Empire of the Primrose poem The city fell in a single night. Holding it would take longer. So the painters were summoned, and the saints on the walls were given his family's eyes. A bloodline was found for him, older than the walls, older than the kings who raised them. Now even the earth must forget it ever belonged to anyone else. The Empire of the Primrose - Station 1 Do you have recurring dreams? Travel Sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett The cycle always resets at dusk, like waking inside the cold architecture of an unyielding, repetitive dream. I walk the wet, cobbled veins of an ancient European city, passing beneath stone arches hung with heavy, lifeless flags, heraldry drained of colour, damp cloth clinging to wooden poles like dead skin. There is no breath of wind, only the low, humming pressure of an era turning in its sleep. I reach into an iron sconce and tear loose a torch of roaring, ragged fire. The flame casts jittering amber shad...
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Stop and Revive in a Dreamlike Haven
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Intelligent Design My Cyborg Spoodle
Katcha, my beloved cyborg spoodle, truly is unlike any other dog I've ever encountered. His fur shimmers with this stunning iridescent blue that catches the light in the most mesmerising way—it's almost like he's glowing with energy. I love how the patches of soft fluff contrast beautifully with the gleam of his metallic joints and plates; it creates this fascinating blend of the organic and the mechanical that never fails to amaze me.
Whenever I watch him stand perfectly still, I can’t help but admire the intricate design of his gears and panels, animated by those vibrant LED lights. It’s almost as if he’s a work of art. What I cherish most is how he carries himself; despite the coldness of his metal parts, there’s so much warmth in his posture. With his head slightly tilted and those curious eyes locked onto something unseen at his feet, Katcha radiates this incredible curiosity. I genuinely believe a spark of self-awareness and high intelligence is glowing brightly within his mechanical frame. I feel lucky to share my life with such an extraordinary companion.
The Rumour Mill is a dreamlike space station that serves as a "stop and revive" for travellers. It offers a variety of experiences, from quiet seclusion to lively social interaction, along with retro-futuristic aesthetics. The station can alter one's perception of reality, offering access to memories and visions. Travellers can also repair their ships, gather gossip, and receive revitalising treatments. However, time (measured in "cycles") is a valuable commodity at The Rumour Mill, so visitors must manage their stay carefully.
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.
Through the eyes of the Lost Soldier The sky is bleeding into the dirt again, and the old hunger crawls up through my boots. It no longer matters. Time does not march out here. It pools beneath a dry creek bed, stagnant and unseen. But when the moon swells, heavy and bruised with copper rust, the cold in my ribs becomes a scald. The scrub does not burn with heat. It burns with memory. Through the tangled mallee, I see the flash of artillery, the orange-red roar of a barrage that never stopped falling, trapped forever inside the rib cages of these dead gums. I taste copper on my tongue, sharp as rifle oil and dried blood. The black heavens press down, bending the whole world inward until I am trapped inside a glass bead of fire. I pace the boundary where red light cuts into deep shadow, waiting for a relief column that lost its heading eighty years ago. Everything here is parched. I am so thirsty. But I do not want water. I want your nourishment. I want your dawn, your warm pulse, as yo...
The Terminal Horizon Highway The Terminal Horizon Tourist Bus Would you catch the Terminal Horizon bus? Travel sketches by metamodernist artist JJFBbennett The Long Highway Out here, the world ends not in silence, but in fire. The asphalt bleeds into cracked red earth, stretching toward a bruised horizon where the sky refuses to cool. Behind the glass, you drive chasing ghosts through a desert that forgot rain a lifetime ago. Beneath the Scorch Every road leads deeper into the furnace. Even below the surface, the rock fissures and weeps, hot steam rising through subterranean fractures where molten veins pulse in the dark, feeding an ancient, unforgiving heat. Broken Arteries What we built couldn’t hold. Rails twist into the dunes, swallowed by iron sand and wind. Bridges split down the seam, concrete splintered into raw bone, tangled rebar, and dying wires crackling into the smoke. The machines stopped; the wasteland stayed. The Last Horizon And when the road finally runs out, the...
From Adelaide River to Daly Waters Somewhere south of the Adelaide River "South of the Adelaide River" explores the haunting intersection of modern progress and forgotten history in the vast stretches of the Northern Territory. At the center of the composition stands the specter of a lone soldier, a poignant symbol of profound loss and of abandoned souls swallowed by the unforgiving outback. Stripped of a specific name, era, or mission, the figure represents all those left behind by the relentless march of time—individuals whose sacrifices and stories faded into the scrubland while the world simply moved on. The striking juxtaposition of this spectral wanderer beside a towering, contemporary road train underscores a profound sense of isolation. The heavy machinery of the modern world inches forward down the isolated track, entirely oblivious to the lingering ghosts of the past tethered to the roadside. The brilliant, atmospheric lighting that breaks through the forest canopy ...
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