The first snowfall of December brings with it a sense of change.
Breath becomes visible, reminding me of something normally taken for granted in this automated world. Unlike with raindrops, snowflakes don't drive me indoors; rather, I feel the need to leave as if tonight was the first sunny day of June. As the sole of my boot touches the sidewalk, a sense of wonder fills my soul.

Sidewalk in the Winter

Last year was supposed to be "my" summer, but I left it behind like any other gloomy fall or frigid winter.  Now, I feel as though I've been given a purpose. My fingers warm, the sun bakes my skin, and sweat develops and glistens on my brow as I begin work on another song.
Radiation from the feverish sun pierces the thin glass of my windows.
Although air conditioning has long been outlawed, I wouldn't think to 
rid myself of this humidity.

Summer is exactly what I need to feel alive.

Pumped for Summer

My key enters the ignition, and as I turn it, the roar of the engine
echoes through the night sky. A boulevard, defined as wide street lined with trees, covers most of the landscape in this city. Punching the accelerator, wind dances with my hair, and as the RPMs climb,
so does my mood. A joy ride can't be evil, but if it is, then I've left righteousness in my wake.

Cruise Through the Boulevard

A heavy dust that reminds me of powdered drywall sifts through the busy air. Automated hilos cruise by carrying pallets of varying materials that a human could never imagine. Although noisy and potentially dangerous, the worksite feels secure.  I observe the drones that piece together what appears to be a repair facility, and they seem to move with an unconscious rhythm. Were they programmed to behave in this manner, or is it simply efficiency?

Back on the Worksite

A collaboration effort among twenty arms of the same machine produces equipment that twenty humans could imperfectly assemble in twice the time frame.

It's no wonder that artificial intelligence evolved to cover this planet; efficiency, it seems, is necessary and has become primary nature.
Still, I yearn to see but one blemish, fault, or crack in any bit of this mechanical landscape. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and beauty, I believe, lies within mistakes.

Assembly Line

Remnants of the last known dance clubs are only flattened lots among other landmarks of fossilized cities. I relish in what little history I can unearth on these elements of 21st century architecture. This project is my interpretation of what the people of the early millennium might have listened to within these revered temples.

Dystopian Funk

Electronic music producer, working closely in tandem with Absure
Drums in Starman Deluxe (Progressive)
Bass in The Fukushima Daisies (Punk)
Former Bassist in Calcareous (Metal)

Mahkelroy