Photoshop.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
New images
I've been working on some T-shirt designs since the past week and came up with these. I also realized cats are very mysterious creatures to draw.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Rain
I awake to hear sounds getting washed away in the rain
Look outside to see silhouettes of ghosts running around in the lightning streaked night
The stillness on the earth is shaken by the violence in the sky
I am drugged into reality by the stealthy buzzing of mosquitoes around my brain
The slow moving shadows created by the passing of a black cloud over the full moon
I wait for you to speak to me breaking this silence and stillness
I am with you on this island that is my room
And we are hidden by the falling waters over my grandfather’s old tin roof
All I feel is your skin in this dark night
Warm breath escapes you and envelopes my soul
Like the whale that consumes me under the dark never ending night in my lonely dreams
I float above the wave listening to the tinkering of your senses
Like the sailor who gave in to the depth of the ocean
I slowly give in to the blackness of your hair and drift and float and fade away
Awaken me from this dream of you or I shall lose myself ever and anon
Look outside to see silhouettes of ghosts running around in the lightning streaked night
The stillness on the earth is shaken by the violence in the sky
I am drugged into reality by the stealthy buzzing of mosquitoes around my brain
The slow moving shadows created by the passing of a black cloud over the full moon
I wait for you to speak to me breaking this silence and stillness
I am with you on this island that is my room
And we are hidden by the falling waters over my grandfather’s old tin roof
All I feel is your skin in this dark night
Warm breath escapes you and envelopes my soul
Like the whale that consumes me under the dark never ending night in my lonely dreams
I float above the wave listening to the tinkering of your senses
Like the sailor who gave in to the depth of the ocean
I slowly give in to the blackness of your hair and drift and float and fade away
Awaken me from this dream of you or I shall lose myself ever and anon
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Gypsy Blood
Gypsy Blood
He sits silently on a bench in front of the ocean while the waves in him rage as violently as the waves in the distance. The tears flowing down his face reflect the orange glow of the drowning sun. The air rushing into his nicotine-lined lungs tell him that it is going to be a cold night and maybe the sudden dip in temperature was the reason for the death of the dragonfly lying next to him on the bench.
He has never spoken a lot. People think he is sad, but in reality he just didn’t like talking much. He hadn’t heard anyone talk to him for a very long time either because all people did was to scream at him.
He had not grown any taller since the age of 15 but he doesn’t seem to mind. His strong jaw and strong arms scare most of the people in town. All he does is drink whisky in the local bar and he always leaves a good tip for the waitress. The only time you see him smiling is when he is sitting alone in front of the waves smoking his green leaf. He never hits animals but he is not shy of hitting a man.
He sits in front of the crashing waves, staring at the knife in his blood stained hands and wondering what came over him to not achieve what he had initially intended. Maybe it was the love of the violent moment in the presence of all those people who wanted to see blood being spilt and a life being taken, that led him to use his knife to end that boy’s life. If that boy’s friend hadn’t insulted his mother, maybe he wouldn’t have been so enraged. In the ensuing fight, they had tried to smash his glass eye which had angered him even more. The small quarrel had turned into a brawl and the brawl turned into a blood bath with the death of a boy who wasn’t even part of the provocation.
It was an accident. It was all an accident.
The sand starts to freeze under his feet indicating the coming of night. The sun has been eaten up by the waves and it has vomited out the moon. The stars are glowing as if they were fireflies stuck in the sky. His eyes become heavy and his muscles start to loosen up as he slowly sinks within himself to fall asleep on the cold hard stone bench.
He wakes up in a dream of a room where the only source of light is from a small opening the size of a brick. He has the knife in his hands and he sees her reflection looking down on him while he stares at the blood on the knife. He tries to speak to her but she seems to be distracted by the sound of the rain. The pain in his head becomes throbbing frustration. The more he tries to get close to her, the more he realizes that his mother is not even there. This is all just a fucking dream and as soon as he realizes it, the opening through which the beam of light was entering closes and he is buried in complete darkness and silence.
