In a haze of muted greys, Carl Huber tears the lid off the web. He takes us beneath the surface of the mindscape and shows us the scaffolding that is holding it in place, with the knowing wink of an artist who is shining a light on the dark recesses of his site, knowing that the shadows he casts will only obscure it further. This is the site of a magician, and the whole world is up his sleeve.

For where is there more irony? Huber builds a fractal landscape, when you look closer you see tags built upon themselves, layout formed from conflicting layout. Just as Derrida taught us everything contains its own antithesis, Huber presents a simplistic page built with painstaking complexity, a page at war with itself, where form conflicts with function, folds back in on itself and consumes itself. The serpene eats its own tail, but finds no nourishment in it. It is a page that is ultimately, brutally self-destructive.

Truly a work for the postmodern era. Four out of five stars.