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Alas, let me tell you about the beauty of the tomb: the stained glass, all viole(n)t, enhancing the gloom. Dark flowers, all withered, fragile and old, yet, their perfume still lingers like a secret untold. Like a dream, or a memory that floats in this vault, waiting for the moment it shall be recalled by some visitor, maybe, who is seeking release from a strange kind of sadness, some unknown disease. Its symptoms are madness, caused by the music in his head, sung by an endless choir, called:
"the Voices of the Dead". It's his longing for silence, for the absence of sound, that will lead him the hidden path below the ground. Where he shall discover, though terror and fear, behind black iron doors .... something is sleeping here: a little dead baby, a young boy lies kept, as fragile and frightened, crippled and sad... Sopor Aeternus Comparative Anatomy Museum, Paris October 2007 I give my full permission to *darkclub , *inblack-club and ~TaintedArt to display this pic in their gallery. |
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November 6, 2007
99.1 KB 99.1 KB 631×600 StatisticsCamera Data
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CU-6530 1/2 second F/3.5 200 Oct 26, 2007, 11:33:14 AM Share
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Comments
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Please join: Red Hair Club
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Dich finden, ohne mich zu verlieren.
Mich Dir geben, ohne mich aufzugeben.
Dich verstehen, ohne mich zu übersehen.
So könnte es gehen.
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Great power? Great responsibility? Fuck you, I'm not Spiderman!
Commissions - ~Nadija-stock
L'antro della Strega - Serena Verde Art Site
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Your focus determines your reality. So be mindful of your thoughts.
Ask it what it has to teach you then let it go. It only has as much power over you as you give it.
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My Gallery =TheArtistDarklady
To me it looks like a (very good) cd cover
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«Si la société nous rejette, c'est pour oublier que c'est ELLE qui nous a créés» Coluche
«Vivons heureux en attendant la mort» Desproges
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Because heavens never felt so much like drowning
has never felt so much like sinking,has never felt this good before
Because uglys never felt so much like pretty
This is not about an ending,
Its about a new beginning...
for me
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Nel fondo di ogni bellezza sta qualche cosa di inumano
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If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.
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