“Reality /ri’æl.x.ti/ (noun) such a Thin Layer” is a byproduct of eXtasis — that momentum when the soul ruptures through sweat and black-sun-shaped-pupils. We call it transcendence.

 

Here the lens freezes the peak, the pulsion, whatever you name it when dancers’ bodies become vessels for something ancient, feral, yet contemporary. 160 BPM of blasting speakers crackling our post-modern bones.

 

“Reality /ri’æl.x.ti/ (noun) such a Thin Layer” isn’t documentation but incantation, frames torn from the continuous flux where the hidden isn’t merely exposed but transmuted.

 

Through flesh in ecstatic convulsion, we get a glimpse of consciousness turned inside out— pain and bliss intertwined in psychedelic communion and collective surrender.