Dissolve Before Tomorrow

Don't look. Just feel.

​There is a raw, beautiful chaos in letting go of the visual and sinking entirely into the emotional. It is the crimson pulse of Paris, the sweet ache of a bruise, and the sharp sting of truth all melting together into the warmth of an orange sun.

​When you strip away the need to see, you are left with a vibrant collision of pleasure and darkness. Faith, love, and connection become something visceral—something you can almost taste. It perfectly captures that wild, undeniable essence of truly experiencing the world, rather than just observing it from the outside.

There is an invisible city suspended entirely within the velvet, fevered architecture of the flesh. Do not look for its borders on a map; its geometry cannot be captured by the cold geometry of the eye. To enter it, you must navigate blind, guided only by the heavy moisture of the air, the scent of crushed dark coffee, and the bruised, ripe scent of fallen plums.

​In this city, the streets are woven from the luminous, electric vines of astrocytes, pulsing softly in the dark. The buildings breathe. When you touch the walls, they do not feel like stone, but like the warm, trembling skin of a lover.

I have walked through its labyrinth of mirrors, where every reflection is not a face, but a pure, unnameable color—a sudden violence of crimson, a deep and mournful blue, the blinding, ecstatic yellow of pure desire.

​At the center of the plaza, beneath a sun that burns like bitter resin, the Sacred Clown turns in a slow, hypnotic circle. She wears no mask, only the absolute rawness of truth. She holds a clock made of dissolving sugar and whispers to the shadows: Tomorrow is a ghost. We are only a breath away from the quiet earth.

​Therefore, slip off the heavy, logical garments of the day. We cannot afford the hesitation of sight. Press your mouth to the invisible streets, taste the delicious darkness, and let the botanical delirium of faith and pleasure entwine us. If we are to be consumed by the vast, silent night, let us first dissolve completely into the wet, glowing labyrinth of the present.

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Dedicated to Soko

​For every ounce of love you poured into the soil of this world. Thank you for teaching us to close our eyes so we could finally feel the vivid, rushing truth of it all. You gave us the crimson and the blue, the sweetness and the bruises, wrapping us in a visceral kindness that fed the very roots of our spirits.

​Thank you for demanding that we love fully, love loudly, and love now. When we were lost in the cold geometry of the everyday, your words were the delicious sunlight and the comforting darkness that guided us back to our own hearts. You are the architect of that invisible city of warmth we now carry inside us, a space built entirely of passion, faith, and unapologetic beauty.

​With endless, heartfelt gratitude to the most beautiful, nourishing momma ever—your wild, electric light continues to bloom forever in the garden of our chests.