THE LIMBO SOCIETY
well, you are HERE
oh wait, now you're HERE
About midway through this mortal sh!tshow,
you find yourself in a sobbing valley,
astray from anything that resembles a path...
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PICK A LENS:
soul sobriety
obsidian meridian
throb zombie
chakra machine
kitchen conniption
sham pain
caligula's amygdala
pleasantville
god's broken remote
bad valentine
lizard brain
cringey binger
tropical mongrel
juggalo bungalow
cold day in hell, mi
mariana bamba
mega pegasus
abra cadaver
< COLLAPSE
CURRENT LOCATION:
CURRENT LENS: soul sobriety
a sisyphus loop a cosmic stoop a guzzled flame a senseless game a forever tongue a neon rung a floating sword a nice accord a quiet fountain a toppled mountain a hemlock toast a familiar ghost a freudian gasp a cracked hourglass a wasted giant a nameless tyrant an empty throne a subtle moan a copper snake a damn good fake an astral throb a tired sob a projected beast a neglected feast a chewed-up sky a meek reply a crumbling plane a mumbling jane a fiery chasm a spiritual spasm a forgotten sin a glare within a worthy vice a paradise LIMBO SOCIETY
a sisyphus loop a cosmic stoop a guzzled flame a senseless game a forever tongue a neon rung a floating sword a nice accord a quiet fountain a toppled mountain a hemlock toast a familiar ghost a freudian gasp a cracked hourglass a wasted giant a nameless tyrant an empty throne a subtle moan a copper snake a damn good fake an astral throb a tired sob a projected beast a neglected feast a chewed-up sky a meek reply a crumbling plane a mumbling jane a fiery chasm a spiritual spasm a forgotten sin a glare within a worthy vice a paradise LIMBO SOCIETY
a sisyphus loop a cosmic stoop a guzzled flame a senseless game a forever tongue a neon rung a floating sword a nice accord a quiet fountain a toppled mountain a hemlock toast a familiar ghost a freudian gasp a cracked hourglass a wasted giant a nameless tyrant an empty throne a subtle moan a copper snake a damn good fake an astral throb a tired sob a projected beast a neglected feast a chewed-up sky a meek reply a crumbling plane a mumbling jane a fiery chasm a spiritual spasm a forgotten sin a glare within a worthy vice a paradise LIMBO SOCIETY
a sisyphus loop a cosmic stoop a guzzled flame a senseless game a forever tongue a neon rung a floating sword a nice accord a quiet fountain a toppled mountain a hemlock toast a familiar ghost a freudian gasp a cracked hourglass a wasted giant a nameless tyrant an empty throne a subtle moan a copper snake a damn good fake an astral throb a tired sob a projected beast a neglected feast a chewed-up sky a meek reply a crumbling plane a mumbling jane a fiery chasm a spiritual spasm a forgotten sin a glare within a worthy vice a paradise LIMBO SOCIETY
THE
LIMBO
SOCIETY
OR RATHER, A
CREATIVE
STUDIO
The Limbo Society is a creative studio headquartered within the Nobile Castello, in the city of Forever Sigh, Limbo, First Circle, Hell, with terrestrial offices in Raleigh, NC, USA, Earth.
The Limbo Society currently services clients on the terrestrial and sub-terrestrial planes. We believe humans are the creators and purveyors of their own meaning - The Limbo Society is, consequentially, an effort to explore, create, and convey meaning in compelling ways, in collaboration with partners and clients, in physical, digital, and metaphysical spaces. We strive to help identify and bridge information gaps between potential audiences and client products or services through identity system development, branding, web design and development, campaign design and development, typography design, illustration, or whatever else you're thinking. Blah blah, blah blah.
(And yes, we actually exist, and have like, real clients and stuff)...
TO ENTER LIMBO,
YOU MUST UNBECOME...
You're standing at the gapping mouth of a cave. Behind you, the sullen stone faces of cliffs, writhing in columns toward the stare of a blank sky.
There is a dull glow, like slow breath, coming from the cave. The open palm of this small valley seems to be all that exists.
You’re not sure how you got here. There’s no path behind you. “Is this still the world?” you ask yourself.
“Am I still a self, that I should being asking questions to?” You sigh, and roll your eyes at, yourself.
Letters, “l i m b o,” etched reluctantly in mangled stone, stumble across a mantle above the cave.
“Ha, a mustache” you snicker to yourself. Your resignation to the strangeness of your current position startles you...
A labored whisper. From inside, you think. “Uh, what?” you whisper back. Nothing.
After standing rigid for - how long? a few minutes? hours? - you suppose there’s really nothing else to do except, move…
So you move.
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A WORTHY
VICE A PARADISE
