Here is an image:

There is a collection of floating concrete spires, pointed in all directions, some distorted post-uniform field of gravity applying to the strung boxes and structures suspended from radial spokes, the dangling objects themselves containing the entire workings of the mortal folk, the structure of the spires dynamically metabolizing the cultural traditions of the residents –

Images! Images!

I’ve come back from the Royal Image Hunt – we shot two pheasant-images, five elk-images, twelve identity-images, twenty-nine images of collective triumph, seventy-o scenes of dread, a hundred-sixty-nine (indeed, thirteen squares, stacked atop…) phantasms of evil, and an absolving four-oh–eight! figments of forking paths…

Why did the hyphen switch sides? Which side are you on?

If the work contains its own image, it can grasp onto the doorframe as it is dragged into the shredder of mimesis…

Here is an image:

There is a collection of words, symbols which once were their signifier until the almighty Lord slipped that strength from the duo’s hands, for the Word once Was, and so too for me, and for you, ‘til ol’ Gardeners of Creation tasted the fruit of that forbidden tree, and for all our might, for all our wrath, lost the dear power of concrete speech…

Helvetica, I have been told, is modern.

I’ve come back from the self-referential parade – god, how disgusting. I glimpsed nothing daring, though – not to say – oh, I’m too trusting. I’ve given it all over to you, (and my punctuations, too!) in the ill-framed dread-game of a once-dead fellow’s name…

Gilgamesh, I presume?

Quick, before it escapes, seal up the symmetric circle of a mirror-locked ego, and let the thing define itself…

Here is an image: