oil - draft 2

An AI-generated nightmare where humans are no longer flesh, but crude oil — viscous, volatile, and endlessly extractive. They fight not for survival, but because it is the only remaining gesture. Each blow spills more of their essence, fueling the machine they no longer control.

There is no outside to this violence. Only repetition. Only spectacle.

In the final image, two charred feet hang suspended, aflame, dripping oil into a burning iris. But the iris does not see — it is a simulation of sight, an echo of meaning, a furnace for symbols. There is no gaze, only the performance of one. No judgment, only consumption.

“We are what we fight for. And it’s killing us.”

Violence in the name of fuel. But the fuel is ourselves — simulacra of worth, identity, and power, oozed out to sustain the illusion.

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