Instant Quantum Bitcore Surge


By Erin Rizzato Devlin & Emir Elisa Rizzato, Càrna

You can listen to the audio story version narrated by Erin in this podcast episode of 1000 Better Stories.


‘In nem maides fa muir thar chrícha fa thalam conscara fa gáir mo maic se,’ ol
sé, ‘re n-éccomlonn?’
‘Is it the sky that cracks, or the sea that overflows its boundaries, or the earth
that splits, or is it the loud cry of my son fighting against odds?’
This passage from the Táin Bó Cúailnge summarises the Irish perception of the
cosmos, made up of three elements: nem, talam, and muir, namely ‘the sky, the
earth and the sea’.
This is in stark opposition to the dualistic conception of the world that has
permeated Christian culture to our day, where the promised sky is in contrast with
the unholy earth. By using this triadic relationship between earth, sky and land,
we wish to present not only a the liveliness of each of these dimensions, but also
the openness of an alternative. In this project, the three layers will be dissected to
make sense of space and how we relate and inhabit it. Each one will be
represented visually, and then recounted poetically. The stories will be capturing
elements from ancient Celtic mythology, which lies beneath the roots of our
being, to convey messages from the earth, sky and sea of today: the ecological
crisis will thus be told through the cries of kelpies, the fleetingness of a fairy’s
broken wings, the destruction of landscapes with which our imagination is so
familiar yet distant. By imagining these tales, our minds will approach the
grandeur of environmental issues in a simple and innocent manner, whilst the
child within each one of us discerns the gravity of nature’s suffering and attempts
to better it.
In this way, by drawing from creatures of Irish mythology, we will blend the past
and the present, in the hope to build and foster the imagination of a new ecological



Lifting from the bog,
just above the earth,
where the honey bee hives
and the spider spins its thread,
the fairy mounds are found,
swelling from the land.
She drops from the veil of
the morning, seeking some
forgotten crumbs whilst
the children of men
are at play.
She gallops on wings, lifting
the sky with lightness
of being, with tender curiosity
as she finds a lost corner
of shortbread, the golden pond
of whisky at the bottom
of a glass left out
for her to find,
amongst the occasional greed
of men, the crackles,
the baby talk.

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Awakens as a corner of the soul,
braving the cruellest frosts
without availing himself of homes,
of clay, of flame,
split amongst species,
indigenous to the woods
of solitude and commotion
the werewolf, half human
half wolf: nails and claws,
word and howl
host the wraith
of the journey meandering the forest;
the fury exploding as the blunt
weapons of man in war.
When the coldest winters
dig their teeth into his neck,
stone, wood, bone
are the only meat of emotion,
the sole pit of melancholia:
there in his loneliness,
desolate herald of winter,
strength may fail him, but
courage shouldn’t.



Restless as the waves and scales
of an infuriated sea,
from beneath they rise
as the forces of fortune and
chaos to ride above
the chests of sleeping men,
the quiet mares inhabiting
the depths of time,
the ocean of silence that
sings when sheets of noise
overlaps in time.
Whilst grace kisses man,
In his conquests of life,
there the ancient race
Snaps its lips, reaches its palms
to catch the innocent cruelty
the plastic island dwelling
on the surface
the boat of sadness and
helpless despair that comes
with the smallness of man
and his brave endeavours
skiting off time.

Storytellers Collective

A sisterhood of wild poet and mad artist, trying to excavate the gold mine of truth in a world that is increasingly afraid of it. 
On this little island, made of open flesh and honest soil, we aim to provide nothing but truth: the anti-news of our age.

Our concoction of creativity + politics becomes a further manifesto of what the human existence can become.

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