Defiance

It has been some time since I last created digital art. Today, I found myself reconnecting with a part of me I had neglected for far too long.

I stepped away from digital art after becoming disillusioned with the rise of AI and, more specifically, the endless social media comments dismissing artwork with the words, “Oh, this is AI.” The constant negativity and uninformed criticism eventually drove me away from those platforms altogether.

Defiance was created in spite of all that. It is a return to the process I have always enjoyed: cutting fragments from different images, bringing them together, and transforming them into something entirely new. A process of deconstruction and reconstruction, where separate pieces become a single, cohesive work.

I do use AI-generated imagery on this website from time to time to accompany my writing. But Defiance is something different. It represents my own creative process and, perhaps more importantly, my refusal to let the noise drown it out.

In essence, Defiance is me raising my middle finger to the countless armchair critics who inhabit social media, ridiculing others and passing judgement on anything and everything. These are the people who have helped poison online art communities and, increasingly, those beyond the digital world.

Defiance (October 2026)
Defiance (October 2026)

AI is not the enemy of art. It is a tool. Like any tool, what matters is how it is used. The real threat comes from those who appoint themselves gatekeepers of creativity, people who contribute little or nothing themselves yet feel entitled to dictate what others can create, how they should create it, and whether their work deserves to exist.

Defiance is my reminder to myself that I should never have walked away from something I love because of them. And I won’t be letting them drive me away again.

A Gathering of Serpents

I can feel my armour,
The weight is significant.

Bolted under flesh
Protective.
Impenetrable.
Invisible.

Hardening my outlook
Strengthening my resolve.

I am preparing for a battle
Of a different kind
Where I’m going
Serpents dwell.

Where venom is shared
With a smile
And a mouth full of lies.

I’m going behind
Enemy lines
And my weapons
Are ready.

Blades sharpened.
Artillery loaded.
Mind nuclear
And primed.

I know
What waits for me there.
I know
What wears the smile.
And I know
What hides
Behind the teeth.

Sleep will find me
Aggressive.
Obsessive.
Protective.

The nightmares
Will regret
Their attempts
To corrupt.

They will find
No easy entrance.
No exposed flesh.
No weakness
To crawl inside.

I’m going behind
Enemy lines
And my weapons
Are ready.

Lies of a Spring Morning

This spring morning,
This frost-covered,
Beginning to a new day.

The shining blue sky is a lie.
It cannot erase
What night left behind.

Nightmares are
Part of my fabric now,
Woven so deeply
I no longer know
Where they end
And I begin.

They leave me empty.
Drained.
Disconnected.

Like a lone ship
Riding tides of memory,
With nowhere to make port.

In daylight
I feel alien.

Set upon by strangers,
Surrounded by featureless faces,
Engaged in benign conversations,
Trading words
That mean nothing
And leave nothing behind.

I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong anywhere anymore.

But here
I must remain.
Mentally adrift.

My engagements are robotic now.
Change has brought disconnection.

The only place I still belong
Is in the worlds
I have created.

While outside my window
The world basks in spring sunshine,
Like a cold-blooded reptile
Absorbing the warmth.

Unaware of me.

Life goes on
Without me.

Nova Centauri – Part IV: The Last Warden

The great doors were closed.
John knew it now.
Sealed.
Not forever.
But until another warden came.

He drifted toward the place where the entrance lay beyond the stone.
There was no seam.
No mechanism.
No handle.
No ancient control hidden within the walls.
The doors were never meant to open from this side.

They had opened once.
For him.
And that was all.
John turned back toward the chamber.

The creature moved somewhere below.
He could hear it.
Not breathing.
Not quite.
A deep vibration passed through the stone,
as though the asteroid itself had become its body.

Journey of the three fates

I sit as my three selves,

Past,
Present,
And future.

I am afloat
Upon a small wooden boat
That is slowly taking on water.

Beneath a starry sky,
I travel a dark river
Through a hazy landscape.

The future faces forward,
The past looks behind,
While the present
Holds its head in its hands.

All three are blindfolded.

