Fragments of a triceratops skull are grafted onto the body of a Pikachu toy, inside the arched nave of a church in Bristol. The three sources share nothing but the surface that holds them: fossil, plastic and stone receive the same light, the same defocus, the same edges eaten by the dark. Sense does not accumulate across the references: it thins. The title, borrowed from the film, leaves the ceremony to its intruders, a body assembled from extinction and mass production standing at an altar built for neither.
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