a journal of edgy extrapolations, fringe fascinations, occult obsessions, risky ruminations, and aberrant associations.
Between the endless azure sky, ringing with clarity, and the gold-specked, blood-flecked dirt, jagged and portentous, our players enact a war-ritual. The artist–the sorceress who stalks this ruined temple–orders her man to fire bullet holes into her artwork. “Each bullet hole is a portal into the immortal,” to achieve immortality, infinitude, to become one with the sky, one must become an artwork, to dive into those bullet hole portals. Violence as artwork. Artwork as alchemy.
Let The Corpses Tan.
— J Everett is the editor and publisher of APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL