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 ...
It was breathtaking to see the sun rise over Story Bridge. Yet, I couldn't help but be buried in my thoughts as I walked through the deserted alleyways. My soul was burdened by depression and anxiety, and the suggestions of others simply made things worse.
I had the impression that I was stuck pushing a wheelbarrow full of emotional baggage. My own concerns and doubts were causing me to delay and postpone my aspirations. Bouts of procrastination and hopelessness prevented me from realising my full potential. So I identified with every cause that offered relief because I felt like an important person.
But then I came across a motivational transcript without a title that promised to guide me towards inner tranquillity and contentment. Instead, I experienced a change in myself as I read the lines. My mental fog started to lift, and I began to perceive the world differently.
I walked through the busy streets. The life and vitality of the city hummed all around me. Once overpowering and disorganised, the flashing lights now made me feel awestruck and amazed. The writing made the world's splendour and majesty more apparent. I experienced a sense of tranquillity and pleasure that I had never experienced before as I gazed out over the city skyline with its tall towers and busy flashing lights.
The world was now a place of promise and beauty rather than fear and dread. It seemed as though I had come out of my own personal hell, where the writing of an unidentified influencer had significant meaning. However, now that I had discovered a route out, I could embrace the light and leave the darkness behind.
I realised at that precise time that the speech had given me a second chance to face my worries and uncertainties and appreciate the world's beauty. As the sun rose higher in the sky, it signalled the start of a brand-new day full of prospects and chances for growth and development.
This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and or modification of the artwork without written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
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...
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 ...
Chrysalis This isn’t a tomb It’s a chrysalis . We aren’t being buried We’re being rewritten. 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 If you want to acquire JJFB's art creations as an NFT - John's Opensea NFT profile is https://opensea.io/JJFBbennett Copyright This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws . Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.
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