this city is an old god who smells of stale urine, clutch fluid, and seared meat,
and prefers offerings of dragon soop and vapes.

this city is an old god who casts rainbows into spilled engine oil,
and holds onto puddles for kids.

this city is an old god who remembers hunger,
likes to gnaw on bones grown thin with indifference,
and suck drops of rancid fat from the corrupt.

Across sculpture, sound, movement, and writing, ‘the temple’ explores a contemporary queer animist practice to invoke more sustainable ways to be. Born from my ancestral traditions in Ireland, England, and Myanmar, informed by crip perspectives, and made in deference to the city, this project seeks a route through apocalypse. This pursuit is not about the soul-less gleam of technology-yoked futures, or misty-eyed romanticisation of dead pasts, but a hybrid approach, a chimeric spirituality fatberg of where we are now.

These works look to muddled edges, radical kinship, and unruly joy as guides for living and teachers for revolution. They use repurposed, discarded materials alongside new to tell stories that invite relationship with other. They ask whether offering blessings to seal bones, finding medicine in weeds, dancing for magpies, might change how we are on this earth, and with each other.

Apocalypse is not the end, and there are many who know the paths of survival. Together we could compost the smoking ashes of this time, and grow other futures from its grave.