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In the beginning, there was no light, only hesitation.
A cosmogony that was stuck, an origin that was late in coming, as if chaos had forgotten its own beginning.
The sky takes shape like a half-spoken sentence, where meaning is tied in knots and immediately negated.
The stars do not command; they tremble like syllables laden with too much destiny.
The firmament stretches out in invisible threads — primordial vibrations that traverse the origin and bind the incompatible together.
Each bright spot is a necessary error, a flawed genealogy of reality; a grace that takes the wrong path.
The cosmos writes by itself but never rereads itself, like every myth of birth.
There is a blue that encompasses everything: a sky that promises not salvation, but focus.
Once it feigns infinity, it makes time habit…
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Press Release
In the beginning, there was no light, only hesitation.
A cosmogony that was stuck, an origin that was late in coming, as if chaos had forgotten its own beginning.
The sky takes shape like a half-spoken sentence, where meaning is tied in knots and immediately negated.
The stars do not command; they tremble like syllables laden with too much destiny.
The firmament stretches out in invisible threads — primordial vibrations that traverse the origin and bind the incompatible together.
Each bright spot is a necessary error, a flawed genealogy of reality; a grace that takes the wrong path.
The cosmos writes by itself but never rereads itself, like every myth of birth.
There is a blue that encompasses everything: a sky that promises not salvation, but focus.
Once it feigns infinity, it makes time habit…
