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Kafka by Alaskavision Kafka :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 2 1 Parade Draft by Alaskavision Parade Draft :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 0 1 Parade by Alaskavision Parade :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 1 2 Judas by Alaskavision Judas :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 1 1 Sancta Mater by Alaskavision Sancta Mater :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 0 2 The Birth by Alaskavision The Birth :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 0 2 Alaskavision by Alaskavision Alaskavision :iconalaskavision:Alaskavision 1 0

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Kafka

… ‘What now?’ … asked himself and looked around him in the darkness. He soon made the discovery that he could no longer move at all. He was not surprised at that. On the contrary, it struck him as unnatural that he had really been able up to this point to move around with these thin little legs. Besides he felt relatively content. True, he had pains throughout his entire body, but it seemed to him that they were gradually becoming weaker and weaker and would finally go away completely. The rotten apple in his back and the inflamed surrounding area, entirely covered with white dust, he hardly noticed. … From the window he witnessed the beginning of the general dawning outside. Then without willing it, his head sank all the way down, and from his nostrils flowed out weakly out his last breath. …

The Metamorphosis
Franz Kafka, 1886

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Parade
Your face, marked with ugliness.
A taste of blood on the street of a devastated voice.
At that place, where the hands reach toward the sky, bent legs on the ground.
Going in a circle, bloody debris to be seen.
Borrows clothes.  Calms down.  Shows, Rips.
He who comes across as two, has one fear.
Full of tramps, always a beggar, he denies the only

How much I would like the capability of parabole.
Of fraud, of forgetfulness, of memory.

To her who wanted your for a moment.  To her who was superiority.
To him who is afraid to live.  Sees death at every sunrise.
Leave go far away from me Soul, since I shall forever stay there.
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Judas
That woman's murmuring still rings in my ears. Pictured in the backseat of the train rocking back & forth, autistically, again & again.
She looked as though she was born there. As though she lived there forever.

"Where is my child? Where is my Chris?"
"You don't know where I come from... You don't know."

Side looks awkwardness and emptiness. Someone diagonally dove even deeper in his book.
The couple across held each other's hands even tighter.

"Where is my child? Where is my Chris?"
"You don't know where I come from..."
"You, don't know."

Curses and guilt as if no one was around. She did not ask for help.
The only thing she asked for was to turn around, to return back to the beginning.

"Where is my child? Where is my Chris?"
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Sancta Mater

An organism that lives on or in a different kind of organism (host) and feeds off the latter. The parasite without its host usually dies. Because of its way of survival, the parasite undergoes drastic alterations (e.g.: disappearance of motor, sensory and other organs; enlargement of genital organs, creation of adhesive organs) resulting in irreversible specialization-mutation.

For the parasites, creating offspring acquires enormous dimensions as a counter measure to losses due to a lack of host. The host is always damaged, sometimes less, sometimes more, which might even lead to death. The parasitic populations facilitate in the spread of epidemics, and are one of the major factors in regulating the population of animals.

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The Birth

And then I saw her.
Tangled hair. Unsuspecting. White. Wet.

Where to came up?
Hidden in the foliage tracker breath, the heartbeat, shivering beneath the skin.
Inside the darkness her form became bigger.
At each step the trees pave her way whispered. Deafening. Inhuman. Lullaby.
What to tell her? She don’t see me.

Dropper as sudden shadow. I squeezed her with power on me. I stretched the backbone until the sweat evaporated.
All I wanted was to see her face. Those eyes that saw everything.
Be in their memories.

I left her behind in the soil. A body mine. I tasted blood and walked toward the voice that now familiar, booming and refined invited me to strength.

"It was me".
"That's her fault."

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“THE CRIPPLE” IS PORNOGRAPHIC. 
A CARCASS. 
A RECORD OF DECONSTRUCTION AND MEMORY.

IT IS A CRISIS WITH SPASMS. 
MIASMA. 
PARASITE. 
IT IS A PISSED SIDEWALK. 
A BUCKET OF SHIT.

IT IS A DISTILLATION OF SUBSTANCE. 
EXISTENCE AND RAILS. 
LOSS. 
IT IS AMPUTATED.

 

I WISH IT WERE MUSIC. 
WRITING ON THE WALL. 
THE BURNING TIP OF A CIGARETTE.

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Alaskavision
Alaskavision
Artist | Professional | Digital Art
Greece

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:iconalmerious:
Almerious Featured By Owner Aug 20, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Welcome to deviantART!
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:iconalaskavision:
Alaskavision Featured By Owner Sep 7, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you Almerious.

Hope you like my stuff.
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