Welcome everyone to this garden of atrocities. If you have arrived here, if at this moment you find yourself under its threshold, reading these brief words, it is because some deviation has afflicted your soul. Be warned: those who cross the threshold of this page, abandon all humanity. For here is left behind what was once known as human life, to immerse oneself in a botany of flesh. Before you stretches a desolate landscape, the ruins sedimented after two centuries of brutal erosion, exerted by the capital-knife on our sentient bodies. The deepest anatomical nudity lurks in each of the human-machine wrists that rise in this steel and viscera oasis. It is not advised to approach them too closely; do not look directly into their watery, shattered eyes; and even less, make contact with the putrid tapestry that envelops them. Nor should you try to understand the songs that arise from within their still mouths. Disarticulated, stormy laments; words born from the deepest cyber-psychic hell, detritus fermented in the bowels of your digital devices that perhaps should never have been unearthed. If those ghostly words reach your ears, heed them as one hears the flow of lava; perhaps admiring them, but never immersing oneself in them. Despite heeding so many warnings, your thinking organism may still seem absurd to you after visiting this human botany. It matters not. Trust me, it will be worth it. Go ahead, cross the threshold.
Juan de Madre Collective
Powered by WPeMatico
Amour Fou 