Boy Wonder (Home sweet home sweet home)

"How 'bout the power, 
To move you?"

The Throne of Games

Sleepy head.
Wake up, wake up.
It's the end time.

Slumber's bend, mend.
Teacher's blind man.
Childlings' scorching rant.
Dad's dead's scent.
Royal frugal blunt miscreant.

Sleepy head.
Wake up, wake up.
It's the end time.

Now the game fly.
The friars sly cry.
Come doers try.
Trials tried dry.
Sheeps blight, hail to the king.

Now awake. My dear's dead's mind.
Come king, to the throne of games.

Shine.

Nadir

 D for Demon

 Nadir

You

Hail to the king

a.k.a. The Destination

A thousand and one days (he waits)

Poor, poor, kid. :3

Ignis-fatuus

Death is the man, the agony.

Mission: Destroy the mundanes!

Mission: Destroy the mundanes! 

I wanted to play. No no you won't deny me my play.

Wabisabi

Wabisabi; oh, he's beginning to listen again.

Soliloquy

 Put up a mirror and reflect on yourself.

Fanaa

Fanaa (Arabic: فناء‎ fanāʾ ) is the Sufi term for "dissolution" or "annihilation" (of the self) or Muraqaba. It means to dissolve the ego self, while remaining physically alive.

In the language of the esoterics: "Death before death".

I remembered flirting with the concept. Death was a real fear back then. Not only as a biological-sensory-feedback but as an ethereal concept. To be 'destroyed', to be 'nonexistent'. At some point my curiosity wins over my protective buffer, driving me ahead, forging the path through the concept.

Then there is no turning back.

In some way, I was reborn.

Free Bird

And a child-like curiosity. I am an ardent believer in the preservation of the child's curiosity. It is our innate nature to be curious. Maturity should not deprave people of their curiosity but instead builds on it. I do not see maturity as a repositioning from one extreme to another but a transfiguration that does not need to be forced but to be nurtured. From the child to the adult being.

So be true, be curious, and grow to be great.

Contemporary

"I have delicate fingers...and a spacesaucer head"

 Hasn't been in this kind of state (while drawing this) for quite a while.

Vitvitskaia

Vitvitskaia

Selamat malam, sayang

Womb

Vitvitskaia is merely a symbol. A metaphor. A symbol representing an 'objective woman'. I have always marveled over the role of 'female', the 'feminine', the 'passive' force, as some esoteric teachings call. There is something about it that stirs me unceasingly. Without the passive the active has no juxtaposition. And there could be no 'neutralizing'. It always seems to me that 'active' is always celebrated and the 'passive' pushed aside. The 'passive', for me, is the door to the subtle. The departure from outward-exclusive attention into the internal.

It happens quite unintentionally for me, this collection of pieces. Now it seems like a story. There is a continuity.

But I guess I'll leave it at that.

Sehnsucht

Sehnsucht

[Divided by zero] Hiraeth. The call back home

Sound of silence

Sehnsucht

Sehnsucht is a German noun translated as "longing", "yearning", or "craving", or in a wider sense a type of "intensely missing".

In these I was trying to capture a certain 'gist'. A 'feeling'. And perhaps it could best be describe by the word 'sehnsucht'. I thought it was a beautiful word. 

White blights, Flight rites

This is for the human potential. This is for What We Are and What We Can Be. For the meditators and thinkers and artists and scientists. For the spirit that lives in us that compels us to move forward in whatever sphere we indulge ourselves in. 

This is for all of us.

This is for me.