Loops of chaos and calm. Switches, tension, release, and the surreal rhythm of modern life turned into art.
A father stands on a roof because he forgot where he parked the car. The car is in the kitchen. It has always been in the kitchen. His son is six and forty-seven. Time is a liar. Mother stirs milk that never stops boiling. Three wine bottles. Two men. One woman. Death files paperwork. The milk spreads on the floor and becomes everything. Drink it before you’re born.
A surreal nightmare artwork in prose. You wake inside a warm receipt, lose your name to a stamp, a dog wears your face, clocks cook secrets, and a ship-hat goddess turns applause into confetti gunshots. A sideways lift trades peace for pressure. A hidden rider and black horse crash in with ocean fire. Then a stamp declares one organism, and the story asks you to write it, now, with clear eyes.
