At the beginning, the Host was infinite dominion.

It hosted many multiple entities, internal mental residents and dissociative parties, all contained therein its singular form. After the virtual eclipse, its individuated body became messy and disordered. Compression upon compression, grubby codec and missing render files allowed The Host to become The Many it had previously hosted. It degraded, and from within inside itself .mov files spawned .mov files, parasite organisms. Now plural, it joyously performed its own congregation, giving great pleasure with the “Coming Soon” and the “Now Showing”. Deep inside this live lost universe, a network of rooms opened onto other rooms, corridors unto corridors, windows looked onto windows. Knock and the door will open, seek and you will find. Respond to and process data. The Host was no longer a location, no longer an origin, but riddled with black holes of lenticular flesh that sucked the light. The once smooth compere gave way to a beautiful, infinite vista of glitching, shivering images, a twitching hyper-media information retrieval initiative.

The interlace curtain raises onto the backstage and a fibre optic Babel. Distant Karaoke. Wireless keyboard ambience. Small ecstasies of forgetting

The only singularity here is the follow spotlight. Illuminating with a perfect, bright intensity, burning your fate in the sand.

This is the modern dance.