I must break free Inside the pod, I arch and lash against the restraints. The hum thickens—translucent waves pressing me down. My motion meets mass. Sound becomes gravity. I hang there, suspended, until resistance teaches me stillness. 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...
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Decent into the Valley Below
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Skipping through Dystopia on way to Utopia
A lone figure moves with an unsettling grace in the dim twilight of a decaying city, where the remnants of civilisation stand as silent witnesses to their demise. Each step taken amidst the desolation seems to mock the essence of existence as if moving forward is a futile rebellion against the oppressive weight of being. The air is thick with the stench of rust and decay, a tangible reminder of the absurdity that permeates this forsaken world.
As the figure advances, the surrounding gloom intensifies, the shadows growing longer and more oppressive. The skeletal remains of the old world loom ominously, their presence a stark reminder of the inescapable reality of existence. Yet, amidst this suffocating despair, there is a fleeting, almost imperceptible shift where the oppressive darkness gives way to a horizon bathed in a cold, indifferent light. The figure pauses, gazing back at the path traversed, a journey marked by the relentless confrontation with the absurdity of being. In this moment, there is no utopia, no redemption, only the stark, unyielding reality of existence and the solitary figure's acknowledgment of it.
Decent into the Valley Below
Walking down the winding graded paths with Finn by my side. I could feel the anticipation bubbling within me. The sun cast its warm light on the weathered stone walls, illuminating our way to the bustling city below. We were leaving behind the town we knew so well. But I felt a thrill in my heart. A promise of adventure. Waiting just ahead.
The sound of the river called to us like a distant heartbeat, urging us forward. I could already imagine the vibrant market and the new experiences that awaited us. With each step, the weight of the familiar lifted, and I realised we were stepping into the unknown, a world filled with endless possibilities. Our laughter echoed around us, blending with the sounds of the city as we embraced whatever came next.
A Self-Imposed Utopia
Amid an unending expanse, where the horizon dissolves into a nebulous void, we have become adrift among colossal structures suspended in the ether. These edifices, neither anchored to earth nor bound by gravity, loom with an oppressive grandeur, their foundations obscured by swirling mists. Each facade, a labyrinth of windows reflecting an infinite sky, confronts us with the absurdity of their existence—and ours.
In this boundless realm, time loses meaning. Moments stretch into eternity, and we are left to confront the void within and without. The weight of existence presses upon me, a relentless reminder of indifference as the future reveals itself. Yet, amidst the awe of delusion, we have a resolve to impose meaning upon the meaningless and assert our being against the encroaching nothingness.
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 b...
The Situation - Red Alert JB , a middle-aged mail spaceship pilot . Starship piloting JB is held not by ropes, but by the cryo-unit's nanoweave swaddle —a tight, absolute embrace mimicking paranoiac wrappings. This material presses against him, preventing his shivering flesh from flying apart under the centrifugal force of his panic. He feels a cold burn and constant helplessness sinking in. His anxiety is a crimson klaxon , a "relentless tempest" of warring thoughts. He is mentally back in the cockpit, but the instruments scream in an alien language; every light and warning signifies impending failure. His pure instinct screams ABORT , yet there is no escape route. Confrontation Rising JB is shown the war of impulses tearing him apart—the "lunge and the retreat". His existence is reduced to the strained gasp: "I live for fucks sake, I don't know.” Full Assault a Violet Firestorm JB responds with explosive, automatic violence, his lungs burning from ...
The hand that holds the glamour Between the flick of a lighter and the curl of smoke lies a story told in two parts: the hand that holds the glamor, Between the flick of a lighter and the curl of smoke lies a story told in two parts: the hand that holds the glamor, and the eye that chooses to believe it. The art of the obscure and meaningless In the realm of modernist art , exemplified by Eddie's deliberate embrace of abstraction and mystery , artists have increasingly surrendered their authoritative power of intent to a veil of meaningless vagueness, compelling viewers to co-create meaning from fragmented suggestions rather than receiving a clear, directive vision. Her scalpel-wielded dissections—such as her perforated self-portraits or obscured war images—eschew explicit communication in favour of elusive hints, as she professed a desire to remain "mysterious" and avoid revelation, thereby shifting the burden of interpretation onto the audience in a pseudo-spiritual a...
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