LUNGE
EryThRiCView profile// Audio Visual Cinematic Poem //The mask is code. The blade, a querytyped in blood-hot keystrokes, each parrya syntax error in the script they soldEngage. Retreat. The piste glowslike a neural pathway, synaptic gold.Cord circles the ghost in the server’s core,optic nerves alive with fractal static,the back of the mirror they tried to overwrite.The pantomimes crowd the edges,their faces QR codes that scan to empty.A lunge then, the glitch:The steel parts a veil of pixels,reveals the mime behind the firewall,its hands are a nest of fraying cables,its smile is a cracked encryption.Reflection comes in shards:a mirror-pool choked with discarded shocks,each ripple was a face she wore like a skin-deep OS.One shard shows a child’s fist clutching a moth,its wings are still powdered with analog dawn.The conflict stutters. He drops your guard.The mime lunges, but its wire-arm shatterson the nothing-air where the fear once thrummed.Silence. Then...The crash of thousands of pieces of the mirror going dark.Conversion isn’t rebirth. It’s the lagbetween what was fed and what hungered forthe pause where the firewalls fail,and the wild, unpatched selfboots up in the ruins.They unplug. The city’s neon psalm fadesto the quiet whir of a moth’s wings.Somewhere, a blade dissolves into twilight.Somewhere, a mime peels off her faceand weeps in the language of the dark.No film here. Only the flicker of a mirror’s afterglow,and the body, that stubborn, uncharted code,singing itself back into the pulse of the real.Visuals, Poem, and Sound Design by EryThRic
- Chain
- Base · 0
- Contract
- KT1DFK…hqGL
- Token ID
- #4
- Token standard
- ERC-721
