Most recent post

Discovering the terminal horizon

-
Image
  Discovering the Terminal Horizon The Long Highway Out here, the world ends not in silence, but in fire. The asphalt bleeds into cracked red earth, stretching toward a bruised horizon where the sky refuses to cool. Behind the glass, you drive chasing ghosts through a desert that forgot rain a lifetime ago. Beneath the Scorch Every road leads deeper into the furnace. Even below the surface, the rock fissures and weeps, hot steam rising through subterranean fractures where molten veins pulse in the dark, feeding an ancient, unforgiving heat. Broken Arteries What we built couldn’t hold. Rails twist into the dunes, swallowed by iron sand and wind. Bridges split down the seam, concrete splintered into raw bone, tangled rebar, and dying wires crackling into the smoke. The machines stopped; the wasteland stayed. The Last Horizon And when the road finally runs out, there is only the ash, the petrified stumps, and the quiet. You are a lone figure sitting in the dust, watching the embers of...
Post a Comment

Celeste Goya's Dog Paradox

-


Celeste Goya's Dog Paradox
Reawakened as your own victim
From your once grandeur
Of yesterday's colonial might
Enter the paranoia
The loss of identity
Kill to be killed
Rape to be raped
Pilfer to be pilfered

The illusion of territory gained
False promises of maintaining identity
Kill the rabid dog
The dog is you
Protect what you wanted to destroy

To bring this world to an end
To return to your righteousness
Paid through ruthless means
The real cost is your victory





Popular posts from this blog

Every stop is a story - Darwin to Adelaide River

-
Image
Every stop is a story - Darwin to Adelaide River The Adelaide River Rupture The storm did not break over the Adelaide River plains; rather, reality tore open along the track. To the left, the familiar Top End landscape clung fiercely to its quiet melancholy. A lone gum tree stood sentinel over the charred scrub and dry earth, its leaves catching the last bruised light of a brooding wet-season sky. In the hollow below, the old fictional homestead crouched beside the rutted dirt road, enduring the heavy stillness that always settles before the atmosphere ruptures. Then came the tear. It began not with thunder, but with an overwhelming, luminous heat that shredded the grey overcast into molten ribbons. You could feel the vortex of raw energy sweeping through radiant ambers, searing cadmium oranges, and blinding celestial whites. The vortex descended like a folded dimension brushing against the earth. Where the atmospheric rift touched the ground, the landscape blurred into fierce gestura...
Read more

The infected touching antiquity

-
Image
  The infected touching antiquity Do you feel divinity when you touch antiquity? Metamodernist art by JJFBbennett Stand before a marble relic, and you find yourself at the threshold of contact. The museum enforces detachment. Do you feel the decay and contamination your hands carry? But what happens when your flesh touches ancient stone? To reach out is an act of somatic friction. Our mortal residue, sebaceous oils and living warmth, ruptures the sterile illusion of the untainted idol. We drag the pristine monument down into the mess of human mortality. Yet, the instinct to touch is an innate longing for connection. Laying bare skin against ancient form collapses millennia, sparking a euphoric link to what came before. Touch restores, renews, and opens an otherworldly portal beyond everyday perception. Touching antiquity infects its distant divinity with our decay, but in that very transgression, it bridges the void—granting the seeker genuine transport into transcendent awe. Marks...
Read more

Embers over the Billabong

-
Image
  Embers over the Billabong Deeper into the scrub, darkness thickens, steeped in a heavy, ember-red glow. Overhead, the canopy dissolves into silhouettes, twisted paperbark and gum branches clawing through an atmosphere that smoulders with charcoal grit and iron dust. Then, the bush yields to water. Nestled in the basin of the scrub, a still billabong collects the night in an entirely different register. While the air above blazes raw crimson, the surface below gathers cool, luminous pools of cobalt, indigo, and shattered violet. For a moment, the outback’s heat seems suspended. There is only the quiet breathing of timber, the mirrored water holding the dark, and ancient country resting at the threshold between fire and stone. 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 pri...
Read more