distinguishable from the one that you previously occupied. A mirrored plane disconnected from your origin. I do not know how you have arrived here. If you crossed a threshold or summoned a portal. The cave is never completely dark. There is always some kind of ambient light. Hues of pink hovering in the stagnant air.

Clusters of black or green rock sprout along the predominantly sandstone walls. They begin to infect the surrounding stone until you are passing under a luminous emerald pathway. Wooden bones reveal themselves. Uprooting from the earthly mass. Weaving complex arrangements. A system of fraying roots.

The slow dance to xibalba is marked by its ethereal qualities. You feel as if you are navigating a dream. Approaching the obfuscated images of your unconscious. Where the object of desire is a blurred body for you to embrace. The fire engulfing you.

Architecture is not about the moment of completion, but about the totality of time and space extending throughout the process of design, construction, completion, and utilization. (Ito). I do not know anything about architecture other than my desire to look at buildings and not understand anything about them. I want to excavate enigmatic structures only to learn nothing.

The cave is an enigmatic structure. The cave is a labyrinthine network of interchangeable cells. Plotting their movements on the grid. Burrowing deeper into the ground.

The rhizome schisms. Two smaller networks distinguish themselves and slowly move apart. Why are we still talking about this? From the base-rhizome, ginger and turmeric arise. The stem plucked from its soil bed and minced / consumed. You macerate it between your teeth. The heat locks your jaw in place.

Blue light floods this corridor of the cave. Shadows shape empty gallows in the sandstone. Projected from the hanging arches of the cave’s wooden skeleton. Does this resemble a spine? A ribcage? A prison? This is not a real place. It does not obey the logic that you have forced yourself to operate within. It is not subject to the constraints that you have created.

There is no method behind your navigation. You are dragged forward by your desires–to see the fire, to witness the arc of the hammer. The slow dance is performed without thinking. It is an unconscious choreography. The textures of the cave / the light / the shadows / the pathways all continue to change. Mutating as secondary-rhizomes split into tertiary-rhizomes, tertiary into quaternary and further. The system fractalizes into microscopic networks, each operating with a dynamic set of constraints, all obscured and keep from sight.

You continue your descent. Unfettered by the growing nausea and disorientation.

Pitch crawls from the pores of the sandstone. It moves with the likeness of a slug. Collecting particles of dust and dirt as it approaches the floor. You cup your hands against the wall and let the pitch run down your fingers. When you cannot hold any more you bring it to your lips and consume it. You relax your throat as it crawls down your esophagus. You create a dream where all of the fluids of your body are replaced with pitch. When you weep it coagulates in your tear ducts and stains your face. It oozes from your open cuts and suffocates your tongue. This new anatomy emboldens your desire to reach the luminous fires. The slow thuds of the court hammer. I will be your effigy.

You trace your path through the underworld and arrive at a large chamber. Where there is no more fire over the bend. There is only a large pit in the center. Pitch black excluding one reticle that hovers deep below, at the center of something. It is bright and flickering. You think that it is the fire but you are not completely sure. The shape of the cave rolls the sounds of crackling wood around your ears and you are unable to locate its origin. The court hammer thuds through the walls. It feels as distant as it always has. Along the lip, you let your body perform the slow dance. You let it guide your movements. Until you begin to levitate, gracefully hovering towards the center of the pit. Aligning your torso with the reticle of fire. Your body contorts into erotic postures. And when the thud of the court hammer has stopped, you descend into the blackness of the flame.