The turbulent waters
Confuse any sense of direction,
As the oarless boat
Drifts upon the rapid current.

But in what direction?

Is the destination
The waterfall
That empties itself
Into the vast black void?

Or is it
The presumed dry safety
Of the riverbank?

The immense darkness
Of the void is as indescribable
As it is inevitable.

Yet the dry land
Beyond the riverbank
Holds its own enemies.

There may be no safe direction,
Only different forms
Of uncertainty.

This is the journey
Of the three fates.

Dead Eyed and Dreaming

Dead eyes of black glass
Awaken to a world
Caught within a storm
And cloaked by night.

White, cracking skin
Is covered with
Weeping wounds
That will never heal.

Its silent, screaming mouth
Gapes open,
Filled with flies
And black saliva.

Stinking.

Rotting.

The cursed form
Lurches into servitude.

Its back is scarred
With a thousand lash marks.

Loose, hanging skin
Moves in an unnatural way,
As though something squirms
Beneath the surface.

Dark ebony wings unfurl.

Black feathers fall
Like autumn leaves,
Dried and brittle,
Crumbling into ash
As they touch the ground.

Barefoot,
Clothed in dirty muslin
And rotting flaxen rope,

Filthy hands
Grope blindly
At the air before it.

Bent and broken,

Formed from sin
And torment,

It steps weakly
Into the candlelight.

Dead-eyed,

And dreaming.

Bone Shaker

Like the hiss of an old television
coming to life,
the dream begins.

The dreamer lies curled
in the foetal position
within a dark, damp structure.

A single crack of light
shines through a small opening
in the floor below.

They begin to kick.
The walls.
The floor.

They beat their fists
against the darkness,
searching for weakness.

Suddenly,
the floor gives way.

Possession

I awaken to a black universe,
Like Gulliver during his travels,
Tied to the ground,
Flat upon my back,
And unable to move.

Any attempt at movement
Instructs the thorny vines
That bind me
To constrict.

Their vicious barbs bite
Into my flesh
And pull me deeper
Into the soil.

I struggle,

But every movement
Brings another tightening.

The vines wind around my limbs,
Across my chest,
Around my throat.

I try to scream,

But they tighten
Across my open mouth.

I gag and cough
As thorny particles
Fill my throat.

Each cough
Is met with greater pressure.

My breathing becomes laboured.
The pain unbearable.
I cannot move.
I cannot speak.
I cannot escape.

The vines possess me,

Holding me against the earth
As though my body
Belongs to them.

My eyes roll back to white.
My form begins to splinter,

I shatter into dust
That falls upon the soil.

The vines pull through
The surface,

Dragging the last remnants
Of me beneath the earth.

And then,
I awaken.

A white ceiling
Above me.

I lie still,
Confused,
Cold,
And crying.

Phoenix Within

I feel,
right now,

That whatever
Is inside me

Wants out.

I feel like
A giant crocodile

Confined within
A wet paper bag,

Too large
For its walls,

Too powerful
For its confines.

I feel as though
I could burst,

Tear through
This fat-filled prison,

And explode
Into the sky,

Burning
Like a phoenix,

Rising beyond
My own limitations,

Becoming invisible,

Dissolving
Into the stars.

There is something
Inside me

That wants out.

I don’t know
What it is,

Only that

I can feel it
Pushing.

And pushing.

And pushing.

Grove 0: The Chase

Tina Murphy stops to catch her breath
In the shadows of a filthy city alley.

Rain runs down the walls,
Carrying oil,
Blood,
And everything else
Central City leaves behind.

She presses herself against the bricks,
Listening.
Nothing.
For a moment.
Then,
Bzzzzzzzz.

Her eyes widen.
No.
Not again.
She has been running
For nearly an hour.

Always the same sound.
Always getting closer.
A mechanical hum,
A faint metallic whine,
The unmistakable sound
Of something hunting.

She looks behind her.
The alley is empty.
Then a shadow moves
Across the wall.
Tina recoils.

“It found me.”

Her breath catches.

“Run.”