søndag den 31. oktober 2010

Pachamama te veo tan triste / The Gift of life

The gift of life

Sometimes I feel as if the world is like a sinking ship, much like the Titanic herself. We hit the iceberg a long time ago, and we’ve been sinking ever since, but the band is still playing on and we’re still partying. The gift of life and all the boundless scenarios we are presented with is a divine and beautiful thing indeed, a fact that mankind conveniently ignores for the most part. This is for you mother earth, La Pachamama, te quiero hoy como siempre, resplandeciente y tranquila como eres. Gracias por el regalo de la vida. Thank you for the gift of life.

I could hug this sullen silence

Dazzling and morose like the early morning’s sunrise

I’m full of peace, blushing like the red savannah earth in the soft sunrise

I could embrace this tranquil silence

Distant and faded like the dusty twilight yonder

I’m inundated by feeling, flushing like rose petals in the scorching noon

I could kiss this beautiful silence

Divine and stately like the starry nocturnal skyline

I’m overwhelmed with love, burning like cedar embers in the black night.

IDIDIT Pass- Present- Future


Manu Chao- Por el suelo

Yann Tiersen - Mother's Journey

Faithless - Crazy English Summer

torsdag den 28. oktober 2010

What happened to me. A dreamy rendition by mutuk5z

Some of my latest work, inspired in part by Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Mutuk5z What happened to me by allanm46

fredag den 22. oktober 2010

Upon paths unknown

A poem I wrote sat on the S-train on the way home, safe, warm and sound within the carriage I rode in, protected from the raging elements of the temperamental autumn evening outside.

Out of the pitch obscurity beneath my vexed feet

Lies the world, innate and unchanged

Unitary sin, unitary good, sleepless and melancholic like the winter night

I question whatever deity there may be as to the humble tidings of this benevolence

Six billion years away in times insofar unchanged and they are fixated

Wolves whisper softly to each other in the soft morning mist

Tis but the foundation of the surreal, structured symphony that intoxicates us

Unitary time in functional space, the four square borders of reality turned inside out

In a whirlwind of surreptitious gales, I string me a harmony neath my brazen fingers

A one man circus, a solo charade, stripped blank and pale by the joy around me

Inevitability pinches the jaded fabric of turtle skin that drapes the core within

And from afar comes the spontaneous staccato chatter of love most divine.

søndag den 10. oktober 2010

La Hermosa Vida

Life at its most beautiful, at its most unrefined and brute state, simple yet stately. Calm like a chilled winter breeze, soft like rose petals, timid, blissful even.

Los Amorosos. Inspired by Jaime Sabina's touching poem "los Amorosos" ("Lovers")

Ripples (left) and Shimmers (Right)

Cue Shapeshifter "Dutchies"One of the Drum n bass soundtracks of my life.


torsdag den 7. oktober 2010

The Last Toast by Nicanor Parra

A poem on existensialism by the Chilean poet, Nicanor Parra.

Whether we like it or not,
We have only three choices:
Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

And not even three
Because as the philosopher says
Yesterday is yesterday
It belongs to us only in memory:
From the rose already plucked
No more petals can be drawn.

The cards to play
Are only two:
The present and the future.

And there aren't even two
Because it's a known fact
The present doesn't exist
Except as it edges past
And is consumed...,
like youth.

In the end
We are only left with tomorrow.
I raise my glass
To the day that never arrives.

But that is all
we have at our disposal

Nicanor Parra

onsdag den 6. oktober 2010

The war of the colours

The ignominy of the haste with which we stoop to prejudice against each other in this world on racial and other grounds is a most deplorable affair. This is a poem by an anonymous African poet that takes a light-hearted swipe at mans inability to accept the notion of variation within his own species.

When I born, I black. When I grow up, I black. When I go in sun, I black. When I scared, I black. When I sick, I black. And when I die, I still black.
And you white fella; When you born, you pink. When you grow up, you white. When you go in sun, you red. When you cold, you blue. When you scared, you yellow. When you sick, you green. And when you die, you grey …And you calling me colored?"

