Straight to the lopsided, misfiring, chemically imbalanced electrical storm that occupies the otherwise hollow chamber where my brain should be. I could not be more comprehensively useless right now if it were a flawlessly plotted strategy executed by a cunning and ruthless detachment of methodical German engineers, with every industrialist, builder, analyst, scientist, architect, banker, arms dealer, writer and lawyer from here to Marrakech; backing them, up to the motherfucker.

The static is so, thick; so sound and visceral I could use it to demolish entire galaxies.

What is it they say about the rain on Mars while the full moon rises?


Feels like we’re on the crest of some rising tide that’s been building since that ivory-clad transubstantiated goddess-like entity invaded my subconscious at fourteen to blather on about some great purpose to be executed on a surreal paradoxical journey through the ether all those aeons ago.

Pretty sure she was having a go at some metaphor about the oxidation process.

Feels like absolutely nothing at all.

I have got to lay off of the whole existence thing, and everything;

Everything’s just a bit of an odd chuckle and an eyebrow raised in a hysterical sort of concern.

Right way upside down to the left out the back of some cottage in a well remembered dream.

Even crazy is redundant at this point.

All going well it’ll burn itself out by tomorrow.

I have a life I’m supposed to be leading;

Straight down the garden path.


Laszlo Totka

Sydney, Australia

  • Artist
Laszlo Totka

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