Most recent post

The Metallic Bloom

-
Image
  The Metallic Bloom "It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper... like biting down on a gun barrel. Then... it detonates. It’s not a scream—it’s a jagged, violent bloom tearing through my throat.  Shards of silver... iron... and rust. I am no longer a man... just a dark silhouette exploding into shrapnel.  The panic is absolute." The Metallic Bloom video-poem It starts on the back of my tongue. A cold, sharp tang of copper— Like biting down on a gun barrel. Then… It detonates. It isn’t a scream. It’s a jagged, violent bloom Tearing through my throat. Shards of silver. Iron. Rust. I am no longer a man— Just a dark silhouette Xxploding into shrapnel. My body isn’t mine anymore. My voice isn’t mine anymore. The panic is absolute. 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 ....
Post a Comment

Celeste Dream Reflection

-

From within an endless cage, Celeste finds herself
Looking into her eyes
In perfect reflection
In total understanding

Within herself
Captured by self
Unable to make sense of something else
Unable to find a need to escape
Comforted by her sickening feeling of something wrong
Only to wake up and without question continue in grind





Popular posts from this blog

Vision 3 - A Psycho-Mythic Descent

-
Image
Situation - The Tempest’s Reflection JB , a spaceship pilot, has been placed into a cryo cocoon to revive and transform his life essence. Inside the cocoon, he experiences his mind as a "relentless tempest of clashing thoughts, swirling and churning, mirroring the furious chaos outside of the machine." JB also sees his older self trapped in the same transitory state. The Storm in my Looking Glass A cinematic close-up of JB’s face behind the curved glass of the cryo-cocoon . The glass reflects not the room but a "relentless tempest" of swirling dark clouds and lightning , symbolising his churning thoughts. In the storm's reflection, a ghostly older version of JB is visible, trapped and silent, mirroring the pilot's current state. Cryogenic Rejuvenation Chamber - Night This trapped specter is the true mirror of our pilot's current, suspended state: a mind caught between two ages, the man he was refusing to be silenced, terrified of the man he is about to ...
Read more

The art of authenticity

-
Image
  The Struggle for Authenticity in Art I want to speak today about authenticity . And about what we quietly give up to be accepted. We’re told that contemporary political art values autonomy . That artists are free. That inquiry sits at the centre of practice. But autonomy, in reality, is often something we *perform*— not something we’re allowed to exercise. Freedom is celebrated rhetorically, while legitimacy is granted only when work conforms to approved languages , approved theories , approved causes . Autonomy isn’t denied outright. It’s curated. This system doesn’t fail artists by accident. It functions mechanically. It rewards work that aligns with predetermined frameworks and filters out work that doesn’t speak the sanctioned dialect . Many voices are excluded not because they lack skill or meaning, but because they refuse to translate their experience into institutionally legible language. I’m not saying all excluded work is good. I am saying much of it is never heard. An...
Read more

Vision 2 - The Unbearable Truth

-
Image
  The Situation - Red Alert JB , a middle-aged mail spaceship pilot . Starship piloting JB is held not by ropes, but by the cryo-unit's nanoweave swaddle —a tight, absolute embrace mimicking paranoiac wrappings. This material presses against him, preventing his shivering flesh from flying apart under the centrifugal force of his panic. He feels a cold burn and constant helplessness sinking in. His anxiety is a crimson klaxon , a "relentless tempest" of warring thoughts. He is mentally back in the cockpit, but the instruments scream in an alien language; every light and warning signifies impending failure. His pure instinct screams ABORT , yet there is no escape route. Confrontation Rising JB is shown the war of impulses tearing him apart—the "lunge and the retreat". His existence is reduced to the strained gasp: "I live for fucks sake, I don't know.” Full Assault a Violet Firestorm JB responds with explosive, automatic violence, his lungs burning from ...
Read more