This is not decoration. It’s detonation. Fisher smashes together psychedelic colour, punk provocation, and folk iconography in a hallucinatory assault on civility.

Skulls, pigs, bound bodies, and Ouija faces collide with text ripped from counterculture.

It’s a fever dream of rebellion: part ritual, part riot, part joke that cuts too deep. Every panel screams against the tyranny of taste, against the polite lie of order.

This is Fisher at full voltage—unfiltered, unafraid, and unapologetically feral.