He wakes up to realize that the pain in the back of his head has been replaced by a strange light inside his his eye. This is equally annoying. He squints for a while and opens his eyes to realize that the light is actually a frozen teardrop. He brushes it away and slips back into his dream.
He is now a little boy sitting in a forest waiting for his father to come and get him. After all, he had promised that he would come. But it has been long and he is thirsty. The ants have been biting his toes and have crawled up to his neck. Soon the leeches will cling to his face and drink the blood inside of him. Flies are hovering over his right eye which was ruined when his father once poked a stick burning in whiskey into it and now it is bleeding. Why did he tie him to the tree though? The tree feels hard on his back and the sun burns his eyes.
He is woken by the sun searing his face. Dehydration and a lack of food make him nauseous and dizzy. He starts walking towards the edge of town because he knows he needs to be away from everyone after what he did last night. His breath stinks of cheap alcohol and five-day old food stuck in the crevices of his teeth.
He keeps walking aimlessly away from the town into the desert, away from civilization. Then he comes upon some houses. Some women live here. He has been warned about them but he doesn’t believe. He walks up the dusty road to a house and knocks on the door. There is a dead fire outside and a stench of dying dogs. The door opens slightly and he walks in to be greeted by darkness and a strange smell of old paper and dead lizards. He sees an old woman sitting in front of a table. She gestures for him to sit with her. She mixes some things in a cup and gives it to him to drink. He asks her for the way out of town but she insists on him drinking first.
He swallows.
The next thing he remembers is that waking up in darkness. Naked, and the water is slowly rising. It is touching his ankles right now and the air is less. He doesn’t know what is happening. He starts screaming. He wants something more than the silence, darkness and cold.
And then he hears all of them laughing. All of them, at the same time. And from far away, at the top of where his vision stretches, he sees a couple of torches lit and several women staring down at him. They have crooked teeth and some of them are eating dung.
“Do you think that is water?” they say, and laugh. He looks down in the semi darkness and begins sensing that the liquid is much thicker that water. When he dips his hand into it and takes it out, his hand turns into a darker color.
He is drowning..
“You killed one of our sons. Our son. You do not take away a gypsy’s son, boy. You do not harm a gypsy or her kin. Now you will die in the blood of a hundred goats and chickens as you choke and sputter to breathe”
They disappear and he is again immersed in darkness while the blood keeps rising.
He wishes that he could do something. He wishes he could get go back in time and stop his father from tying him to the tree. He wishes he could go back and help his mother survive. He wishes things that he will never get anymore. Never.
The blood has risen up to his eyelids and he is trying to swim in it but he doesn’t have any strength. It’s easier for him to give up rather than try and win a lost battle.
He lets go and swallows the blood until it fills up his lungs. He dies with his eyes wide open but there is nothing he can see anymore.
His body is floating in the blood of chickens and goats under the house of the gypsy women and no one will ever find him again because he will soon turn into just another drop of blood in the deep well of blood under the gypsy’s home.
He sits silently on a bench in front of the ocean while the waves in him rage as violently as the waves in the distance. The tears flowing down his face reflect the orange glow of the drowning sun. The air rushing into his nicotine-lined lungs tell him that it is going to be a cold night and maybe the sudden dip in temperature was the reason for the death of the dragonfly lying next to him on the bench.
He has never spoken a lot. People think he is sad, but in reality he just didn’t like talking much. He hadn’t heard anyone talk to him for a very long time either because all people did was to scream at him.
He had not grown any taller since the age of 15 but he doesn’t seem to mind. His strong jaw and strong arms scare most of the people in town. All he does is drink whisky in the local bar and he always leaves a good tip for the waitress. The only time you see him smiling is when he is sitting alone in front of the waves smoking his green leaf. He never hits animals but he is not shy of hitting a man.
He sits in front of the crashing waves, staring at the knife in his blood stained hands and wondering what came over him to not achieve what he had initially intended. Maybe it was the love of the violent moment in the presence of all those people who wanted to see blood being spilt and a life being taken, that led him to use his knife to end that boy’s life. If that boy’s friend hadn’t insulted his mother, maybe he wouldn’t have been so enraged. In the ensuing fight, they had tried to smash his glass eye which had angered him even more. The small quarrel had turned into a brawl and the brawl turned into a blood bath with the death of a boy who wasn’t even part of the provocation.
