BLACK
We hide our faces from the happy ones and get a little satisfaction from your confusion. Humbleness is what one cannot find outside of his own self. It’s what gives him power over the brave and the glittery animals. Cause we are animals, social animals. And believe me naked and lying we are very much like non-speaking ones, raw and simple.
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SECRET GARDEN
Secrets linger in a veil of black, lining the soul in reminiscent nostalgia. There is still beauty in mourning, when prayers are lit to the unknown, and youth still clings to fairy glitter of a midsummer night’s eve. Where a parallel universe breaks the view in two, and vintage truth lies down in innocent rest, eyes closed, ears a sudden symphony to the wind, the trees, the whistling grass, and pastel language of the bees. But they don’t know that secrets grow out of weeds and flowers, a secret garden of both beginnings and endings of what’s true.
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LEONID ALEXEEV
Spellbound, cold sweat clings to another side of those cast by the night. Entranced, breathing shadows spin in release as sharp movements, angles and broken lights shatter the room in red and blue. Tamed spirits break free in tribal refrain; faces dyed in a ritualistic call to dream awake and transcend the senses. Like “Art Work”, the manic don’t see with their eyes, but feel through the ache that catches the body in third eye slumber; adrenaline halfway between fire and ice. The world–halfway between demon and angel, some sort of nature’s crazed peace.
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