The Man and the Skull

All are parallels but yet there is nothing similar.
The man who drank blood from the skull,
the skull who drank blood from the man.
They greeted each other in an orderly fashion,
tossing up skin and bones.

Then they danced the dance of death,
and lifted each other up.
and started clicking photographs,
in sculptural poses.

They saw the guards take the living disembowelled bodies on stretcher's.

"Salute the living for they are going to die",
said the skull to the man.
"Salute the dead for they are going to live",
said the man to the skull.
And then they chanted in the most Gregorian notes,

"Growls the sword,
leaving the sheath.
The hand remembers,
the work of battle".
They lamented over the city,

As they were watching ,the devils angels shove their pitchforks,
up the populous ass.
In the mean time they raised their skirts and danced the bharatanatyam.
They ordered Blood at the square ,
and drank heartily.
And cheered the world and its entire doings.

Barf Thought

Drawings

The Barfer @ “stop making sense”

Priv-ulic photograph by Clyde D’mello aka BARF THOUGHT

Explanation

A photograph taken on any bus on the way to some place that leads from position A to B in between A & B is A1/ B1, here the city echo’s history (think that A and B are the outskirts) and the dystopia-the photograph is a representation of the city and all that happens within on the other hand the bus system for Bangalore is like the back bone of this city like the trains of Bombay (or so they say).

Another explanation

-what people do in private is shown in the public openly, B grade movies is what some people watch in private, here the posters of the some movies are put in public. This bus stop also represents the behaved- misbehaved public drawing the line and in between is a point – the bus stop- to show case the private-public- PRIV-ULIC

.

PRIV-ULIC

BARF THOUGHT
MEDIUM – Photograph and handouts

Anil sir holding the hand outs and the photograph and the way it was displayed, the exhibit was held at 1shanthiroad gallery and studio, instigated by Himanshu S who was at Bangalore for the BAR1 Residency along with many other CKPites in the display.

Punishment of a 12 yr old boy

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

Fire is not the cleanser

An obsolete introduction

“I dislike allegory- the conscious and intentional allegory- yet any attempt to explain the purport of myth or fairytale must use allegorical language (and of course the more life a story has the more readily will it be susceptible of allegorical interpretations while the better deliberate allegory is made the more nearly it will be acceptable as a story… Fall, mortality, and the creative (or should I say the sub- creator) desire which seems to here no biological function, and to be apart from satisfaction of plain ordinary biological life, with which in our world is indeed usually at strife. This desire is at once wedded to a passionate love of the primary world,and has hence filled with sense of mortality, and yet unsatisfied by it. It has various opportunities of “fall” – it may be become possessive clinging to this made as its own,the sub- creator wishes to be the Lord and God of his private creation. He will rebel against the laws of the creator- especially against mortality. Both these alone will lead to the desire of power, for making the will more quickly effective- and so to the machine (Magic).”

                                                                                                         The Silmarillon

                                                                     J.R. R Tolkien to his friend Milton

In Praise of Folly

The release of atom power has changed everything except our way of thinking… the solution to this problem lies in the heart of mankind, if only I had known I should have become a watchmaker.

                                                                           Albert Einstein

Manifesto of BARF

The gods confound the man who first found out
How to distinguish hours! Confound him, too,
Who in this place set up a sundial,
To cur and hack my days so wretchedly
Into small portions.

When I was a boy,
My belly was my sundial; one more sure,
Truer, and more exact than any of them.
This told me when 'twas proper time
To go to dinner, when I aught to eat,
and sleep.

But now-a- days, why even when I have,
I can't fall-to, unless the sun gives leave.
The greater part of its inhabitants,
Shrunk up with hunger, creep along the streets!

A Toast to BARF!

 

You can’t stop the prophecy-

what will happen, will happen. God will be under construction and we will bare nude to ourselves, to others and none {none- empty}, our witnesses will be our own mirrors, posing, as to get ready for a party. Wine will be served through bullet holes with cups of pus oozing out from our bodies. We will cling to our belongings and say to them I am sorry! Tears will roll down and we will have only boats to catch them. The captain will spill out his guts and offer them on a plate to the leaders of the world his mates will barf! on their papers and will swear against their own pens whose ink’s shall be vein red and their nails shall be the nib as if writing on their own grave. Curses shall be written as though other worlds will read them today, we will be witnesses of the future, lamenting over the past and cursing it all that speaks through our mouths. Sacred thoughts will echo out from the womb of the bare earth, its fertile plains lie words to the authors who waste their ink’s with just scratches and squabbles on refined or recycled paper whose life now is seen diminished by the thought of our kind which shall see the colour only through our sixth sense and wonder “what are these ghosts speaking to us?” wall hangings will come alive to give haunting stares to their owners on the streets and curse them on their blindness which our kind walk with sticks a feat away form our feet, hitting the floor, the ground and cursing the one who looks down from the clouds.

And now enjoy your meal!

*The word work was printed for an exhibition in Chitrakala Parishath  with photo- manipulated works on the month of  –21st to 28th  February 2009 , as a part of my final year display.