The stygian silence of the blackened city is pure death.
Yet something resembling life, breathes, stirs and lurches…
Hunting eternal, for more blood and flesh…
To sate a ravenous hunger of fathomless desire.
This piece started as a simple pen sketch.
Once scanned, I started fixing it and cleaning it… Then I started experimenting…
By the end, I was ready to stick my head through a glass window and move it back
and forth, until it got sliced off.
Then, my ghost could have fun playing Hacky Sack outside with my severed head.
But only at night.
Born alone in an abandoned alien bunker on the dark side of Phobos,
J Rozen eventually made it to Earth. He had to.
The weather in space sucked and there was no one to talk to.
He hated all Earth schools.
Though female Terran students he did not hate.
Now, he hides from the light, draws comics, makes dark electronic music, writes dark poetry and generally feels very misanthropic and nihilistic. But in a warm, welcoming and cuddly way. He likes cats but not cat food.
Direct contact: email@example.com