Dimitra Charamandas

Deep neural forests and conductive connective tissues, delicate layers of skin and wrinkled outlets of intestinal walls. Vessels for millions upon millions of bacterial cultures. A world in which atoms combine to form molecules, diffusing through cellular membranes and milieus according to the laws of concentration, always striving for equilibrium. In which neurons generate electrical signals, speak the language of chemical messengers, make sparks cross the gap between synapses. In which biochemical messengers, hormones, act like tides to move us.

My eye has grown too long—horizontal icicle, long stretched egg. At the edges, the outermost lines fall away, slip down such steep slopes. What happens escapes at theperiphery. I seek schemata, salt tear searches for the sea in restless topography. My iris Selene, my eye a comet, a sky full of aurorae. Veiled valleys, no glistening lights may stray. My eye paints blotting paper pictures.

Little inlets. A collection of potential openings; a small crack, an injury. The result of discharging energy; the rupture of a previously protective shell. A sudden access, a beginning of relaxation or potentially the formation of a weak point. A place of seepage, of incipient departure, of boundary crossing. An unexpected access. A thread end from the hem of an inexplicable fabric. A first fixed star on a new astrological map. A beginning of a journey into the interior of a matter.