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Postmodern fiction is the quintessential question -- elusive as the answer for the meaning of life or the 21st Century response to Langston Hughes' rhetorical question, "What happens to a dream deferred. does it fester and sore.or explode?" The found art in Explode are poesy movements: Dada, ("Contrapposto poets succumbing to peaches. Dogs suspended like meat in Seoul.") The imagery is an installation of words in broad brushstrokes, ("White horses straddled the hull, and Ishmir smiled at me, when a glass of tea, shifted on his tray.") Sounds like Jazz, ("See Sisyphus scorn at amber headlights...

Postmodern fiction is the quintessential question -- elusive as the answer for the meaning of life or the 21st Century response to Langston Hughes' rhetorical question, "What happens to a dream deferred. does it fester and sore.or explode?" The found art in Explode are poesy movements: Dada, ("Contrapposto poets succumbing to peaches. Dogs suspended like meat in Seoul.") The imagery is an installation of words in broad brushstrokes, ("White horses straddled the hull, and Ishmir smiled at me, when a glass of tea, shifted on his tray.") Sounds like Jazz, ("See Sisyphus scorn at amber headlights...