Carlos Antonio Piñón

Carlos Antonio Piñón is a Chicago-born artist and writer seeking to destroy the sentence. His work has been featured in several recycle bins throughout the city, most often with a better draft already in progress.

Carlos's biggest secret is that he has no idea how to write. Like no idea. He just kind of smashes the keys on his laptop hoping they form complete sentences. He wrote his last essay by throwing darts at a dictionary.

Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche Zuche

Zuche. 2015. Letterpress book, ink on Strathmore Aquarius, BFK Rives, and Stonehenge paper held together by string and a branch. Printed in the SAIC Type Shop.

A young boy sits on a tree stump in his yard. He sees clouds as jagged mountaintops, and to him, the storms are like thousands of travelling waterfalls. They are powered by industrial design.

He listens to the crank handle's click, and feels the gears grit in the earth's core. Beyond his scope of visibility, objects no longer seem permanent.

The boy observes a bird leave its nest, and the children stay, mouths open. The bird buffets the ground near him, and a worm sprouts its head.

The bird's beak begins to move like a metal claw, but the boy interjects, and the worm escapes. He watches as the worm drills underground, pollinating the dirt with water and oxygen.

His grandmother hobbles across with her cane. With each step, she winces, and with each step, he hears tectonic plates colliding—mountains forming in his backyard, and the crest piercing the sky.

This is where stars pass love letters to one another in the form of large rocks, and the boy watches himself slow and turn red. He reaches out, but cannot grasp on.

He could feel the oxygen leave his lungs. Part of the boy gets pulled in, and part of the boy drifts away.

Still, the boy returns home, celestial bodies acquainted, and nothing's changed. He relaxes on the stump, the roots burrowed below.

Carlos Antonio Piñón

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