Glob went glee as borders shuttered and we realised WORLD is episodic, diffuse, trickle-down. It is hard to find meaning when movement is automatic, and context feels like empty parking lots. Highway of desire has flickering lights, and back to the garage we go, bristling by the scrap metal, old habits die hard. Soul cloudy over rusted soil, eyes salty with washed up dreams, my car eats the world so that I don’t have to.

We want to put our works on wheels, get caught in the whimsical gears of automatic — mind’s been on autopilot, and sometimes making art feels like the most desperate brake. The car elliptic cradles our last hope to get out of this city ! A precious eggshell cart of friends and feeling atop a world of concrete suspended. Squeezing blood from a stone they say, but meaning should take a back seat, as car revs consciousness and laced with synthetic intelligence we crack our heads together, hoping to find love on the road.

potluck singapore: my car ate the world
by @highlary, @babenshin, @mechagrimlet, @tristenpulp, @glumgoyle, @natebei, @chilisweetie, Veleshandmade (Ebay)
text: @babenshin
photos: @__jyn

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