CHRIS REPPUCCI

The needles jump and twitch as the paper streams through like a ribbon of dry milk electrified by a frozen bolt of graphite static coursing cross parallel lines, the thin solid strips of time that host the erratic rise and fall of everything contained between eon ends. Outside the mile thick solid stone walls are lead wires that tap through the bare crust and pierce down into the bedrock, boring nearly to the mantle, where sensitive nodules operate on the seismic vibrations

Milky liquid is the glass which flows in place of panes forming the skin within which pots hold the medium from which sprouts the fruits of our labors. Gently throbbing tubes supply the serum, the precious juice that feeds the fruit budding within soft nests resting upon the surface of the substance. With the slow and steady tides the whole place swells and then drains out and dries enough to take a brief breath before the pools refill with healthy fluid, everything rocks

Cracks in the old foundations over the past year have demanded our attention; the tower strenuously lifted by necessary means and the slipping fissures fixed and reset. For some this required disassembly and the mastering of stone craft to put the fortress back upon firm footing, while for others it was more an exaggerated episode of routine maintenance. For some slick, black salamanders slipped through the thin portals and swarmed their basements, stirring the darkness int