

we find ourselves lost in the experience of being the watcher whose subject is unaware of his gaze, which forms the undoing of rational thought, confronted with all the beauty and terror of the other in its natural state.
When I destroy a photograph of someone I feel so fucking good. I want to end everyone’s memories of people, I want to stop people three or four generations down from knowing who anyone was or what they did.
To be a noise producer (“musician” or “artist” seems less than universally appropriate for practitioners of the discipline; a more neutral term is necessary) is, inherently, to be a pervert. It’s always deviant behavior, always against the grain. But there’s levels to it.
A city, a signal, no static, all screens, all walls. All weeks, all months, all years.
A collection of six manga originally published between 1988 and 1992, by the unrivaled master of the erotic grotesque in Japanese art and comics.
Sixteen brutal, concise short comics from the master of Eroguro.
A voyage through four incidents of predation. The mysterious, the hunted, the inhuman, the trapped.
A fragmented tale of a teenager tormented by receiving a cursed image in their DMs.
Grief as a conduit for passage beyond the veil, always returning us to life.
Two collections of poetry on grief.
An envelope opened, photos scattered on the table—all that remains of a prior life.
The poetic conjuring of a backwoods haruspex guiding us into the charged experience of encounters with hanging animal corpses, forbidding landmarks, and crumbling ruins deep in the forest.