OR4 MACHINA
‘In the dim-lit recesses of my slumbering mind, we pave the way for graphic bohemians alike.’
Enter through the sullied manhole guarding this industrial underbelly.
Beneath the decaying glamour of an industrial underbelly, heavy machinery relentlessly churns.
Gears grind in the control room, oil oozing from steel joints as mechanical entrails spill onto concrete floors.
Hidden within, a realm of decadence—casinos, strip joints, and seedy establishments where poker chips and torn cards lie scattered at the feet of an omniscient corporation, who gather and relish in their velvet cage. Offices, filled with receipts and fax paper, house associates marked with cryptic symbols. In dimly lit lounges, those same symbols appear on the fingertips of the men sitting at steel tables, conspiring in low tones...