hiya we're erathym wiletta lour system, also known as erra lour or ew lour ♥️
we collected alot of our favorite work from the last few years to share, and more can be found here (we mainly post-post on bluesky) or on this very blog, which has a lot of detailed thoughts and exclusive things ♥️
here's a big sample of a lot of our favorite and mostly recent work from the last few years, names of every piece in alt text if you would like to find them and look closer ♥️
we make abstract dense, detailed digital art collages and whatnot, mostly for ourselves but also some commissions♥️
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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shining wondersorry is a fake band(for now) and this is a self titled single cover for em. new playlist is still enroute (just need to do the cover & poem 😓) but im starting a new project to try and force myself to make more art consistently.
thanks for still following and sharing my art, do look closely at this one. also yeah it's named after that video lol.
finally putting out my 2025 summary playlist, we finished it in january, the poem was done in february, and the art took the longest being only completed as of posting. we had all the drafts for the cover done around mid-december but sometimes it just doesn't pan out. Still very happy with every part of this, and the flow and organization of the whole thing was very carefully made to feel satisfying.
here's the playlist (no we dont know why the link is doing that):
and you can can find all our old playlists with hand made covers here(some may be broken or missing songs now, apologies):
The Margins Between Digits On An Alarm Clock (2024)
Leafmold Layers of Flesh: VOLUME 2 - Carrion Illuminating a Carved Path (2024)
Sieve for Regular Time in Irregular Rosemary Moonflecks (2025)
Loose Uvulas in Smoldering Lavender and Orange Peel (2025)
wishfully thinking it's 5am, nauseated on giving it all up again. (2025)
enjoy the playlist, enjoy the poem, more art sooner than later. thank you happy 2025 lol ♥️
putting the poem below if you wanna read it:
the way it drags at you, it feels like a binder clip on your finger, right on the knob of the bone. you try to take it off so quickly, be done with it, but it doesn't stop, it pinches harder on a smaller surface area, bruising and even breaking the skin. the pieces of you that hold everything together under more duress. A clip for every finger if a hand, string looped into the silver metal arms, drifting down through a pit, threaded through your core, the home of tight lungs that breathe bloody mucus on a day where your voice just feels choked up in everything to a degree that only a screech could come if you willed yourself to the point of passing out if you tried to even say your own name. trying to slip the clips of just lets them fall in a tinny clink as they land at their source, at the pit, hollowness manifested into a whole, something stone and smooth and warm, with a small texture only felt by soft hands looking to pry it open akin to a forming hairline crack in your once favorite mug. Breaking it to get it over it and just show that attachment is as fickle and ethereal and infinitesimal as you believe it all is. as all the clips finish breaking the skin of your gentle fingers and as they express their own unrestrained motion, soothing despite the wounds already weeping through purple veins and darkening inverted creases between scarred knuckle. with every twinge of your fingers as the adrenaline subsides you feel the tendons pulling at your stomach, even if you have let the lines fall into the emptiness your body is still one unit, and it is so threaded together that you will never be able to separate pain from self and self from pain. yes even the memory that exists without your elaborate apparatus to distract and pass off an inflicted wound instead of a decades old scar. the crushing weight it's weight felt in your heart and in your fingers and wrists and aching feet and crying eyes and bile brushed throat.
it's comforting to feel the nausea, to feel disoriented, holding yourself tighter and closer and safer to let the sickness act as a second spine, a rod of hot tea and bile and breakfast, even just 7 inches long, through your lower esophagus tapping the bottom of your stomach gives so much support like rebar in concrete, keeps you together, keeps you tight and present. because breaking with it burning in your gut, like a uranium rod pushing out steam from your lungs in a brisk 45° evening, would be a disaster. it would burn, it would be embarrassing, it would remove your ability to hold your flesh in your skin, it would strip everything you have left to cling to in a world devoid of comfort and love and care. letting go would let the black ceramic fall apart , the chipping glaze revealing a a dry matte white interior, susceptible to further perforation and shattering. becoming a dust that hurts your teeth, ruining your day, cutting your fingers reopening the scabs that never seem to go away on your soft soft hands. in that it is too much to discard, so much weight put upon everything that you can no longer fall apart. the act of predicating your entire life on the performance of just being yourself keeps you together, normalcy is not normal, but it is a pattern to follow enough to never show your gruesome, vile mess beneath your flesh and bones. let the pile of snot and spit, soap scum and hair sit in the drain, as long as the shower curtain is closed and door beyond it stands shut like a bulwark no one knows what you hold in your most vulnerable state, nowhere is safer to be rotten and disgusting and vile than here, than everywhere.
