Invaded.
Covered.
Recovered—slowly, spontaneously.
Or rather, surrounded—empty. Enveloped without being touched. Overflied.
Untouched by this silent and enveloping invasion, by this being surrounded.
Non occupied—but surrounded.
With one exception: the ground (radically autonomous—untouchable, imposible to be surrounded since there is no space out there, no conditions of possibility for it to be surrounded).
A garden-rather fragments of it.
The possibility of a garden.
A labyrinth. A monument.
A soft—green, also—invasion. A subtle touch of softness and hardness. A kind invasion—also.
The possibility of a garden. Easy, without effort—without cultivating but rather, simply, letting grow, taking care of what grows, of what is growing.
Acceptance?
Taking what comes—it seems like this is happening now. The coexistence of a natural—we would say—acceptance and an unconditional resistance—as hard as old reinforced concrete.
Nevertheless, everything could fall apart but the underground tank, again. The silent core of resistance.
The rest can be remove, but not the tank, deeply rooted in the ground—in the earth, in the soil that it negates.
Resiliency?
The dynamic liminal space between resistance and acceptance. An oscillation between the two poles.
Oscillation: the very image of resiliency.
No, this is not a case of resiliency, but rather of silent resistance, of sedimented resistance only accepting, superficially, superficial changes by virtue of the sedimentation of and on the resistance—the accumulation of soil, of detritus, of what has fallen apart already, of what allows things to grow, now, spontaneously.
A hideout—hiding itself.
Hiding and showing itself simultaneously. Two opposite moves, or better one move in two opposite directions: stretching up and sinking down.
A lighthouse and a cave, opening up the space in between—defining, outlining a volume, a surface as an in-betweenness.
A fruitful in-betweenness.
Flooded. Not in a liquid sense, but rather in an aerial sense. Flooded by presences that do not touch the floor—and, of course, never penetrate the tank.
An oasis? A disconnected place in between—a vacuum in the middle.
The possibility of an oasis.
A drain. A place—a place?—that absorbes what falls on it and make it disappear—not without leaving traces.
But also a place of transit—and a place in transit, transiting.
A piece of territory that does not try to catch, to retain what passes by—and a territory, now, after being abandoned, after ceasing to be defined by its function (after being a function) open to its own potencial transits.
Indifference—mutual indifferences.
Supporting—what comes, what has to come. In the most basic, fundamental sense: grounding, under-standing.
Abandoned.
Mobilizing a diversity of agencies of this state—the state of being abandoned, of having being in the center, of lost business, of vanished multiplicities of accurately organized actions, of fulfilled specific goals, of being part of much bigger goals (of general plans, of plans that negated—implicitly, necessarily—this piece of land as a place, as an environment, in order to be conceived and, most importantly, applied (on the territory—as the mutation of land into function)).
But not now.
Not—anymore.
Accepting, inviting from a not-anymore, from a not-longer—from a resonating past still passing.
Waiting.
For a re-connection. For recovering the flow.
Or for falling apart—for continuing falling apart. Slowly, patiently, silently.
Waiting—for taking in, for giving back. Again.
Pushing down, pressing—if you know it is there, if you have been in the tank and now you are out and look at it (at its exterior, not at it but at its cover, at the bunker, at the slab of concrete covering it, pressing it down, hiding it).
Pushing down a massive volume of silence towards a deeper silence—I guess.
Sinking, slowly, in an unnoticeable way—but sinking, constantly, continuously.
Keeping—silence. Keeping, maintaining, containing—silence, void, darkness, humidity (as a remanente, a trace—if you know).
The possibility of inhabitation.
Going in—in-habiting. Going in and adapting our habitualized bodies to new conditions.
The need of re-habitualizing.
Going in or laying on—flattening the surface, flattening our backs.
To slide do not seem to be possible. All surfaces would provide too much resistance. Rugosity, roughness—slightly polished, weather-wise—everywhere. Hardness, thus, everywhere, also, although not always perceptible, sensible, now. A hiding and hided place.
Or walking on it. Going there for a walk—a short walk, a circular walk—and look (from there).
The possibility of an observatory.
Letting others inhabiting. Letting others observe. Letting grow, letting walk, letting listen—carefully, inviting to (taking) care. Letting. Allowing. Inviting. Letting-be-there. Trusting—sinking, letting fall, taking in.
For the original, on-site iteration of this dispositive the following indication was added: "To reproduce this series of sound recordings, please adjust the volumne of your devices to the current loudness of your environment. Please notice that this series includes ca. 3 second silences between the sound fragments."