More spiraling stars, this time with neon.
When the photograph wasn’t enough, break it. When the image wasn’t enough, tear it into pieces. Bend it, squash it, separate it by pixels; mirror them, break them, make your computer angry at them. Don’t be satisfied with perfection, be satisfied with chaos.
This is my face, but if it were pixel sorted, shredded and mangled digitally.
Looking more disheveled than usual.
…But then I lost parts of my face.
The sign from another gallery, broken.
What you get when you take a photo you thought was ok, and turn it into something you think is pretty ok.
Temples in the sky, something something poetic about something something.
Spiraling nonsense.
One part union jack, one part nonsense.
One part union jack, two parts nonsense.
Spiraling stars.
Just break it, I don’t care.
Slice it up.
More spiraling stars, this time with neon.
Neon, this time with spiraling.
Add poetic caption here.
Floating.
Books.
Book snake.
Impossible building.
Book fox.
Caption.
WentWentWent
Pink and squares.
More spiraling scars.
Jon in a cubist deadzone.
Jon in an ocean of pink and sadness.
Jessi smoking in the stairs in front of a vortex.
Stop looking for purpose.
Jessi smoking on a motorcycle.
The mountains as a dance.
Only a round of metal separates you from oblivion and the murky sea.
Impractical crosswalk.
Brutalism as a mirror.
Another.
Radiotower in endless digital noise.
The enemy of my public enemy is my enemy.
The friend of my enemy is public enemy number 1.
This is not a bridge.
Spiraling pixelbound stain glassed stairway.
Holy shit, you made it to the end of this gallery. Good for you I guess.