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with a star in your heart, no one can touch

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NEW ARTWORK: He whispered dark senseless thoughts, and I listened.

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NEW ARTWORK: He wore a crown of silver and of blood.

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NEW ARTWORK: quiet hysteria.

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NEW ARTWORK: he read it in a book.

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and again...

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as is - a filterless portrait...

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selfstare with interlude and following end chapters.

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He drifted - unthinking - through the big system.

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He weighed little if nothing, in the reality of things.

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He was tired and couldn't think straight.

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It was like he was at the bottom of the ocean - sometimes.

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He broke through the wall, he staggered across the room, he lay down on a bed of dead flowers and closed his eyes...

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A knife blade to the cheek. He was ecstatic in stainless steel and grazes. Touch me two times, touch me thrice...

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He was confused by his plastic eye, by his crystal blue stature. He saw, but didn't see. Things mattered, then didn't.

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He spoke in rhythms, through a gentle plastic tongue. His stare was off-centre, his hands fidgeted. He was alone with others.

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He sat in perpetual motion - through stillness. His mind, encased in plastic, saw the world as he was meant to, like a vacant blink of a neo glass eye.

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I am the alien engine, the space between you and me and you - the hum in the room.

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I am the distraction - the tilted head, the level eye before blinking. I am the lips that stay shut, the pulse that bears down...

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He moved with no distance, smiled with no feeling, moved his lips in tandem, blinked like never before...