Gallery – Nate Hoil

The oldest calendar explains each day as “a lifetime without wisdom”.
The oldest priest still cannot find one particular tomb.
Mankind is a relic of our planet.
Behind every theory there is someone who worships the robe.
An ancient people will come, following these towering waves.

We know now that earthquakes are a form of communication.
The magnetic moon produces buildup, while the computers make collisions of gas.
There are helicopters buried in holes, and horses on the glowing road.
The young bathe madly with floating heads,
their strength tested through generations of time and waste.

Tomorrow we will be in the future with the micro-electric journeymen.
The landscape will break, and the calendars will be marked for space travel.
Every birth will result in hunger, and the sand will destroy the desert.
There will be floods in the ocean.
The universe will be one enormous bank.

A man of great wisdom chooses simple system of technology.
The Earth is a military development, while the youth build structures out of flowers.
The traveler will stay in character, despite Earth’s volcanic workings.
Men begin to glow when they’re one foot away from the neon field.
The traveler’s strange hysteria makes a pilgrimage into the light.

On the radar is a sizeable housewife, and the disc-bodies digesting a second UFO.
Every eyewitness is a visionary.
Photographs of the evening are naturally boundless,
religious salvation in line with its Christian investigators.
Oil crews drill out rainbows in the unanswered miles.

The torches painted in the laborers’ hands are smooth on all sides.
Mankind is a monk in a library,
with access to every public record of religious writing.
Cassette tapes hold texts of Twentieth Century mythology.
The greatest ages are always doomed to destroy their own information.

There are glass engineers that exist in heavy temperature,
and a jungle with an ocean around it.
There are twenty crowns inside each machine, and a tent for every crusade.
Outer space is the oldest known vacuum cleaner.
If you look close enough, you will find meteors underneath the surface of the Earth.

We examine this age as organic, and see its parallels to the scholars’ limitations. Transporting technology to the metal dimension,
the astronomers do not grasp the computer’s graphics.
The mountains remain as statues of priests.
In the museums, each painting is immediately explained.

Every bomb offers a fable of impact, and years without planetary orbit.
Twin sisters surface from an impossible quantity of fire.
The stars will be unable to erect their sensitive light.
Two monks made of hydrogen are fixed within our planet’s artificial planes.
The universe was discovered in a vein.

There are photographs of rockets striking through the fabric of darkness.
Radioactive villages burn down the desert,
while human blood contains copies of its person’s information.
The Pharoah’s dimension is the size of one thousand Americas.
Every religion exists through time, and its visionary is born out of chaos.

One computer can address a countless amount of people.
When a thought has been rejected, the computer works faster than medical consultations.
There is proof of every computer’s existence in the biochemical unknown.
Still, the computer has no social life.
The computer was born in a military base.

One must weigh the rocket, or another fragile planet will tip over.
Every doctor’s cortex disintegrates in a field of mind beams.
Horsepower wields the cold joints of industry.
Gallons of weight discovered under every open umbrella.
Every light beam is capable of traveling light years.

Show me the God of one single myth,
and I will show you Christian travelers with no religious motives.
Unsuccessful animals spend eternity in their fertilized architecture.
God will die on the space trip, in a garden that breathes undetectable disease.
Some statues’ heads resemble no one from the past.

Kind women warned him: both roads lead to two separate mountains.
We hear knowledge of biblical rooms that were first used in Egypt.
It is fine to hear stories that you doubt.
Different hands channel water through the seventh mountain.
A mountain cannot slow the Chariot of human discourse.

Spherical maps are made for the sailors, while plants mutate into rust and steel.
Sailors land between two identical tombs.
Some old rocks are mazes,
and some mazes were not constructed by men.
Every kingdom is a dynasty of horses, with its galleries of imported soil.

Ancestors of the present-day will shape modern people’s ideas.
The pail nails of the sky are numerical in their detonations.
Sleep is female to the travelers.
Every weapon is born from the imagination of men.
Heaven is a powerful womb, firing weapons at the unborn children of God.

The last circus will thunder around the biggest dollar ever printed.
We will call this time The Great American Coma.
It will lead with its helmet, into the rocks.
Different forms of data will disintegrate into a field of mind-beams.
New galaxies will form around the infinite animal of western civilization.

No text exists which describes the oldest skeleton.
Old metals have inscriptions of an unintelligible compass.
Each decimal system carefully stores its own skeleton,
the archive in the sky known for revealing its god-shaped spheres.
Astronomers flood the calendar cycle with knowledge of future priests

Elephants connect tirelessly with the graveheads,
the graves holding powerful mathematicians.
One million mathematicians plant seeds in the North and South Pole.
Some men drill Christian scrolls into the frozen ground of the colony.
Others are handed weapons that stink like birds.

The heaviest planet possible is made of semi-intellegent hydro-data.
Its overcrowded moon hides atoms in its own broken land.
A centimeter of shadow goes unnoticed by one billion astrophysicists.
It is also enough to push in the drill.
Everything is always mathematically perfect.