agosto 28, 2026 In his mind, the pastures drifted away; the birds that used to land on his back and peck at his skin slipped from memory; the streams his hooves had feared to cross kept flowing. Blood trickled down, soaking the hair on his head as the flesh grew cold at its final destination.
dezembro 04, 2025 Anterior Collapse _ Does a dystopian world precede the present, or is this time itself dystopia?
This painting (acrylic and pastel on paper) has been invaded by the spirit of AI. Watch it!
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