Life outside the pixel colony.

The smell of lamb grilling over an open fire.
The poetry of industrial decay.
The brute vitality of a life fully lived.

A MOOK takes the long road home.

Somewhere at the rugged fringes of the continent,
the fire is burning,
the food tastes of something,
and progress has broken down by the roadside.

#MOOKISM takes life seriously enough to feast on it,
and finds the human circus far too absurd
to keep a straight face.

Food.
Power.
Ritual.
Death.

An appetite for existence,

A journal from the human circus.