Industrial nomads have scoured the earth to possess the material genus of hermetic lineages. In each region, these psychedelic sojourners encountered an esoteric body of visionary knowledge that spoke of the lyricism of flora. The outer reaches of experience rustle with the shudder of non-conceptuality like windswept blossoms at the turn of the season. Leveled by plant-being, postmodern media junkies recover the memory of the human animal in fronds of fleur-de-lis exhaustion that spiral out across the spiritual plane. At the threshold of the Self a chrysanthemum of pantheistic iconography fans outward into the ancestral realm where things beyond the likeness of the human play a coda to eternity...
Is it really a good idea to go out alone? Won't you be better off with an escort? A leash will let them know that you're not just another stray. A stunning female will define your masculine virility. You'll get a wide path when they grasp the dimensions of your canine breed-- And your guards will keep the horndogs 20 feet back from your ass.
A coarse gust whips against the eaves of a psychedelic beach town. From
the spectral delirium of the coast, there emerges a frame for the
recognition of forgetting. The hinges curl back into the periphery,
leading to points beyond, where visuals intimate content the eye cannot
follow. What lies beyond the cracks in the frame? A rumbling haze of
music offers the prelude to an answer …