Artistic Statement
I write to turn panic attacks into cosmonauts lost in space.
I write to transform a family of southern preachers, addicts, and outright criminals into zombies—so I can dismember them and take their parts worth saving with me.
I write to turn the ghosts in my head into a silly seance dance party.
I write to try and pinpoint the exact intersection between a joyous giggle, a haunted scream, and heartbreaking beauty.
I write to transform a family of southern preachers, addicts, and outright criminals into zombies—so I can dismember them and take their parts worth saving with me.
I write to turn the ghosts in my head into a silly seance dance party.
I write to try and pinpoint the exact intersection between a joyous giggle, a haunted scream, and heartbreaking beauty.
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Isaac Byrne
Artistic Statement
I write to turn panic attacks into cosmonauts lost in space.
I write to transform a family of southern preachers, addicts, and outright criminals into zombies—so I can dismember them and take their parts worth saving with me.
I write to turn the ghosts in my head into a silly seance dance party.
I write to try and pinpoint the exact intersection between a joyous giggle, a haunted scream, and heartbreaking beauty.
I write to transform a family of southern preachers, addicts, and outright criminals into zombies—so I can dismember them and take their parts worth saving with me.
I write to turn the ghosts in my head into a silly seance dance party.
I write to try and pinpoint the exact intersection between a joyous giggle, a haunted scream, and heartbreaking beauty.