Kevin Krautgartner, Wuppertal, Germany.
The zipper hung, caught, as he opened the French fatigues, the coils of toothed nylon clotted with salt. He broke it, some tiny metal parts shooting off against the wall of salt-rotten cloth gave, then was in her, effecting the transmission of the old message.
Here, even here, in a place he knew for what it was, a coded model of some stranger’s memory, the drive held.
Teho Teardo & Blixa Bargeld + Sol Seppy + Sigur Rós + Burial & Four Tet.
He is an electric ghost painted in the colours of a dead moment.
Li Ye, Lhasa, China.
There is something in such laws that takes the breath away. They are not discoveries or inventions of the human mind, but exist independently of us. In a moment of clarity, one can at most discover that they are there and take them into account. Long before there were people on the earth, crystals were already growing in the earth’s crust.
On one day or another, a human being first came across such a sparkling morsel of regularity lying on the ground or hit one with his stone tool and it broke off and fell at his feet, and he picked it up and regarded it in his open hand, and he was amazed.
Say Hi to the new Fake Avatar contributor Riccardo Fusini aka Drk_.
Background in typography/graphic and fresh meat for the motion apocalypse.
There’s also some love for B-movies and hip hop culture.
The future of the blog may explore new areas and significances; we welcome the breeze and the journey.13 hearts
Zdzislaw Beksinski, 1929-2005, Poland.
A sickened, sensitive shadow writhing in hands that are not hands, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-seen columns of unsanctified temples that rest on nameless rocks beneath space and reach up to dizzy vacua above the spheres of light and darkness.
And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.