Text by João Branco Kyron, Hipnótica
The collision is imminent and in the fraction of time left, the eyes shut and the vision is superbly transparent, total.
The multi temporal layers cross over, making a hybrid body where the metal-painted claws articulate the state of flux of indeciphrable codes that are circulating into the structure, like spermatozoons in quest for libertation.
One tries Yves Klein's blue tonalities, tries to pass through Baron's icy plain without safeguard, balancing tremolos with Bird's jazz sound on Velvet Underground's Kafkaic seats.
The corridor of white light, chocking, leads to the dancing floor where the reptiles stretch their neck in frensy, hissings of energy to reactivate the Geratron Revitalis module.
One tries one's skills at Mila Jovovitch enigmatic glance, cut-up*, to cut the meaning of Academism.
Stick stamps with the saliva left on the postcards I send illuminated by the advertising spots of a new Poison Scent, like disciples in show-suits, lamé-kitch, decorating the walls with the Urban Survival Handbook.
The collision is imminent, and Hipnótica violently chock against the colourful packaging racks, painted in fragment by Noel Fignier, in the paintbrush fury sound…