Bile drips from our maws, as we rummage the leftovers of an exclusive experience. Some learn to despise it, some to worship it. From below the stinking surface a ruckus amplifies... but no sound passes through the golden rare gates. The Ying & the Yang seem not to communicate, not even to touch; yet they both influence ech other to become the same, while being completely different. None has the solution to the artist's freedom, but all attempt to reach it with their immaculate ethos.

As long as the dichotomy separates the attempts, no progress can be found. I desire not to be a trashartist, but neither a SuperRare one... I just want to be understood.

Hey kid, here is your balloon.