We try and catch the talisman, swinging and swaying, the smoke pours out our eyes. The depth of knowing what cannot be known, the seat of desire, resting comfortably as we try and tell it otherwise. Transcendent irridenscene trails the attempts of controlling the chaos, what is left alone will control itself. We are both the sacred and the profane, the instrument and the one that blows its incantations, the seas that sing the echos from an ocean and the shore of an island meditating on the existance of things.
– Josh Fleming
Images by: Luka Klikovac