Born in an asylum in the midst of a lightning storm. Raised by jackals. Dissolved in the age of aquarius. Carried by the sciroco into the dreams of man, cast by the equatorial sun into the shadows on the dunes, the whispers on the winds, the ghost in your machine. Epic, eternal, out here on the perimiter, stoned immaculate; Sandfly.
Fakers, shakers, glory takers - step aside for the real deal. No sneaky snaps, no quick in and out. Hold the moments, hold the shot, catch the vid.
A question of nerve, a question of verve, an answer to the banalities of the web's needy plastic fantastics. Your desperate self-adulation means nothing to the arch-deity of juxtaposed ironic narcissism. Sheild your eyes from the glory.
I am the Origin. I am the Singularity at the centre of beach voyeur history.
I am Sandfly.