Celestial harmonies are real but soundless. They are alive in the cinema of the mind.
Tokyo is pure raw material, quantum art. We wind our way into the lust of electricity wondering what the blackness hides. Our material bodies comprehend anything that is untouchable. Like a commune in imaginary space we never neglect to touch and feel everything with bare feet. Open hearted we harmonize with intuitive intimacy. Young silent love, ghost of sublime aesthetics. We are hardened by the enslaving darkness of this blood light. Blackness expands with the enslaved echo. Our eyes weaken past the dawn. Encouraged by catastrophe we vanish, we go.
Text and images by Diletta Fenicia Moricca