No one knows you are disgusting, No one knows you are unlovable. No one knows the hurt you carry because that's not anything anyone looks to see, you are passed off you are surface level , you aren't viable even when you're screaming in the faces of everyone you brush up against that you are not yourself as they see you. you are an unaccounted for existence in every sense of the word, paper-mache covers you like a dent in a wall that will never be fixed by the homeowner that resents the roof and walls they sit under more than they care to fix them. More than they care to love themselves, the hatred permeates everything. Love and care are not real for all, and you will never know what it's like either. bitterly spitting at the concrete and with wistful tear filled eyes looking to a familiar road at dusk, a new horizon only behind your eyes opens up. I love you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
made some new icons. practicing new tools, signatures and glitch art styling, changed my handles online. fresher start, adios the "bandit-o-s" school of handles o7, happy trails.
see the new icons that im really happy with.. in action... here!!! ↓
@ew-lour (main)
@ew-lour-etc (junk)
and ofc @ew-lour-arts (arts)
excited for new beginnings.
if you want a new icon you can find my ko-fi here, I might need to finagle some stuff tho rn lol. turns out changing the handle you've been using since like 2013 means alot of updating (and leaving a trail of digital rotting leaves ♥️)
more art soon, love yourself before you love others ♥️
Loose Uvulas in Smoldering Lavender and Orange Peel (2025)
wall with a fear painted on. wiped clean but forever remembered with burned in words of terror and loss of self. precipice of a cliff where sleep will be the drop that kills. ending everything where it all started because a cliche never misses a chance to shine like a headlight on a misty eyed windshield. back into a hold over and over again starting and ending almost exactly the same every morning and night to show normalcy despite everything surrounding it plummeting over and over in an endless torrent of debris and fear and fear and fear and so much ash. long since burnt out and disintegrated by wind and collected in a jar for no reason other than proof that there was a fire that was long since put out. if you ever forget the fire there will be nothing to return to. a body without a soul, a core with nothing to surround it. everything predicated on a quiet stark cold yellow fire that burns in rectangles and sears just the soul, eyes and heart. snapping it all in two to prove how fragile and broken everything is, there's no way to return where it all started and if you tried you would fall until you couldn't anymore. nothing left to do but the work laid out before you, production for the sake of it, art made to fall and break in accidents but the performance is the end of everything, accident is the art, is the artist, but if you point it out or show that it's broken that's not the point of the piece. peace is maintained by never acknowledging that it's been broken since it's first display, the piece is defined by unspoken words and through it, it's destruction is a silent love song that reminds you that fire and gravity are a constant of what love is. fear. with comfort and warmth in your core. fire. overlong and overdue with love.
finished the playlist we started working on way back in like march that we planned to finish in like april lol -- life happens.
u can find our playlist here:
wall with a fear painted on. wiped clean but forever remembered with burned in words of terror and loss of self. precipice of a cliff where
and u can find our previous playlists with our hand made covers here:
The Margins Between Digits On An Alarm Clock (2024)
Leafmold Layers of Flesh: VOLUME 2 - Carrion Illuminating a Carved Path (2024)
Sieve for Regular Time in Irregular Rosemary Moonflecks (2025)
enjoy the playlist, take ur time with the art (which has some detail and musing below the cut), we have a ko-fi but its bad so no worries. have a good day ♥️
text sources are as follows:
author reflections from Shūzō Oshimi's Blood on the Tracks
excerpt from Porpentine's The Maximum Softness Capable of Being Exerted by all Machinery
all other text is written by our system, poem and title by Banagher Lour
as far as like general reflection -- fuckin idk? i went thru the depression wringer, i meant to finish this ages ago and it just spiraled out of control, so the art never got past the draft stage.
the name itself calls back as a sequel(Lavender - Rosemary), follow up (Uvulas- Flesh) and epilogue (Smoldering - Fire) to some of the previous playlists we've made, which is cute imo.
the style itself comes from a bunch of old drafts of playlist covers we've made, we wanted to do a stitched line look for a while and while next time we should prolly do the framework by hand instead of using line tools, i do like how digital it looks, finally leaning into my destiny as a glitchartist. the idea of exhausted LED look just sorta fell into place after we reflected on our favorite parts of Mixed Vegetables. same with the inclusion of large pieces of writing and whatnot, a further extrapolation of Mixed Vegetables and Mountain Time -- all sorta just lyricspost hitting its extremes for fun. using my own writing for this was really really fun tho :>
the length (75 songs -- 5 Hours) mostly came from us not really wanting to compromise on the time capsule element of these playlists, so it kinda is just a measure for the last 6 months of my year or so and for that we're really happy with this.
thanks for reading a bit more and taking a long look at the work i've spent a while on ♥️