It was an accident. It was all an accident.
The sand starts to freeze under his feet indicating the coming of night. The sun has been eaten up by the waves and it has vomited out the moon. The stars are glowing as if they were fireflies stuck in the sky. His eyes become heavy and his muscles start to loosen up as he slowly sinks within himself to fall asleep on the cold hard stone bench.
He wakes up in a dream of a room where the only source of light is from a small opening the size of a brick. He has the knife in his hands and he sees her reflection looking down on him while he stares at the blood on the knife. He tries to speak to her but she seems to be distracted by the sound of the rain. The pain in his head becomes throbbing frustration. The more he tries to get close to her, the more he realizes that his mother is not even there. This is all just a fucking dream and as soon as he realizes it, the opening through which the beam of light was entering closes and he is buried in complete darkness and silence.
He wakes up to realize that the pain in the back of his head has been replaced by a strange light inside his his eye. This is equally annoying. He squints for a while and opens his eyes to realize that the light is actually a frozen teardrop. He brushes it away and slips back into his dream.
He is now a little boy sitting in a forest waiting for his father to come and get him. After all, he had promised that he would come. But it has been long and he is thirsty. The ants have been biting his toes and have crawled up to his neck. Soon the leeches will cling to his face and drink the blood inside of him. Flies are hovering over his right eye which was ruined when his father once poked a stick burning in whiskey into it and now it is bleeding. Why did he tie him to the tree though? The tree feels hard on his back and the sun burns his eyes.
He is woken by the sun searing his face. Dehydration and a lack of food make him nauseous and dizzy. He starts walking towards the edge of town because he knows he needs to be away from everyone after what he did last night. His breath stinks of cheap alcohol and five-day old food stuck in the crevices of his teeth.
He keeps walking aimlessly away from the town into the desert, away from civilization. Then he comes upon some houses. Some women live here. He has been warned about them but he doesn’t believe. He walks up the dusty road to a house and knocks on the door. There is a dead fire outside and a stench of dying dogs. The door opens slightly and he walks in to be greeted by darkness and a strange smell of old paper and dead lizards. He sees an old woman sitting in front of a table. She gestures for him to sit with her. She mixes some things in a cup and gives it to him to drink. He asks her for the way out of town but she insists on him drinking first.
He swallows.
The next thing he remembers is that waking up in darkness. Naked, and the water is slowly rising. It is touching his ankles right now and the air is less. He doesn’t know what is happening. He starts screaming. He wants something more than the silence, darkness and cold.
And then he hears all of them laughing. All of them, at the same time. And from far away, at the top of where his vision stretches, he sees a couple of torches lit and several women staring down at him. They have crooked teeth and some of them are eating dung.
“Do you think that is water?” they say, and laugh. He looks down in the semi darkness and begins sensing that the liquid is much thicker that water. When he dips his hand into it and takes it out, his hand turns into a darker color.
He is drowning..
“You killed one of our sons. Our son. You do not take away a gypsy’s son, boy. You do not harm a gypsy or her kin. Now you will die in the blood of a hundred goats and chickens as you choke and sputter to breathe”
They disappear and he is again immersed in darkness while the blood keeps rising.
He wishes that he could do something. He wishes he could get go back in time and stop his father from tying him to the tree. He wishes he could go back and help his mother survive. He wishes things that he will never get anymore. Never.
The blood has risen up to his eyelids and he is trying to swim in it but he doesn’t have any strength. It’s easier for him to give up rather than try and win a lost battle.
He lets go and swallows the blood until it fills up his lungs. He dies with his eyes wide open but there is nothing he can see anymore.
His body is floating in the blood of chickens and goats under the house of the gypsy women and no one will ever find him again because he will soon turn into just another drop of blood in the deep well of blood under the gypsy’s home.
Anima Mundi
There is a cycle for everything. A balance of sorts. The story starts during the beginning of winter and ends with the beginning of spring. The moon plays a role, alignment of stars.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)