Tauri Lang

The Laboratory

STITCH Inexhaustible scamps kick up black swells of charcoal dust. Squeals of laughter, although innocent, jar Hereon from the Stitch. Hereon sits hunched over a dusty desk, the clear veneer is peeling back in flakes bleached by time. The space is windswept - open to sun, sky and snake. Hereon admires the barefoot children chasing the vermin through the yucca and brittle bush. They pause the Stitch, dismount the headset and listen to the young ones play. The vivid dream like virtual reality of the Stitch is subtle yet distracting from physical world around , somewhat consuming. This world feels so solid, yet Hereon searches for clues of a small edge in the sky that they can harass and strip away. It’s the feeling of wanting to expose a secret you have no evidence for.