This mix tho: sunglasses, hoodies, a smile that invites death. It’s sooty, fervid & off-kilter. Its crescents—afar & effulgent—skip a beat sometimes & the whole thing tilts. Suddenly inside a doorway. Suddenly the doorway’s a room with a window looking over another room, one story below, where a minotaur sits in a chair reading Le Mythe de Sisyphe. & you’ve got a palm leaf in your hand & are wearing basketball shorts.
More about: Kane Ikin
