Two bit I'm working on in Hekaton
Old Painter A forest is green, the night is black, water is blue. The bars and handles are silver, the seats ultimately orange like every train in this city. His hoodie is red, face darkened and imperceptible from this angle, just an opening in red. The floor is a greenish-gray, a color profile that likely went through hundreds of tests and applications before it was applied. The temperature is videogame-desert tan, some fixtures filtered in orange, some in yellow, some clear. This thing is purpling, rich, regal, brioche, buttermilk. REVERSE REVERSE. The night is Warp Records. The water is a grill reading “HATERS.” The trees are maximalist turtle shells sculpted by the Super Mario Brothers team in garnet and tanzanite moving at high speed under horses. The stars are an Auslese Riesling. The floor is a composite plastic made from fog and JC Penney’s catalogs. The temperature is Lacan. His hoodie is stunna shades made from melted down fragments of Elton John’s platforms, face a slice o...