Archive Dystopia + UgUrGkuliktavikt
Weeping. Ancient dust. Starving regrets.
The sealed entrance. The attic of crumbling things.
A shape. A paw. An ebony dress. Teeth chattering, in the unreal, in the dark.
Midnight piano and a mise en abyme.
A Betamax copy of a vintage horror film that's just a little too realistic, a little too eerie. You see yourself on screen. And the thing as well. The thing living in the attic.
You tremble.
And then the same scene again, only reconfigured by a rusted meat grinder.
-Sir Kuliktavikt
