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What is the Churn of the Unmade

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  What is the Churn of the Unmade?  Metamodernist art by JJFBbennett It isn’t just paint; it’s the heavy, exhausting gravity of pure affectation. I applied these deep purples and stark whites with a thick palette knife, wanting you to feel the weight of the medium itself—the messy, chaotic over-saturation of our digital lives, the constant noise. It’s dense, tactile, and completely overwhelming. But  The chaos is interrupted by a line of perfect, unyielding geometry. A clear glass ring slicing straight through the noise. This physical ring stands as the initial boundary of awareness. On one side, the suffocating density of raw human expression and digital noise; on the other, a clean, projected window into an idealised, quiet simplicity.  Where does the noise end, and where does our awareness truly begin? The glass ring doesn't just divide the canvas; it bridges two entirely different eras of the soul.  Look to the left. You see that heavy, anxious abstract expr...
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Obsidian static the puppet master

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  Obsidian static, the puppet master. (Verse 1) The crevice opens like a silent, dusty lung Air thick with minerals and a thousand forgotten years I'm rappelling down the sheer black into a chasm's memory My boots crunch on shattered polymer No sound but the suit's respiration But the stillness is a stage The jagged walls, they lean in now (Refrain) The Paraknowing a cold spike of dread at the base of the skull It’s not a thought, it’s a wave Static buzz. Who's the puppet and who is the master? High-tensile wires disappear into the light The tightening the silent pull above the gully (Verse 2) The godly face, brittle stone work It emerges, eyes blank and unseeing But it broadcasts a sharp spike of loss and profound love My logic stutters, snagging on the input An effigy , a sentinel or just a mirror I turn and see the audience waiting Small, white figures, balanced stone totems They are all part of it (Verse 3) The strings pass through my wrist Not from me, but through...
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Nu Jazz Between Peaks and Valleys A Journey Within

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  Between Peaks and Valleys: A Journey Within Lyrics We march forward. We march forward. Each step stirs dust into the air—still, unmoving, heavy air. Our silhouettes stretch long, etched across twilight mountains. The sun—neither fully risen nor set—pauses, and hovers. A witness. A silent guardian. Beginnings and endings, both here and distant. Between peaks, between valleys, we walk. We move together, but alone. Each of us. Each step is ours, yet shared. No words, no destination. No destination is spoken aloud. We are suspended. Suspended in transit, where time unravels, where place dissolves, where movement lingers, without end. This space—this space between past and future— This is the place. This is the sacred space. Each step is an act of faith. Each step is a leap into the unknown. The mountain pulls at us—its shadow reaching, grasping, holding. But light pulls, too. Light on the horizon, a promise. A call we cannot ignore. The burden we carry is more than we thought. It is ...
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