Sound Design Josh Anio Grigg I Text and Voice SERAFINE 1369


It took some time
To sink in

The magnitude

of this

Is a kind of solitude

a frequency

small hands trying to hold intricate messages

(I wake with)
Right hand on chest over heart
and left hand holding wrist.
It has been a little while
since anyone has touched me. My hands offering
a feedback loop,
closing a circuit –
where does the waste, the surplus, go?

I am dreaming about healing, remembering
not to just remove by way of
peeling, cutting, distancing
locking off
or dissolving bits
of (my)self
in order to be – to feel
I do my own work.

nothing changes
It’s a bit of a raw statement.
But sometimes this is
what is.

I speak to
a friend
who reminds me:
arms are an extension
of the heart.

nervous system
with a question:
nervous system
with a question:

It is only grooves
and in grooves, one can get stuck
the imprint
is a warning
I must escape

The moon
in what I want to describe
as a crescendo
from new
to full
in one night
falling up
into itself
vertically –
flipped perspective
the pace of falling
in love
maybe I am just sideways
or perhaps
I am so slow
blinking the days away
making this
one long night
that is
an entire cycle
What is the message?

Haunted by invisible presence
those things
I feel
but cannot identify
struggle to track –
what is human to machine
and machine to human?
So many false binaries
linguistic separations
cosmic and organic entanglement.
Shadows and extensions –
haunted and powered by organic pasts
we are
we are here consuming plastic and searching for healing.

On this note,
I am cycling on dark roads
and my bicycle comes apart.
I am not sure how to put it back together.
Everything is coming apart,
The dream comes apart
and I
am watching
in there
like it’s a movie.

Wounded and bleeding in the foot from a fork like prong of a metal spider, right foot. I discover it there in my foot twice. I pull it out and the blood flows
Blood is glossy and viscous
Hand wound
2 other wounds maybe back. These are small cuts from animals and bugs. They have been released for us to marvel at and they keep attacking me.

I wake up hot.

Picking a spot on my lower leg whilst listening to the radio telling me about what some guru / tcm practitioner is doing during quarantine
I pick the spot and try to squeeze. I pick the spot and try to squeeze, the puss out and it’s like a rush of thick white fluid pouring out. The consistency is varying. I am not so grossed out as I would really be.


Scary dreams
I pour bleach powder and water on the faces of the male aliens who have captured me and kill me elaborately by making me perform in some twisted game. They are entirely white like milk sweets.

Sweets/things in the carpet are freaking me out, they are moving and walking about. Red sweets in shakes of hippos and men and I can’t get rid of them and it’s horrible so horrible.

A kid is going by my bedroom window which is next to the bed and they are on a schoool trip or something and reach in to look at my phone and things and tell them to fuck off in a
Convoluted way

A man breaks in through the back door and is threatening to me


There is a new world order and people who are more about action than thinking are taking the opportunity to have their go
I am in the public toilet and think I have lost my shoes but actually they are next to me in front of the sink.

Sending a note out

The moon stirred or troubled something in me
There are many movements
I don’t think I can talk about stillness
balance shifting
strange new intimacies
mouth full of complexities
/ i am not good at videocalls

I’ve been trying since January
last year was such a whirlwind of fuckery and movement
pretty mindless and ragged
I’ve been finding it difficult to write

i want to think about the impossibility of beginnings and endings with you
all things impact other things

the complex resonance of images

The feeling is that I am full of feelings
and it must be good to open them out,
to open myself out,
internal swirling brings a kind of stagnation
after a while
I think about remedial practices of bloodletting
and what it does to draw lines around things,
as though they can always be separated from the other things

I do not know how to make sense of the things I have seen,
the things that move inside of me.
I feel pieces of me caught vibrating in different patches of time.
I feel multiple.
I wonder does everybody feel like this?

I am angry.
About so much.
I am furious.
crappy data
crappy data
crappy data
: the impacts of white supremacy on black life.

Everything wrong and yet
everything is right
as this is the way it is
and the questions come with the next breath,
with the end of the exhalation –
what will you do now?
(What will you do now?)

everything seems to have become
an Audience
too many eyes
and words like darts
flying about all over the place,
reminds me of this dream I used to have
where toy guns would shoot foam pellets
and make holes by boring (in a sailing kind of way, easy)
straight through bodies.
Are we ghosts to receive violence so smoothly?
What is left behind is not smooth.

don’t want to lose sight of those dreams,
those visions
coaxed into present reality through movement.

I call on nothing I have ever seen before.

Each thing an end in itself. And a beginning.

Venus is strong in the sky and I have no time for lack of heart nor lack of conviction.

Venus is strong in the sky and I have no time for lack of heart nor lack of conviction.

Rather silence.

Rather space.

wild exposing dancing
let my body be a channel for whatever is there
without judgement
intentions as guidance
but not rule

I love that you are doing things

Recognising maps in unlikely places

She kicks what looks like a clear rose quartz crystal and swipes some lip balm over a split inlay in the rock and says that’s all she has to give and gives it to me.

Omg I am just out of a dream where I spit out the front of my own tongue on a bus, it was covered in phlegm, I had bitten it off in the night or something

internal (body) community

aesthetic unease

It is not an investigation of the complexities of the gaze, or of transforming or manipulating myself as subject of the gaze, but an attempt to have a relationship with myself whilst being visible to others.

Mirror hours have been stalking me for the last while. It’s good to think about colonial time as symbols beyond bosses of my body, as things that might want to touch and communicate rather than control me, things that might recognise my subjectivity, see me. Everything is a messenger of some kind. 555 opens my eyes and tells me to look at those dreams. It’s been a pattern. Did I literally dream of my own scratched and bleeding heart?

I have started to understand some thing about prayer.

Anne Carson is writing about Sappho

love dares itself to leave itself behind, to enter into poverty

and I am busy trying to learn how to set boundaries and feel my own edges so that I can hold myself so that I don’t leave myself behind…

Life cycles. The geometry of feeling like a constantly shifting cartography I see in my head, I tattoo on my body. No line is straight.

A wish for presence and an acceptance of absence that vibrates with intention and strategies for welcoming and witnessing forms of presence, that asks for the recognition of other signals, other signs, other modes of communication that gives voice to what, or who, has been exiled…Asks for an opening, for bodies to open themselves to becoming vessel. Nothing ever really goes away. This is ghost work.

SERAFINE1369 is an independent mixed media artist, performer, writer, bodyworker and researcher working with dancing as a philosophical undertaking, a political project with ethical psycho-spiritual ramifications for being-in-the-world; dancing as intimate technology.

Image credit: SERAFINE1369, 2022.

Camera Katarzyna Perlak, FX Rob Heppell.