MARIJA AVRAMOVIC

The Oddity is born on the night of the supermoon. Xe takes xer first milky breath in a smoke-drenched atmosphere of collapse and suckles the mildew. It tastes like architecture; crushed concrete jewels, steel orange topaz. Delicious stories of disjointed timelines. Lives were lived here. Full, complete, anomalies. Xe can feel it, this place (the glow of it), it used to be inhabited by billions of people (sometimes human, sometimes xeno, sometimes hyper, sometimes super), forever in blissful codependence, collective hybridisation. Forever love and safe spaces. But yet there is, it seems, a pang of grief. There were such gods and such blissful belief. But oh, bless me, bless me please, thinks the Oddity, bless me and make me safe. Calm me down. Breathe me in. Out. In. Out. In. Feel the rhythm, feel the ritual. Bless the rhythm. Listen. Xe unfolds xer ears. The space is crisp, autumnal, brittle leaves. Twigs on pavements. Crunch, crunch. Breathe. You speak: h..huh, hey baby. (pause) Don't..