Poetry

EXILES – SHORT FILM // TRAILER

‘ROMEO IS BANISHED.’ – that might sound like the name of a new glamrock-band hailing from Las Vegas to destroy every sense of music and art in this world. But no : it is actually a kind of a headline

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End the Wolf Kill Contest in B.C.

There is an illegal hunt taking place this winter in B.C. on the wolf population that needs to be protested and notified vehemently to game officers and wildlife control to stop it. This, coinciding with a plethora of other problems,

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DEAD EYES OPENED…
CVLT Nation interviews
Maxime Taccardi

“My art is dark because life is dark…people would not be able to be in search of light if they didn’t know what darkness represents.” – Maxime Taccardi The dreams of Maxime Taccardi speak. Each night when this French-born artist

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Wet Fingers for the Flame
Zeitgeists Publishing
Spotlight

From afar, John Jansen is a person I have respect for, especially his outlook on the arts, be it music or litature. He runs an extraordinary publishing house called Zeitgeists Publishing from the Netherlands. John has a keen eye for

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Make Your Eyes Bleed…
Fire Mass Zine
Preview

My favorite issues of Juxtapoz have always been the ones that feature dark, weird and disturbing artwork – but there are always a lot of pages I skip through to get to my favorite parts. It turns out, someone has

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Maxime Taccardi: The French Connoisseur of Dark & Subversive Art

Such formulations of shading, blackness, obscurity and detail on paper have rarely been so disturbing and fascinating to me. I am writing this not to impress or say anything which does not seem fitting. After “discovering” Maxime Taccardi’s art, I

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THE KINGDOM OF DUST

THE KINGDOM OF DUST Demons released from inside Exposed to the view of my eyes Between a swirling daze Distractions are closely shaped Unfocused with heavy feet Its weighing down my brain to sleep Past life, present, or future Its

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The Undaunted Ghost

The Undaunted Ghost Within crowds of faceless humans I stand so tall Beyond the horizon of the crippled sun The weak, bent knee I am left There’s only one Torches lit of fire Cremate the people to ash Cry your

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SPIRAL

SPIRAL I feel a shadow hovering over Pressing against my skin Climbing up and crawling under It’s creeping from within My eyes are sore from a focused view The possession may have formed Channeling out but tuning in This static

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