Persephone Grace Russell

"I am large, I contain multitudes." - Walt WhitFish

I am not an island, I am an ocean. A vastness of complexity, a large silly fluid body of water. Connecting upon invisible borders with others, brushing up against, pressing our edges together.  So I say that we contain multitudes, shared between us. One vessel passing fluid to the next. Each of us is a permeable vessel, containing an ocean.

We are in dystopia. 

dys- from the greek δυσ, or bad
topos - from the greek τόπος, or space

Which is to say we are in a bad place.  The land grows arid around our feet, an engineered austere ecology has resulted in a material scarcity, the worst in two generations. The fecundity of ideas are rendered barren, as the keenest minds give a deep rooted anatomisation of this dystopic dysfunction. Men who brandish theory like a scalpel,  parse apart each cell, identify vector upon vector and pathologise ad infinitum. 

Their diagnosis is terminal. 

Let us take a journey somewhere else then; to the autonomous state of Fishtopia, the Fish space. Located somewhere watery - its borders perfuse into our own. Its discovery belongs to a tidal tradition of imagined, mythic spaces, beyond the brink of our given world, pushing back and forth, feeding into each other. a fishy queering world. 

It offers hope as an inoculation to the sterile decay, Desire imbued with a radical emancipatory potential. This finds its nexus within the Wish Fish, who asks of you to feed unto her your wishes.