‘I am going to tell you what I am going to do and then I am going
to do it. First I will deliver an essay about proto forms, about Pre Socratics and Early Cinema, Tristram Shandy and Photogrammetry, it will be a dense tangle of references. Then it will break down. It will become a kind of preverbal guttural song, not comprehensible in rational terms. From this soup, a poem will be born, a poem about Empedocles, as a woman, waking up from a feast thrown in her honour for bringing an old lady back from the dead, only to realise that she is a fraud, that her philosophy is fantasy, and running up Mt Etna to incinerate herself in shame. Then I will dress as her, dance a little and leave the building. But while I am speaking you will forget all of this, and the whole thing, the texture of its unfolding, will come as a surprise.
Ok. So here goes.’