As I fever dream, the closing bell clangs, and its tendrils burrow inwards to impregnate infections; to pull the ingrown digital sickness and burst the LCD cyst; a tumult of nothingness that beckons with a toxic glimmer; a toppling structure of superfluous and dying signs, littering everything, suffocating everything; even in organic tissue the digital implants, supplants, rots, and crystallizes, flickers and spins, spurts, metastasizes, vomits, ejaculates, imprinting permanently the afterimage of today where there is no trading on futures. 16mm Analog Print of made of four rolls of in-camera multiple-exposure film shot in a Bolex.
| Directing | M. Woods | Director |