Colour by numbers is a trick of open spectrum light. The skin, the fading hair, the lost moments reflecting and capturing vibrant active imaginations of the youth.
We marveled at the subtle hues, and feathered brush strokes, breathing life understanding death.. working coloured oils into two dimensional canvases. Our focus and concentration, bordering on brilliance, virgin flesh pale with new identity.
Never a blink was flittered as I applied the formation, in the conjuring of new life, new persona, new identity, fresh without leather and brass whipping belt. Cracking, cutting, slicing through stagnant hollow air, whistling… to release open wounds, blood letting, the lessons of the teacher. His punishments reinforcing the works and knowledge of right from wrong.
Father’s secret lineage. The echoes of our ancestors… The mark of Cain hidden within our hearts. Our names buried deep within the learnings and text of Qabalistic practices shared behind closed velvet curtains of pain and faded memories.
Brother Simon looked on. He both laughed and was delighted at the New portrait of our heathen father artiste’. Serial painter that seduced his subjects with promises of greatness, money, sex, and morphine. Trouble lives released openly as Pandora’s Box enabled the ripper to cling as shadows against city night brick covered walls.
In the allies the painted shells of working souls with little to no identity, tricked into promises never to return or be seen again in any semblance of their former self. Blue Dry Naked Prostrated perfect figures to model fetish statements of lust.
I must admit, that I have learned from the best of the best. So articulate, talented and driven. These are the very traits that would both enable me to continue His work and blend within the very society that for a moment …. a slight moment of frenzy, then a burp of gossip…
disappear into this society that never really… Cared
MB93
2022©
The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 