Myth and perpetual antagonism implode out of shop windows, reeling across Reykjavik like a coiling subway ring, rich in symbols and fried by long forgotten ghosts: a subtle shape of paranoia emits itself in gorgeous raimbows, while tiny drops of lurid plastics cover the backside of undead alleys. Silent and morbid, dual metabolisms merge with previously wasted materials, echoing satellites beaming their seeds through the nerves of grey grass.
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento