The term decreation was coined by French philosopher Simone Weil, who described it as “undo[ing] the creature in us.” As a Christian mystic, her ultimate aim was to merge eternally with God. In order to do so, she posited, one must first abolish the self. Weil’s neologism can be defined as “the reversal of the formation of something from nothing” or, “the formation of nothing from something.” The crucial difference between an act of destruction and one of decreation is the notion of nothingness, either as a beginning or end point.

Since the physical laws of the universe tell us that neither matter nor energy can be created or destroyed, decreation implies the impossible. This paradox and impossibility of decreating ourselves is essential. The process of decreation stretches the senses and imagination toward a point beyond their plausible limit.

This digital publication contains creative writing about projects made in 2015 and 2016. Follow the link to view and download. 

 

 
 

She and Her (The Fiction)

She wakes first, or I do. That one makes the coffee and warms the couch or the chair. She who sits in the chair is usually me. She that is Her sits on the couch. I sip and read a story about a man dreaming another man into reality. The man sleeps long, as I do, fashioning his dream projection, his son; all the while he is dreamt by another.

I can’t remember my dreams.

She projects me. She projects me onto Her self. My features conceal Her’s, morphing to the terrain of her body, pressing up against her skin. My eyes, stretched and sunken, gaze back at me, like tiny black holes sucking and spewing everything out from one of us into the other. This continues, uninterrupted, back and forth, endless. Inside is outside is inside.

She sits in the chair now. Our sweaters ripen to the exact same shade of green. Our hair grows together into braids that weave into rugs covering the floors completely like thick moss. The door in the wall between our bedrooms is boarded shut, but poorly, such that sound still passes through, and sometimes it is unbearable. This door is one of three doors that act like membranes inside the house. The cat observes all that passes through them. She is the only one who sees the masks, the skins adhered to our faces that cling on and peel off at each threshold. She sees, but Her and I – we can’t find the doors, much less the masks. We do know that somewhere inside and outside of the apartment, there is a chrysalis. It leads us to believe that something will be born from it, metamorphosed. But it is possible that the birth has already happened and that now the creature is transforming backwards into its prior state. Neither of us has actually taken any steps towards ascertaining which is true. It seems like an absurd task, since we wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

Over the summer, in a severe landscape, She and Her had a baby. It is a beautiful creature, long-bodied and intuitive. They’ve been able to continue travelling together as a family and seem very happy. Unfortunately, their bliss is metered by our fear for the baby’s life. We’ve been forced to wonder if the precious thing will be here long because of the strange weather changes lately. Nonetheless, its youth and fragility bring us hope. She and Her continue to tend the child optimistically, naming it everyday.

She has her own mother, Her own mother has she, which we only realized when they had the baby. When we talk about our separate mothers, we switch places again but it is unlike

the switching that happens all the time. Our mother stories are deeper and more different. Worlds exist between them. The mother-story-switching transports us greater distances, into culturally foreign homes and heart wrenching familial dynamics. On the journey back from these places, I begin to notice the sound of my voice, how loud it can be, and how alien it feels to us. My jaw aches because hers does, and then my voice is modulated through her body again. The baby reads our stories in its own voice, as it grows up backwards in time, its body fragmented and inside out.

I dreamt that we were trees that grew berries.

In my imagination, as we tossed and turned we grew more limbs and berries, intertwining with each other into a thick tangle of branches. Each time we turned back over to face Us, we grew towards Us, like a sudden growth spurt, into our mass of limbs. Our berries were golden and ours were dark blue, but both caught the sunlight coming in the window of our room and glistened translucent. We were completely intertwined.

Can a Bristlecone pine grow berries? Gold and blue? If so, maybe that’s what Teilhard was talking about when he said, “What is born between [U]s is forever: I know it.”

 
 

 

Die Into the Hills

  Project Statement; Husavik, Iceland; June 2015

 
 
 

 
 
 

Walk to House of Bones

Memory Dictation


        We walked up the hill on the road that road is perpendicular to some back into the left on the dirt road that goes to a defense there in the road that goes to see the road ends in a cents and we walked along the fence to the right on I left with Cliff’s and if you have the man tends a flight to asked a friend we passed the strange late house and stop to shoot video at a funny little spot or a step letter crosses on the front near by we found human sized grass to get on the ground and took my video then we walk to the house about it is further along the path next to the fence and off and when the bit to the right Time to love the cliff’s in front of it so it’s a giant old are right at the waterline the house of bounds looks like a hill with the door when side and want to looks closer one finds it is actually housesit with grass and I’ll read the whole structure at first few days earlier we were a little afraid to go in there is no real tour I’ll only a wooden door frame down from Rich Kings a piece of the broken chair and Jensen small and one has to duck to enter inside there some old jacks on the ground is no for a broken broom and some plastic boxes full of dirt in the phones as long when can see the still sky looking on the house and crumbling Styrofoam installation over which the grass is planning to it the laws are covered over with some kind of rest that it’s a minute there is a large hole in the roof that looks out to the sky and looked a little light into the dark space one can climb up onto the top of the roof from outside and look down into the house.