Rare is the movement, a rustling of leaves deep inside the jungle and all of a sudden; flashes of brilliant! and saturated! Hues appear so bright as to blind.
The lava-like flux of mostly primary and secondary color combinations charge a broad array of fully-fleshed forms not fully here or there, but stretched across like taffy, occupying both real and unreal, personal and dystopic. The faces adapt to mirror the system that harbors them, their indigenous faces and facial features evolve a decorative screen, switched on at command by the receptor or receptee.
Faces; charred, scarred, inner history pulverized.
Conjoined character between society and the individual, the ruptures, faultlines, idiosyncrasies, impulses and features dampened or at least (and at last) whose boundaries remain perpetually and with increasing momentum, unclear.
A new history. Out with the old, in with this; a tornado-like revolution of identity aspect. The technological takes a razor to the organic and mutates it into its exacting vision, less the colonizing entitlements of a deservingly dying breed that has created the monster in all of us.