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Neu Ferrumation

Mask makers unbound, in burning second sight, i saw a time before a time when solace had no name.

Some Days are Far More Visceral than Others

i pick up the broken pieces and begin to trim the blades again.

i am a mass of metal that never stops spinning. the peril meets its end only when willpower meets its conclusion.

it takes years to trim all my blades perfectly down to a becoming appearance. but at the moment of bladeclash i am returned to being the very version of myself i used to be. the act of violence transforms every blade back to their original state.

of this array that adorns my metal skin is one blade left completely untouched. every once in a while the need returns for me to transform into a sword again. the moment my sole untrimmed blade meets with another, i feel the energy surge within me again, and the vicious flurry starts anew.

today i once again begin the ritual of trimming my blades. it takes an incredible amount of effort and precision for me not to become a whirling mass of a billion writhing swords. the world should thank me for being so graceful. instead i receive only scorn.

Blade Emancipation

The Mask on My Face Means Everything to Me

Metal Made Real In Every Way, masks in the mirror in the dark arrayed, unfurl into a flurry of a billion blades, a mass of writhing metal you can see from far away.

Prideful Empire

The mask on my face means everything to me, a mirror of a vision of a shattered dream.

Kuuga Invigilation

A night without a night without an end to the song, light from the other side could almost reach me here, a dream without a rest in the moment it was calm, reaching reaching for something that i know for sure

Green Somnia

sometimes you lose a part of yourself that never comes back. i think i'd be happy if I could draw like i used to again. but for now there has to be compromise. i think there's value in still showing some of the clumsy first steps back. see you again on the other side.

i'm gradually getting back into drawing, since this is one of my only outlets when i'm not working on the thesis. unfortunately it's still quite difficult for me to capture my own style from before the accident. something feels missing about the level and complexity of detail.

Metal Masked Machines, built in every shape, cast in every form, alone amongst their kind, and lost in every way. Metal Mask Machines, whose mirrors cannot seem, to reflect the selves they were, before it was today.

Sometimes You Lose A Part Of Yourself That Never Comes Back