Macabre And Reflection

The city, a diseased harpy, her rotting carcass a testament to the decay of civilization. I cut through her festering alleys, camera in hand, a Pygmy navigating the labyrinth of my own fevered brain. The words ooze from my very being like a tempest of acid-tipped rain, scarring the air, leaving an unholy stench in my wake. They say I'm a lunatic, that I've hitched my cart to the train of the damned, but what do they know of the abyss that yawns within me? *picks up a cigarette, lights it* Macabre, the modus operandi of the damned, the altar where I sacrifice my sanity to the gods of excess. To dance with the shadows, to kiss the lips of death, to feast on the entrails of the unknown. When I descend into the abyss, I'm not just taking notes, I'm contracting the disease, letting the darkness seep into my bones, corrupting my very essence. It's a fever dream, a waking nightmare, a perpetual festering sore that refuses to heal. But in that grotesquery, I find my home, my tribe, my raison d'être. *takes a long drag on the cigarette, exhaling slowly* In the shards of society's shattered mirror, I'm a fragment, a splinter of a splintered identity. A symptom of a world careening off the rails, where binaries blur and certainties crumble. The dust of disillusionment settles, and the madness subsides.. *pauses, looking out over the city* "but what's left is the brutal beauty of the void, the lush decadence of the ruin. The pulchritude of chaos, unapologetic and unfettered, spreads its wings, and I, become the linen on which it paints its surreal masterpiece.. Pandemonium magnum opus.”