Feel the weight of this intricate, furred machinery: cogs and coils, belts and whistles, grind together, tense-intensing. One metal part follows another, snapping, squeaking, hurting, heaving-- a machinic Nutcracker nightmare unfolds in sneaky pairs, only to ebb as self-lingering tone.
One by one, parts mean themselves off into singularities, moaning against context until muscles scream-- render themselves hoarse-- breaking into stubborn idiosyncrasy.
In rending itself from the machine, a part stretches, lengthens, vibrates over, grows alone-ly into pattern. You can feel it when your finger runs across it: subtle scary ribbing multiplies itself out as it feels, extends its pattern through reflexive contact.
Folding back along its form, unknowing stretch of a de-structured mouse machine, it grates along across, back down its ribbing as it feels, taking quiet creaky care as it back-folds, building nests of breath and hair into each strip of involuted corner. Nesting leads to breeding, tiny Nutcracker exchanges, quickened amorous pliés of infestation take it, waking, into life.