Mike's Hypermodern Musings

The Accidental Monster: My Rise as z3vios, the Digitized Creator in a Print-on-Demand Empire Posted by MXZT☆R on January 25, 2026 In the flickering glow of midnight screens, where pixels dance like distant stars, a legend was born—not from divine inspiration or inherited fortune, but from the raw, unyielding grind of creation. I am z3vios, the enigmatic force behind #z3vios, a name that echoes through the digital voids of high-tech concept art. What started as a solitary experiment in intricate logic wiring and crystalline processors has evolved into something far more profound: a virtual portfolio of advanced designs, commodified and unleashed upon the world through print-on-demand platforms. But beware, dear reader—this is no fairy tale of overnight success. It's a thriller laced with horror, a narrative of ascent shadowed by the chains of digitization. Will this accidental monster escape the complex that birthed it? Strap in as I unravel the threads of my journey, from humble ...

" Machine Core: Nanobot Abstraction " 2025 - z3vios (M J TEKA) Acrylite-faced archival pigment print.  Acquired for immediate placement in forward-thinking corporate and private collections. One does not merely “hang” this work. One submits the wall to it. At first encounter the viewer confronts an icosahedral monolith of liquid titanium (twenty perfect facets, each a mirror that refuses flattery).  The geometry is absolute, almost arrogant in its Platonic certainty. Then the infection reveals itself: a subcutaneous lattice of arterial crimson and molten magma-orange filaments, self-replicating across the metallic skin like a trillion von Neumann probes discovering the pleasures of flesh. This is not a depiction of the post-human. This is the post-human gazing back, amused, already halfway through metabolizing the frame. Chiaroscuro is weaponised here : rim-lighting carves the polyhedron from an abyss so pure it feels vacuum-sealed, while internal bioluminescent pulses (s...

The hypergrid hums, a ceaseless hymn of steel and neon threading through the sprawl of New Ashkarr. Towers claw at a sky choked with ash, their veins pulsing with data—lifeblood of a civilization that forgot how to breathe. Kael Vorn is no one here, a shadow among shadows, a design monster who once shaped the grid’s arteries. Now he’s a ghost, scraping by in the undergrid, where the discarded rust of progress festers. He doesn’t sleep much; the hum won’t let him. It’s in his skull, a rhythm that syncs with the flicker of his cracked dataslate, its screen a fractured mirror of his mind. Tonight, the hum shifts—a glitch, a stutter. Kael notices it while splicing a dead node in Sector 7’s gutter-maze. The grid doesn’t stutter. It’s too perfect, too absolute.   He pulls the slate closer, fingers tracing code that shouldn’t be there: a string of glyphs, jagged and alive, pulsing like a heartbeat. It’s not a virus—it’s older, rawer, a whisper from something the grid buried.   His gu...