7.12.09

Lions and Tigers and Holy Shit, what's THAT?!

CD cover design for the Double Handsome Dragons. This image represents the open package, the CD takes up the top right hand quarter of the square seen here.



FRONT COVER, when closed:

9.7.09

Beta.

It is tangible but harsh and the colours and shapes have a slightly hypereal edge. This world, despite it's all consuming glory, makes a cruel mockery of true nature. The faces are symetrical. The stories spit forth in a seemingly random chaotic foray. I'm in awe of it all. The glow of a lucid dream. Around everything. Its not real. It's not real.

The distant redraw of the horizon only succeeds in tightening the hood of claustrophobia. Beyond it lies the void.

21.6.09

Velvet.

Atoms collided all around, insects zipped in and out of existence while the trees breathed deeply in our presence. Whispering warm lullabys down into the world and nudging it's little sister into waking, the radiant sun slipped away. It's dwindling light, dancing in the glassy eyes of the velvet crowned peaceful ones. The story continued.

The spinning, roaring centre of the Earth pulled tides, clouds and countless souls around in a familiar frenzied ballet. Arms of galaxies reached out, fingers touched and new worlds were born. Every universe rode the spiral as it had for all time and would forever more.

At the centre of everything, teeth gently bit down, trapping tiny desperately fluttering words. A deep breath. A book mark in time. A polar shift. Then silence.

Something changed.

18.5.09

Sneaky...

peak at a monster I'm currently scribbling into life.


-- Post From My iPhone's shitty camera.

24.4.09

She grows heavy. She who's demands are as unforgiving as her touch. She who holds me tight in a tenacious tendril embrace. She whispers chemical trickery into me again. Free to do her bidding, I taste her eyes. Teeth clench. Blood flows. Fingers slip into a hungry and desperate suction cup delirium. Muscles tighten and swell, easing every cell into a sarcophagus of symbiosis. Her moan slips through me on silent owl wings. Tiny cold ghosts invade me...


3.2.09

+

I've got to get some shut eye.

Where's the sense in straining to interpret incoming fantastrophe fractals anyway?
The universe is infinite yadda yadda, the dark matters, yackety shmackety.

If you're going to not exist, you might as well have fun doing it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I shine lights into the fog.
Wipe the windscreen.
Find the perfect song.

I'm warm.
I'm dry.
I'm accelerating.
Insects slip unnoticed into the ether.

The road is wide and unguarded.
Nothing creeps but the pretty moon.

Then somethi.