Stuff

The train crosses over the creek, the tracks have flooded with water, the wetlands have been filled and reclaimed, the slum is at the edge of the river - our vocabulary is peppered with terms that carry no corporeal meaning for us. The world is easily navigated and constructed through generic abstraction. The acts of collecting, walking, touching, smelling demand an attention, a slowness and a physical presence, instantly dispelling the generic for an experiential. What is stuff made of? What is the land reclaimed with? What does the creek smell of? What is the edge?

The train tracks accumulate, material has gathered around the first ‘breaches’ and the tracks become a means for the passage of water. The central railways flood, and often. The breach is breached. The waters, stormwater runoffs from across the city and tracks, feed the farms that run parallel to the tracks, the monsoons submerge them. The stuff that the land - fill is made of- breaks off and moves away with the tides. A sock here, a toothbrush there, our bodies and their extensions float into the sea. Scientists testing the water of the Thames could decipher the city’s drug use and its fluctuations on weekends and holidays and follow it into the ocean to shoals of opioid sedated fish. 

The Mithi is made of us.