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

Rapid Creek Tide Out

-

Trying to make sense of it all
When the tide goes out
And the rain stops
What was once seen is now not what is seen

All the way across the expanse
To the horizon
A revealed beauty
That is transient and formed
Flowing ebbing and eroding

Of continuous loss
As present
A simulation
Creation in place
And witnessed by my force in time







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

The art of futility

-
Image
  Creation doesn’t save. Art stabilises. That’s why art continues after belief has died. Not because it promises something— But because consciousness cannot stop itself. The will to create isn’t heroic. It’s involuntary. A reflex. The art of futility A spoken monologue I don’t make art because it matters. I make it because consciousness produces excess. And excess demands release. That’s the first lie we’re taught—that art points toward truth. Truth doesn’t need us. It existed before our gestures and will remain after our silence. Art isn’t revelation. It’s a regulation. An overdeveloped mind can’t remain idle. Thought accumulates. Pressure builds. Expression becomes a discharge—not a message. This isn’t noble. It’s biological. Paintings. Texts. Sounds. Images. All variations of the same maneuver. Not transcendence . Containment . Once you see this, ambition collapses. Influence. Legacy . Relevance. These are metaphysical debts art can no longer pay. The work is finished the mome...
Read more