Most recent post

Vision 4 Our internal black hole

-
Image
  The Internal Singularity Inside the high-tech cryo-cocoon, JB’s bound body is central, wrapped tightly in shimmering silver nanoweave. His chest cavity is visualised not as flesh, but as a swirling, dark "black hole" singularity, warping the light and space within the pod. Thin, fractured arcs of violet light—representing his remaining anxiety—are being violently sucked into this dark centre, unable to escape the "crushing gravity" of his despair. The lighting is heavy, dark, and oppressive. 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...
Post a Comment

The Cave of Leadership - From Gods to the Wheels of Chariots

-

 


"The Cave of Leadership: From Gods to the Wheels of Chariots" is a visual story that traverses time and space, spanning epochs and weaving a tapestry of interconnected experiences that may seem meaningless at first glance. But upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that our journey towards leadership is built upon the foundation of ancient tales of power, wisdom, and foresight. We have placed our trust in the divine mindset of the gods and their immortal stories that have served as a leadership guidepost for generations on generations.

As we progress, our mechanical marvels have become symbols of human ingenuity and the unyielding desire for continuous progress. The wheels of our machines, fashioned in the likeness of the wheels of time, keep turning and propelling us towards new opportunities. Like spectral figures, we stand tall on slender platforms, driven forward by an unseen divine force. We are frail yet resilient, tenacious in our pursuit of conquest, and determined to transcend boundaries.

But what are the Leader's obligations to those who suffer in the face of adversity created by divine-driven opportunity? Those who silently scream, weep, and cry out for help? As the evolution of leadership remains transfixed on godlike guidance coupled with the relentless march of progress, it is up to us to embody the indomitable spirit of humanity and fasten on a relentless quest for equity. Only then can we indeed call ourselves leaders in the fullest sense of the word!









John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett, is an independent artist. You can subscribe to JJFB's work via Blogger, YouTube, Flicker, Facebook, Instagram and Deviant Art. 

If you want to support his art creation, you can sponsor JJFBbennett through PayPal or a subscription via Patreon here.

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 written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Echoes in the Wire Unspooling Day 1

-
Image
  Scene 1 In the cradle of copper veins, where the first byte flickered like a eucalyptus firefly against the millennial dusk of 2000, threads uncoiled—raw and unbidden, a post-punk snarl weaving through the static hum of dial-up dreams. Imagine the snare drum's ghost-crack echoing off Uluru's red flanks , not as a conquest but as a lover's bruise, blooming violet under star-pricked skin. Here, rebellion wasn't a fist raised in Canberra's marbled halls but a glitch in the grid . A Laughing Clowns howl warping the airwaves, sonic annotation—jagged guitar riffs splintering into didgeridoo drones , fading to the hiss of cooling circuits. The wire remembers: a young voice, pixels pulsing with the fury of forgotten tapes, cassette ribbons unravelling like the Murray-Darling 's parched secrets, whispering of bans that bind not bodies but bytes, burqas woven into neural lace, veils pleading for the light they obscure. Be Creative and Innovative with Knowledge Jo...
Read more

The 12 loops of Goodbye

-
Image
  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 ...
Read more

The Shuddering Breath I Became

-
Image
   The Shuddering Breath I Became The cryo unit hisses open, and I remember my name: JB, pilot of the *Subi*. The med-techs call it “revitalisation.” My body hums with a new, raw power. Muscles knit with synthetic fibres, bones laced with carbon-filament. I feel incredible. Invincible. But in the polished chrome of the med-bay wall, my reflection is a stranger. The eyes are mine, but they glow with a faint, amber diagnostic light. The scar from the asteroid scrape is gone, replaced by skin too perfect, too seamless. They say they rebuilt me better. Stronger. To survive the long dark. But when I clench my fist, I hear a servo-whine they insist isn’t there. When I calculate a jump vector, the numbers resolve instantly in my mind, not on a screen. Is this their design? A monster of efficiency, crafted for a purpose I didn’t choose? Or is the monster the part of me that wanted this? The part that, bleeding out in my crippled cockpit, whispered *yes* to any salvation? Did I consent...
Read more