i'm lys, with no pronouns and no last name, and this is destroy.iy: an autophagic manifesto and a punk archive of failure, dysphoria, body horror, decay, the uncanny and boredom where emotions are no longer metaphors, but textures.

what remains once things collapse under their own weight? what do you do when you can’t live in a body that doesn’t feel like home, and when you start to peel it off? can we wear our skin inside out, like a punk coat? and what do we do with the scars?

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destroy.iy is structured in the absence, embodying the visual languages of alienation I couldn’t find during my PhD, and explores the challenge of navigating countries, gender, love or adulthood while refusing to project oneself into existence.

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Punk Skin is an intimate polaroid series where i fantasise exchanging bodies with my male friend, documenting our relationship over the years. skin, here, is a slow, intimate metamorphosis, half body-swap, half confession.

the enter series (enter the flesh, the uncanny, the decay) is a failed visual fugue in three acts. vaseline on food mirrors the body’s inner decomposition, and dysphoria becomes horrific and mechanical: i eat, i stand, i walk, but the body isn’t mine and there is no exit.

0:00 is a psychogeographic diary: what if I was writing a fugue without knowing it? it traces the collapse of love and identity through cities, routines, fragments, in a structure of endless return, where every escape routes back to the self.

 

destroy.iy is not about an aesthetic of shock or transgression but revealing the world before it’s translated: the raw, shameful, blurry, disturbingly real place we all eventually face with the same quiet sense of recognition. its horror isn’t fictional:  it’s what you see when you close and reopen your eyelids, and nothing looks right anymore.