body language, speaking tongues, the canine barbarian on the run

tooth and nail, claw and hand, the spectrum implodes and the colours run. 

there's something in the wind, something in the night

something penetrates the fabrics and punctures into light.

installation blues, contemporary malaise, the artist and the art confused by division, that what separates the processes joins together in the vision.

there's nothing in the void, turns to something in the hands, 

the clockwork elegance of creation, the opposing force of man, deliverance from unseen dispensers, everyone wants something for nothing, but there's always a price, cash, gold, karma, your good looks, best invest in something internal, spiritual models, although these days the spiritual models all speak with forked tongues.
what's the day promise?
starts with a surf.