"Well, well, well. Look who wandered in."
Welcome, Agent. You’ve just breached Level One of the Labyrinth.
Don’t get cocky. No medals yet.
This is just the front parlor, darling—where the velvet still hides the knives. The real treasures are tucked behind mirrored corridors, between sighs and hyperlinks. Every page a test of nerve and taste.
Ready to see what you really came for?
EYEJAM — my ocular blog-hex.
Sticky. Uncanny. Occasionally indecent. Always enlightening.
It’s where I spill intel from the borderlands of cognition and chaos:
one post decrypting Metacognition like a spy manual for the soul,
another seducing Versailles’ Mistresses out of history’s corsets,
another dragging the Sanhedrin into poetic tribunal with nothing but a mirror and a kiss.
Sometimes I muse. Sometimes I confess. Always, I plot.
Consider it a salon for the dangerously curious—equal parts sermon, séance, and striptease.
PAINTINGS — the esoteric gallery.
Every canvas here bleeds a different frequency.
You’ll find The Eye of the Beholder, that many-colored pyramid watching you back.
You’ll descend into The Labyrinth, where the crucified moth flutters through geometry and guilt.
You might even stumble upon Caligula and His Horse, the satire made sacred through bone and gold leaf.
Each piece is a coded transmission from other rooms of consciousness—some mythic, some erotic, all true in ways that would scandalize polite society.
Look long enough and the brushstrokes will start to breathe. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
SF Photography
View The City as it has rarely been seen. Taken during the quiet of the Pandemic.
Every link is a corridor. Every image, a glyph.
Every word, a weapon or a wink.
Surveillance goes both ways, sweetheart. I see you seeing me.
Your mission—should you dare—is to explore, decode, desire,
and maybe even buy something before this site disappears in a puff of mirror smoke.
No pressure. But time... is a spiral.
Now entering the Labyrinth.
There’s no turning back—only turning inward.
ego sum flamma sine finibus.
