In My Television Keeps Feedin’ Me Junk, Alkēbulan crafts a mutant parable for the digital age: a figure with the body of a street survivor and the head of a discarded TV set, overflowing with branded packaging, artificial colors, and capitalist sludge. Its mouth clutches a neon box of processed nonsense—an avatar of consumption without consciousness, stomping through the debris of a forgotten zone. The figure is grotesque but magnetic. A gold chain dangles from its warped neck like a parody of luxury. The setting is raw: corrugated iron walls, oil-stained sand, and waste—a ghetto landfill turned gallery. This is propaganda personified, a walking billboard born in a place that can’t afford billboards. Alkēbulan doesn’t just critique media control—he embodies it, showing us what it looks like when entire communities are fed scraps dressed as dreams.