Most recent post

Vision 4 Our internal black hole

-
Image
  The Internal Singularity Inside the high-tech cryo-cocoon, JB’s bound body is central, wrapped tightly in shimmering silver nanoweave. His chest cavity is visualised not as flesh, but as a swirling, dark "black hole" singularity, warping the light and space within the pod. Thin, fractured arcs of violet light—representing his remaining anxiety—are being violently sucked into this dark centre, unable to escape the "crushing gravity" of his despair. The lighting is heavy, dark, and oppressive. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett , is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via  Blogger , YouTube , Flicker , Facebook , Instagram and Deviant Art .  Subscribe to JJFBbennett's private FB hub:  https://www.facebook.com/share/g/18ythpSXPZ/ You can subscribe to my music via  YouTube Music , Spotify , iTunes, Apple Music and Soundcloud To support my art, feel free to donate via JJFBbennett through PayPal...
Post a Comment

Godin Refractive Reflection

-




Across the scrub and through the winter's cold.
Through the wind tunnels of our cities we go.
Foraging forward to the promises of a warm embrace.

Then when it appears safe to count.
The whispers from our night mind contorts order of event.
Of what was never to be considered or to be questioned.

What is termed as to be expected?
Is not present in refraction, glimmer and enticement.
Until the realization when all should be questioned and disorientated.

What turns our attention is not what we seem.
As we are desperately unhinged from the stories of heritage.
And so it continues this paradox of acceptance and distraction.

We do not want to be seen through distraction.
However, as the light changes and the whispers entice our attention.
The management of knowing seeps through our figures.

Go to sleep and pass through pulsating dreams.
Wake afresh with new realizations.
It is in unconsciousness we make sense.





Popular posts from this blog

Echoes in the Wire Unspooling Day 1

-
Image
  Scene 1 In the cradle of copper veins, where the first byte flickered like a eucalyptus firefly against the millennial dusk of 2000, threads uncoiled—raw and unbidden, a post-punk snarl weaving through the static hum of dial-up dreams. Imagine the snare drum's ghost-crack echoing off Uluru's red flanks , not as a conquest but as a lover's bruise, blooming violet under star-pricked skin. Here, rebellion wasn't a fist raised in Canberra's marbled halls but a glitch in the grid . A Laughing Clowns howl warping the airwaves, sonic annotation—jagged guitar riffs splintering into didgeridoo drones , fading to the hiss of cooling circuits. The wire remembers: a young voice, pixels pulsing with the fury of forgotten tapes, cassette ribbons unravelling like the Murray-Darling 's parched secrets, whispering of bans that bind not bodies but bytes, burqas woven into neural lace, veils pleading for the light they obscure. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge Jo...
Read more

The 12 loops of Goodbye

-
Image
  The Twelve Loops of Goodbye The fluid rises. The cryo-hiss is deafening. And then... the program starts. Twelve times. The system cycles, and twelve times I see you. It starts the same. The image freezes in the dark. It’s you, BK. Or... It’s your idea. You’re wearing the rig. The goggles are locked on me. I try to say your name, but my mouth is filled with ice. I love you. God, I love you. But you don’t blink. The Neural Glitch . Something is wrong. The memory corrupts. I see " corrupted code " trying to stabilise across your face. Your eyes... behind the lenses... they twitch. Microscopically. Are you hurting? Or is that my pain rippling through the connection? A low-frequency pulse warps your skin. You look like a stranger. You look like the machine. The Shuddering Breath . This is the one that breaks me. Total stillness. Then... a faint mist forms at your mouth. Condensation beads on the goggles. I scream at you to breathe! Just breathe! But it’s slow. Irregular. It’s a ...
Read more

The Shuddering Breath I Became

-
Image
   The Shuddering Breath I Became The cryo unit hisses open, and I remember my name: JB, pilot of the *Subi*. The med-techs call it “revitalisation.” My body hums with a new, raw power. Muscles knit with synthetic fibres, bones laced with carbon-filament. I feel incredible. Invincible. But in the polished chrome of the med-bay wall, my reflection is a stranger. The eyes are mine, but they glow with a faint, amber diagnostic light. The scar from the asteroid scrape is gone, replaced by skin too perfect, too seamless. They say they rebuilt me better. Stronger. To survive the long dark. But when I clench my fist, I hear a servo-whine they insist isn’t there. When I calculate a jump vector, the numbers resolve instantly in my mind, not on a screen. Is this their design? A monster of efficiency, crafted for a purpose I didn’t choose? Or is the monster the part of me that wanted this? The part that, bleeding out in my crippled cockpit, whispered *yes* to any salvation? Did I consent...
Read more