Composer :: Guitarist :: Improvisor
...empty spun-sugar shibboleth...
we also shape-shift at a distance
"Something understands," breathes the screen
...most of Us...
"Colors," he says to the screen's black lattice
i wanted to fly from the roof and i fell
we are digested and become nothing here
dead on the surplus blankets
...and try to become the Light?
...small dull smears of meditative panic
-but uh well you see sputter of burning insect wings-
...the shifting jelly of heads looming over your little face
...the string grids of excavators searching for weathered bone
what the machine understands about you doesn't actually mean anything to it
I Am\Never Was
Mal de Coucou
Towards a Diagnostic Touch
Out of gallery