On a certain day in June 2020, in Shibuya Someone who is unaware they have been infected with COVID goes out to play in the city, unknowingly spreading the infection. And then, at last, they themselves develop symptoms, and as their consciousness fades, they realize for the first time that they were infected. June 2020. While watching the news, I tried to visualize a case that actually seemed possible. I expressed the act of coughing through shaking images, and used camera work to recreate a sickly, unwell impression. I haven’t been infected so far, so I don’t actually know what kind of vision it would be like...

One song from Harumaki Gohan’s “Futari no” series.

“The fact that I can’t get up” — is it my body that won’t rise? No. Not being able to get up was a mental refusal, a rejection of wanting to get up. If that is the case, I may as well give up on getting up, focus on the body lying down, and surrender myself to pure sensation alone. It feels almost like being an infant. I sink into the inside of my eyes, deep behind the retina. And then, what do I find? A soft, baby-like, comforting sensation. Breathing in, a warm heartbeat, the texture of a blanket. It was as if it were stimulating opioid receptors, blending sedation and awakening. The hidden children inside me seemed to have awakened. The ringing alarm clock leads me into a dream. Spreading opioids. A revolving merry-go-round bed. Entering inward, behind the eyes, deep, deep behind the retina. The soft infant awakens. text by ITOAOI