Say no to racism

The transcendental universe

The transcendental universe. Each person, each physical object, each element of matter, each quantity of time, each abstraction of space from the perspective of eternity, is like a brief, disturbed drop of water from an unbounded ocean. " Maya" is the material world that's been pulled over our eyes to dissipate the transcendental.

lørdag den 2. oktober 2010

My paintings, artefacts and artwork

A mini exposé of some of my artefacts and artwork.

I rescued these drums from the garbage after my dear pal Marcelo had decided he'd throw them out (with good cause too as they are significantly damaged and don't sound as they should) I was listening to a lot of Drum n bass at the time and I couldn't think of a better canvas upon which to express my feelings for the genre than the surface of my newly acquired drums.

"He who wants the world to remain as it is doesn't want it to remain at a all."A birthday present for my mate Marcelo, inspired by a text on one of the paintings on the walls of Berlin's East Side Gallery

"Tagmania" A piece Nicolai Palmblad and myself did together . A tribute to street art.

"May green be the grass you tread on, may blue be the skies above you." A birthday gift for my dear aunt Inger, inspired by an Irish poem and by the unique life of my aunt.

"Corazon" I found this wooden heart lying in a puddle of murky water in Berlin, somewhere between The East Side Gallery and Alexanderplatz. It's cracked on one side and in a dilipated if not serenely beautiful state of affairs. This heart exemplifies the eccentric nature of beauty in at its most rustic , no touch ups, no make - up no vanity, much like Berlin herself.

"El Tocopillas." A mask I bought and painted. The frame of the mask is a green traffic light I found on my way home one Saturday morning in a city in the south of Denmark called Sønderborg. Little did I know when I painted the mask that I would one day come to meet the entity behind this mask. El Tocopillas is an entity of evil, exemplified and illustrated by a certain individual I met a few weeks back, who by his own admission is an enterprise of all things evil. May he one day find tranquility in this life.

"Liebe, Baile Detroit" Inspired by the motorcity and her contribution to the canvas of house and techno.

"Liebe, Baile Detroit" Inspired by the motorcity and her contribution to the canvas of house and techno.

"Money isn't real" For all those who regard the accumulation of monetary "wealth" as being a valid constant in this life. It was, is and forever will be but a mere game, a fictitious entity designed to divide and dismember the institution of love.

"Be you / Died Out " All four of these words appear in the labarynthine sketch above, a tribute to and mockery of the concept of modern day individuality in the matrices of comformity and compliance within which we dwell.

"Press Play" I was sat by the Peblinge lake in central Copenhagen wathcing the sun sink sedately over the horizon when I sketched this.

"Silver meets sketchy black and they lived merrily ever after "

"Rasa" Inspired by a very special someone who probably doesn't realise the impact she had on my life.

"Liebe ist Berlin" I skecthed this quickly whilst working at the entrance to a Student party early in September 2010. The entry stamps dried out (amongst other shenanigans on a rather disorganised night) and I was hence forced to draw little crosses and lovehearts on the hands of everyone that came in and paid for the party. Many wanted designs of some sort of another, which I gladly sketched. Art really is an amazing way to bond with people.

"Tagmania" A piece Nicolai Palmblad and myself did together . A tribute to street art.

With Baited Breath I Wait

A poem written in the midst of the annual contrast clash between summer and autumn. A time of restlessness and uneasiness within the ether. The warm, succulent rays of the sun shine fretfully and unrepentantly through the perturbed mass of wind and strain, scorching lush green vegetation in a kaleidoscope of the shade red. It is within this intense purlieus that my questions pertaining to existensialism and meaning gain a purpose. With baited breath I wait...

The decadence of the shapes and shadows around me.

Stark, shrieking shards of wit and disdain, deranged and withdrawn.

The sullen dejections of the wind, the intimacy of causality.

Deranged, delinquent ornaments of time, desperate and forlorn

The cacophony of the chambers and chariots before me

Sharp, sudden silhouettes of truth and lie woven intimately

The implicit imperfections of the elements, the suspense of glee

Devout, resolute instruments of space, withered yet stately

The stillness of the sun and the stars above me

Sage, shackled shadows of the then and now stately and sedate

The somber spirit of the time, the luxury of a more independent me

Dissolute, insoluble infractions of relativity loyal to the shelter of trait.

Allan Mutuku Kortbæk