HOLYDAVID

That real non-place becomes concrete. It takes shape. That virtual self embodied in the almost Kafkaesque guise of a glamorous cockroach, no longer lying on the armor of its back but erect on fetish heels and with legs transformed into tentacle-length phalanges, is the mirror of our metaverse being. No female. No male. No gender. Classifying boundaries crumble to initiate, or rather to begin our visions to a future without stain, absent of guilt wielded by cultural dogmas. We are as we are. But are we afraid of it? The dances open. Mirroring invokes Dionysus in his reflected image of dual being. Without fear of darkness we can access that altar on which the neon light illuminates our way to that goal...without making us forget that there we will find another threshold to look out on.