On desires drifting & glitching us up to monuments of dislocated directions and void.
Preview, winter 2016.
Meanwhile they are phasing some artificial echoes
Through their feedback soul loops of constant emergencies,
As if they were audible
As if geometry were decorative
As if the universe were just a white noise lullaby
Here are some balcony tickets for the last spasm of the noir ballet of glitching flowers.