I remember this girl in college, she never spoke to anyone, just say in the back of the class and toiled away at something. Never, so much as nodded at anyone in that class. She just sat there moving her hand furiously back and forth. Eventually, I asked her what the fuck she was doing back there, and had the pleasure of reading some of the most graphic Jackson 5 fan-fiction I could have ever imagined.
Take away the Tito, keep the deranged, add the macabre, and slip some talent into that girl’s drink and you may get a little bit of what Ashley is doing. There are cringe worthy textures at work, and I mean that in the best way possible, it just seeps into you, to the point where you aren’t really visualizing the work as much as you’re letting it inspire vignettes under your skin. If I had to put it into one sentence, it would be: The sound of ripping muscles from bone, then tearing each bit of tissue apart to reveal what each contraction was thinking. Technically that’s a fragment, but I have posts to write, no time for accurate structural awareness.