This Cruel Temple
2024
By This Cruel Temple
(Hannah Kate Absalom, Em Doodles, Meej Douglas, Hollie Palmer, Edoardo Rito, Bodie Stanley, Yiqi Wang, & Sandra Zanetti)
2024
By This Cruel Temple
(Hannah Kate Absalom, Em Doodles, Meej Douglas, Hollie Palmer, Edoardo Rito, Bodie Stanley, Yiqi Wang, & Sandra Zanetti)
Square, pinstriped shoulders, set against a backdrop of towering trees fills the frame before them. A pulsating undercurrent and nothing more.
Seven scratches on the last one.
Tri I ferch. Pedwar I fachgen.
I pass through different worlds and they are as hostile as they are beautiful. They are bone-projecting of unconscious desires and impulses bleeding through the outlines, falling into the minutiae.
You are more
You are not welcome
Plaiting the veins in my forearm
Pickling his body clean
Salt soaked skin
Seven scratches on the last one.
Tri I ferch. Pedwar I fachgen.
I pass through different worlds and they are as hostile as they are beautiful. They are bone-projecting of unconscious desires and impulses bleeding through the outlines, falling into the minutiae.
You are more
You are not welcome
Plaiting the veins in my forearm
Pickling his body clean
Salt soaked skin
Resentment feed me thoughtlessly without consequence
... a change in the brain of cinema in the holy water of the baptismal font and feel yourself transform. You were less then, now
little flea feels nothing Is indifference just a defence mechanism and how do you convalesce from the shock and exhaustion of trauma after trauma, no matter how small or large.
flickering like an old movie
crunching.
It is here that I scatter my own ashes.
The immovable stench. My hip skin won't feel the push of soil.
... a change in the brain of cinema in the holy water of the baptismal font and feel yourself transform. You were less then, now
little flea feels nothing Is indifference just a defence mechanism and how do you convalesce from the shock and exhaustion of trauma after trauma, no matter how small or large.
flickering like an old movie
crunching.
It is here that I scatter my own ashes.
The immovable stench. My hip skin won't feel the push of soil.
I will smell new air and new habits which worship different gods, who do not worship us back
What's your favourite smell little flowers but not long enough to make a crown.
Beautiful soul she has made me feel ugly from the inside and out of another
an authority that holds you down within your place
The use of cruelty in this structure is so ubiquitous its malevolence is hidden in the mundane.
mythological models of systemic délire... - hierarchical structures we create and reinforce
that only taught us to conform.
My feet sink into the moorland, the copper marsh takes me in. It's here I found a perfectly preserved fish cocooned in the bracken, its pinky green flesh glowed.
bones, your grinding teeth, your streaming eyes, your bloodied fists. Dip your flayed fingers.
the psychic inside you are not welcome
We may now embark on strange rituals together. We'd fish and forage in the little patch we still call home.
There are portals in these walls taking us to our own cruel temples, our places of worship free from the fear of consequence.
I do love you, but people always look better in the sun I know that's not what she meant but it does feel right