SPACE DEBRIS

While a party was in full swing in the humid corridors of the metropolis, the first breath of Kazextree was taken on a Friday that was declining in clarity and in a down-at-heel loneliness. As he took the appearance of a larva on his couch, fazed by a confusing and dark conjuncture, Kazextree wondered why he is dissatisfied with what he sees and hears. At the bottom of his heart, he knew for a fact that he had to stop hoping and waiting for a new order to emerge at the core of a misplaced culture. Genuflecting before the insatiable celestial bodies, an occult force guided his hands to fill this recessive black hole. Sometimes art is a voluntary purgatory.