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Godliness in Stone

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  Scene 1 It smells like… time down here. Not just damp earth or rot, but something older. A primal scent that’s been waiting in the dark for a millennium. I’m recording this at the bottom of the scar somewhere in the anomaly. In my mind, it's called the Necropolis Gully . My helmet is trying to map it—casting these sterile, digital grids over the moss and the stone—but the data doesn’t make sense. It’s glitching. It’s shuddering against the reality of this place. I don't know why I'm here, looking at ruins. Just... debris. But in the ruins, I found the ghosts of a future that never happened. I was walking over shards of polymerised memories . This was once a city.  It was meant to be the heart of a new world that... simply stopped. It wasn't an engineering failure. It was a failure of existence. Holding that slate, I felt this... weight. The grief of the architect. The "wounds of unbuilt dreams." I realised then that this isn't a graveyard for people. It’...

This Branch

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The collection gains its inspiration from Lake Bennett in the full moon. At 3:00 am, the darkened lake would shine under the translucent moon. Silent and bound by the visual magnificence, I could feel the gravitational power, changing tides, and internal biological rhythms. I did not need to sleep. This collection is about accepting the beauty of the night and how it affects our sleep, mood, emotions, and conscious being. Full Moon Reflections When the moon finally breaks through. And the restless breeze wanders between. Past hatreds and future promises. And the decisions of others who cut me down. I just cannot stop. And I fight with myself for my life. Knowing others fight harder. Never to gain even. But I never wanted to march. But I did. When my thoughts don't realize. I become restless. I wander between what could have been. My hatreds and false starts. And all decisions I could never make. My sky dreaming. My glass ceilings. I as the consumer. Stoked by the genius. Those who ...

Travel Lake Bennett

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  It only takes the slightest breeze. After each sunset. Before the problems of the day are resolved. The bludgeoned crawl out. To reclaim some dignity. And some semblance of affinity with living. And their efficacy to feel beautiful. The opportunity to refract and diverge with their whispers. If you want to listen to them. 3am in the morning. When the void sets in. And all daily grinds transpire. Stone cold awake. Then night allows your creativity. The force denied brilliant struggle. By stripping away your defenses. You wake up and feel the affinity. The moon, stars, and clouds. Listen to your reptilian cycle. Before the window closes. And you have forgotten the introspection. Quiet conversations. On whatever breeze chances by. No longer demanding hardened options. Or decisive actions. Just being aware of stillness. As an uncomplicated opportunity. When elsewhere else has none. Claim this moment. To be within yourself. Translucent memories. Whispering for your return. To childhoo...

Nighttime Gaze - Bamboo

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  Then in the vanishing. When all mysteries are hidden. I crawl into my undergrowth. Fascinated by the light. But too timid to step out, up or down. Video Short Night Flare through Bamboo Audio JJFBbennett · Bamboo Noise One-off sponsorship You Tube

Nighttime Gaze

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  Nighttime Gaze Gate The light Of my darkness From me Scratching Cussing Without want For belief Video Art Video Short   . One-off sponsorship You Tube