The city is parabolic, collapsing on itself like an amphitheater on the surface of a world in the bloom of catastrophe. The outer walls leading to the citadel, which is central to all engineering and architecture and life throughout, are an actual labyrinth. The builders don’t want me to see whatever lies behind those layers […]
I created “Anicula” as a negative-space portrait using a texture-patchwork technique I’ve used in several new pieces lately. The resulting work tends to possess a certain tangible quality; there is some feeling, as seeing a texture on a surface you cannot touch, but understanding that it would feel a certain way if you could. It’s also very possible that this is entirely subjective, and that I am full of shit.
19 days ago, I didn’t know I could draw. Now I can’t get these images out of my head. That probably makes me sound a little crazy. In fact, I know it does. Maybe it sounds unbelievable. Plenty of my friends have called “bullshit.” Then I send them a video. It certainly feels surreal, […]
I’ve been at my desk for 23 of the last 24 hours. That’s nothing to boast about; I’m clearly overdoing it. The fact that I know I’m overdoing it does absolutely nothing to change the fact that my mind won’t let me sleep, won’t let me quit. Tonight I learned what it means to bleed for my art. I literally worked my fingers bloody. I just couldn’t stop. I don’t know why; I’m so compelled to draw, it’s like this feeling inside my chest, this clawing thing, and when I stop I can’t think of anything else.
“There are children in the rooms next to yours,” he says. His face is sweaty, too. Did he pass out with me? He seems irritated. Maybe he’s just embarrassed. “It was the last available room in this wing. So you cannot scream, okay Robert?”
OH GOD IS THAT REALLY WHAT I SOUND LIKE? I think, marveling at the tiny screen. I want to look away. She holds it up close so I can see. “Ew, babe. I don’t—” “No, just watch.” “This is weird.” “Oh, you have no idea.” She pushes a button on the side, and the volume […]
I BARELY EXIST AT ALL. Could I still be dreaming? Caught between something bright and something empty… Severed at the neck. Hungry. It spoke to me. What to call it?
“and the moth is totally winning” by Thomas Roan. Warning: content may be disturbing to everyone.
A blabbermouth sits in a hospital room talking to an elderly woman in a total body cast before dissolving into a gummy world hallucination in this twisted bizarro short from the author of DRIP.