Dead grass blood on stone, sand in the raw skin, saltwater. Watermelon flesh. Engines expand improbable in the heat yet keep moving anyhow, somehow.
The end of summer (and by the "end" of summer in Texas I mean the breaking of +100° streaks) when it's been hot a good damn long while and rain is a funny concept who lives just around the corner and never visits.
i HAVE NO ART like dad kissed an existentialist and fell in love with light in time as the thing perhaps is to eat flowers and not to be
RiOT BREAD is a bone tool image machine, an art collective articulated in response to the effects of massive information dumped into a postmodern capitalist society and how that looks through different lenses of time (flat, entropic, b-theory). We manufacture destruction of image texts, dispose of lost memories, pound the naked pavement and articulate manic noise.