Encountering Ecology: HomeStones

Prelude: A Shared Universe

I’d never been to PhilaMOCA before. It’s a dark venue. Everyone seemed to know each other, but only in the way characters do in a shared universe. Like if He-Man wandered into a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles storyline—familiar but deeply wrong. I didn’t belong there, but I tried to blend in. I knew the lineup. I didn’t know what I was walking into.

The lights dropped to a deep, slow red. That’s when I saw him.

Or it.

Towering. Silent. Seven feet tall and walking as if each step required approval. His monicker? A salt & pepper simulacrum of Robert 5 of 8. If you don’t know who Robert 5 of 8 is, you’re not alone. I’d later learn that the original Robert 5 of 8 is currently being reprimanded and reassigned to food and beverage service—a cruel post, given his magical affliction that prevents him from eating or drinking. So instead, they sent in this gray proxy referred to as the Salt & Pepper Simulacrum.

The room deflated. No applause. No welcome. Just hush. Then he pulled out something that looked like a piece of a body and pressed it to his rig. And the sound that followed, I don’t have a metaphor for it. I only have what I felt: awe, dread, grief, dare I say delight?

It felt ritualistic and not at all performative.

I needed to understand what had happened.

A few days later and I was still thinking about what I’d seen. I reached out to the only source I could find: the FPPC. Or rather, its emissary, known only as F. I asked what we were meant to be recovering from.

However, F was not there to greet me. Instead, I was presented with a being who identified themselves only as P.

I. The Slurry Is Coming

Thanks for agreeing to chat, P. I really appreciate it. So to dive right in, the FPPC claims to offer information for a “fast and enjoyable recovery.” What are we meant to be recovering from?

“I’m fairly certain it hasn’t happened yet, but I’ll give you a hint: the beasts and gardens of the Earth blended into a fine, uniform slurry. ‘Oh no!’ or ‘Yikes!’ may be heard.”

II. The Wildwood Convergence

That slurry image feels apocalyptic, but also weirdly nostalgic. A kind of distorted harmony. It made me think of some of the field recordings in Ecology: HomeStones. Why was Wildwood, of all places, chosen as the source for those?

“It’s important to have a base state of reality to which we exist in opposition, and it was Wildwood specifically because of a strange coincidence. In 2018, I painted a chair floating in the wind above a motel balcony. Years later, I found myself sitting on a motel balcony in Wildwood watching a thunderstorm and I realized it looked awfully similar to the painting. The name of the motel was Four Winds. It was nice! Also, this part is true.”

III. The Walls with Talking Slots

You mention “opposition.” That feels important, because I’ve been trying to figure out whether the FPPC is something I’m supposed to join or resist—or both. Who is allowed to join?

“It’s unjoinable with a current membership of zero. It’s more of a helpful wall with talking slots than it is an organization. This will be visualized for everyone at some point.”

IV. The Sound That Stays

That makes sense, especially after seeing your performance. Sound feels like the one thing the FPPC doesn’t obscure. It hits you right in the chest. What role does sound play in your messaging?

“Anyone can close their eyes or look away, but sound is pretty difficult to shut out completely when you’re unprepared.”

V. The Burden of Understanding

Right, and even if I didn’t understand it in the moment, I still felt it. But I’ve been wondering, if someone is encountering Ecology: HomeStones for the first time, how should they begin to understand what they’re hearing?

“I would never curse someone with the burden of understanding something.”

VI. The Big Tasty Fuckers

That’s a relief. Still, the variety in the recordings is noticeable: some feel caught in the wild, others arranged or sculpted. How do you decide what becomes part of E:HS?

“All recordings are captured in the wild. The small ones are thrown back and the big tasty fuckers are sliced to bits on my plate. I cut with a fork.”

VII. The Missed Message

Let’s say a message doesn’t land. I’m sure that happens sometimes. What happens when a message from the FPPC goes unheard?

“Everyone simultaneously becomes one year older and the coffee pot clocks start flashing 12:00. This happens often.”

VIII. The Mistake Machine

I imagine the pressure of delivering a message, especially in front of a live audience, comes with some risk. Has P ever made a mistake in a broadcast? And if so, what was the consequence?

“I built a machine that calculates how many mistakes I will make in a day. I begin each morning by making precisely that amount of mistakes. Then I am free to go about my day knowing everything from that point forward will be executed exactly as intended.”

IX. The Omitted Truth

Last question about the FPPC, I promise. What’s something the public still doesn’t know? Or maybe… what’s something the FPPC isn’t telling us?

“What the letters stand for.”

X. The Empty Cup

Fair. Let’s end here. When everything does go right, when the transmission is received and the audience is cracked open, what does that feel like to you?

“Going to pick up a cup of something that you expect to be full but it’s empty so you pick it up all fast and kinda catch yourself halfway.”

Epilogue: Something Remains

I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know how I feel.

There’s still that sense of wonder, with dread swirling around it. Like awe, but with teeth.

Maybe it helped. Maybe it didn’t.

But I keep coming back to it. The answers. The absence. The way everything he said felt equal parts joke, warning, and sermon.

There’s a transmission still bouncing around in my head. I’m not sure if I received it properly.

All I know is that my coffee pot is flashing 12:00.