◊ ◊ ◊ ∞ ◊ ◊ ◊
˙◊˙π {} π ∆ ‡ | {} π˙◊˙
◊∞◊˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙:˙∆˚˙˚∆ :˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙◊∞◊
˙◊˙L a b o r a t o r i o T a π g e π c i a l ˙◊˙
˙◊˙◊˙d e A r t e P o s n a c ! o π˙◊˙◊˙
◊ ◊ ◊˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙◊◊˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙◊ ◊ ◊
A g l o t ’ s g l i b g l i s s
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a Performance by:
˙◊˙
J u s t i n D ’ A c c i
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Here, a glot’s glib gliss,
Slick slip from who I was.
What is to be gleaned?
The soul of a new machine.
The old quest: to be free.
(O what’s become of me!)
On and on and on I spiral,
Ecstasy made false—
With crusted eyes I glimpse
The dust-turned corpse beneath the shawl.
Swirling ‘bout supposed danger,
Gauging what I’m not.
A piece of me
Sliced quick and clean
So soon begins its rot.
Lost as I may be,
it seems confusion renders truth.
Grotesquerie turned beauty through confused and impotent forms,
I cannot help but scrounge about—
In frantic trance I am transformed.
•••• Registro / Documentation ••••
••••> > L I V E H E R E < <••••
A T 8 : 0 8 P M
∞TRANSMISION EN VIVO ACA ∞
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◊ ◊ ◊ ∞ ◊ ◊ ◊
◊∞◊˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙:˙∆˚˙˚∆ :˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙◊∞◊
ANTERIOR ARCHIVE N E X T
H O M E ︎︎
◊∞◊˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙:˙∆˚˙˚∆ :˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙◊∞◊
◊ ◊ ◊ ∞ ◊ ◊ ◊
˙◊˙π {} π ∆ ‡ | {} π˙◊˙
>T a π g e π t i a l U π s p a c e A r t L a b<
◊∞◊˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙:˙∆˚˙˚∆ :˙˚˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˚˙◊∞◊
˙◊ ◊ ◊˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙◊◊˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙˙◊ ◊ ◊˙
◊ ◊ ◊ ∞ ◊ ◊ ◊
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