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Swollen shut optical receptors dodge various heat patterns and bury potential aggressors. Outlines threaten my awareness: wax dipped wire frames strut towards my selfish potential, taunting my being with angry fists and pedantic thoughts. Cancerous faith. Fetid convictions. Vain compromises… Conventions… Peel away the scalp to reveal the skull, which will willingly yield to the erratic vibrations of a mechanical surgeons saw. Applied pressure compromises the structural integrity of millions of year’s worth of cortical evolution. Despite the medieval methods you will inevitably reach the essential core self. C.G. Jung pauses, takes a long drag from his flaming sofa, and confides his mechanism in me. Buried somewhere outside of my own reach and cognitive grasp… Hidden. A community at the epicenter of a tempestuous blue sea, a stormy gray sky, an infinite snow peaked summit, and suffering from a technological lapse… Odysseus caught between Scylla and Charibdis. Welcome to a place that trades devils for devils. Children for vending machines… Art for commerce…
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