CORPSE ART

Hidden passions coexist with the silent beings of the land of darkness - bats spread their wings in a noiseless flight, and sea horses with green mane set the rhythm of the limbic system reproduced on all levels of the mind. A predatory ermine bites the tentacle of an octopus as it slips deep into its hidden land. Only when it is filled with beauty and power will it become an attribute of the monarchical authority. The elements of light shimmer in silvery sheets of crushed ice. The tendency of the structures of power and seriousness is brought by dark green - the condensation of creative abilities embedded in masculinity, which can be supportive and protective, and does not agree to brutality and hard forms of violence.

In the mental and spiritual spheres, the eloquent element are the freely lowered braids, which obscure the impenetrable mask of the bearer of the shamanic healer mission.

A black unicorn with a saddle for the seeker of the golden fleece is the epitome of the eternal idea of being on the way to high destiny.

An object of love or just desire? I am reaching out to you in being unfulfilled. The interior of my womb wants to be filled with life, but it still vibrates with unstable forms of potential opportunities that are not behind potential - because it is not! Fertility tarnished by non-fulfilment takes the form of persistent neurosis.

“Well, ma’am?”
“Crap!”

The flickering of vaginal desires in a kaleidoscope of time shifts. The strait of the bodily retort is open to penetration and the element of new life. The alchemical alembic initiates the process of transmutation into gold, but the veins of the precious ore reveal only immaterial in the space of deepened spirituality.

The biology of a troubled life turns my eyes away from the green robes of the First Priest. I will not raise a sacred chant. A hoarse whine, released from the larynx, pushes unnecessary words away. The acoustic wave repels electromagnetic beams with your words devoid of invigorating lust. The acoustic wave repels electromagnetic beams with your words devoid of invigorating lust.

I was a living subject, but I have become a wreck – inevitably and irrevocably. I fell, yanking the neural bundles of wires out of my gut.

Skeleton’s Feast - the embodied dimension of the passing of time irrevocably. A gutted interior with ribs sticking out, once covered with curves. A skeleton intended only for tearing air apart and making moaning whizzes. The vocalization of the squeaky hinges, not needed by anyone, with functions that have become a thing of the past. My psyche is also very corrosive. Processes proceed with shuffling and grinding sounds. I am unperturbed to see that there are still red outlets somewhere else, as if there are still sources of circulating blood at the bottom. But this blood will not revive anything anymore - it will flow downward, subject to the will of gravity. I no longer deny universal heaviness.

The ginger calmness stiffens with a premonition of transformation - from me there will be barbed wire, which will tear living tissues apart, isolating and separating; from me shall be made harrows that will tear the earth apart, and axes that will kill the trees.

Hammers that crush the softness of existence.

I soak the ground with used black grease from the inside from the organs immobilized in the cavities of the torsos. Even the smell does not bear witness to the former life. I run down the oil without being slippery. I spend soot and dirty scraps of old softness, having as a witness and companion a motionless raven.

Rushing, fleeting and inconstant – like a silk ribbon in the wind … Today, it’s a sash with an eternal message.

As beautiful as a rose, she played the harlequin time, while time played with her, deceiving with wealth and splendour.
They lose their bodily materiality and feminine fragrances drift away into oblivion. Together with them, there were wonderful alabaster breasts, which aroused the lust of dragoons and hussars.

Scraps of a past fairground vanity. A layer of the hustle and bustle and splendour of forms thrown onto a colourful background of old excitement and revival. Immaculate lovers, dazzling with sophistication and courtly elegance ... no longer present.
Fragments and shades from the land of decay, persistently relegated to non-existence, press against each other again and again.

Among the withering petals her Harlequin disappears - it is old and toothless. In temporal tearing, she goes to the eternal abyss, although she still wants to cancel the inevitability by animating the heart’s quivering, the reaction of the eye’s pupil.

Despair of shaggy Bijou - a dog’s soul cries under a white fur, suspended in a void filled with longing. Columbina’s doll with arms and legs in ragged helplessness is thrown into the corner. It’s a time of passing.

Columbine didn’t quite die, did she?

The black chrysanthemum of memory creates her bridge to eternity.

Through movement, the twisted spiral of development emerges from the formless blackness of the faces of demons more and more clearly. They are the hosts of the party who prefer to hide their size and features. The perceiving mind structures the acts of orgy, locking the obscene into orderly shackles. Tidying up is enslaving and an attempt to bind the vital, orgiastic energy that fights for its survival; through the rings, the shackles come out with a shout: "All will not be lost! „It will not be completely lost, because it was carried away by movement around the axis of rotation.
Right now there is an annual release through ecstasy and a frenzy of passion. Fulfillment is approaching, for which the daily toil, exertion and effort does not count. Destiny acquires a new thread and goes beyond all human judgment.

Currently, there is the annual release through ecstasy and passionate frenzy. Fulfillment is approaching, for which the daily toil, efforts and endeavours do not count. Destiny acquires a new thread and goes beyond all human judgment.

It has exploded in the flames and lies ... It spits out a dragon flame from its thick, scaly body. The heat of hell released from the mouth guards access to the realm of the living, so that it has its sole possession.

Recently he has attracted an apple from the tree of good and bad news. He drew three gates - the gates to the open spaces of human presence. The first gate is to sensual life in the dimensions of water, earth and air; to life forms, feelings and emotions and for being in the tissue of action and experiencing.

The second gate is to the world of thoughts and acts stimulated by the passion of creation that will not gain immortality. The gateway to understanding life as transience.

Third gate is to the vastness of the mind in the dimension from emptiness to all. The auroras of divinity extinguished by the judgment of the Lord of Creation create impenetrable, mystery ... and hope that the curtain of the Poznań Theatre will be lifted.

The Dark one shifted the spheres of focus to take away the tempted one’s ability to bind in the axis of cognition, but the Great Saint comes in with fiery weapons to defeat the beast.
Will the mighty blows of his sword restore unity, coherence and harmony? Will they reveal the Source of Wisdom?