Scents of Arcadia

Conceived in times of heightened repression, Scents of Arcadia may be viewed as my most rebellious series, its sensual, exuberant compositions defying not only the reactionary forces / conservative thought, but the very bleakness of life’s realities, as well as the ever-growing miasma of death. Portraying mythologized entities / heralds of the subconscious mind, these lucid, omnierotic visions of often symbiotic bond between vegetation and flesh strive to cloud suicidal ideation, and through the eyes that pop up in peculiar places, peek into the observer’s soul. An exploration of collages’ painterly potential, they exist between flights of fancy, and deeply rooted fears, dissolving the latter in the ethereal vastness of the skies.

Additional note: The titles of 12 ‘chapters’ form a sort of a prose poem.

“Immortality lays eggs in a twisted lullaby of our birdless nest. Heaven may bleed and hell may freeze, but she will be here, tormenting me, reinventing me. Softer than distance, I reopen portals, and silence escapes. Everything (b)ends.”

Immortality Lays Eggs

In a Twisted Lullaby

 Of Our Birdless Nest

Heaven May Bleed...

... and Hell May Freeze

But She Will Be Here

Tormenting Me

Reinventing Me

Softer Than Distance

I Reopen Portals

And Silence Escapes

Everything (B)Ends

P-p-p-prljava pesma

Niko kao nitkov
reč u tri poteza
prvi je laž
i drugi je laž
a treći je opstrukcija
p-p-p-piše li olovka
ili je na pola nosa
i na pola koplja
na pola preseci
p-p-p-ponovo mi reci
čisto je i bistro
samo u mutnom
mutni mute
i skrivaju pod skute
decu i mamute
mutante i mrmote
p-p-p-popovi se gube
u blatu do kolena
mržnja od mila
mržnja odvajkada

kolaž: Metalitet Krda, ili Voznesenje Gluposti

(Nicollage, novembar, 2021)

T-23 ili bradata pesma

Daj Bože – do gole kože
i kosti da se pozlate
prazna jaja i crv u oku
za gladnu stoku, za glupu stoku
pečena misao i sirova sisa
zadojila Isa
a ko je Is ako ne mali miš
bez ritualnog pliša
ne da se iz nedara lišaj
idi kao u smiraj i ćuti kao panj
što ne zna bez dna da
sutra biće juče
pa jauče li jauče
oblak sivi hrli ka njivi
a njoj se ne mili da spava
zaključala lava
u verziji iz ine dimenzije.

kolaž: Preludijum za kidanje stvarnosti u 12 činova (April, 2021)

A Hellenistic Travesty

A re-imagination of my short experimental comic of the same name from 2018, A Hellenistic Travesty is a tongue-in-cheek mélange of DADA-esque poetry, (deconstructed) Greek mythology, and leftovers of dreams fallen somewhere between Brutalist soulscapes, homoerotic musings and shamanistic burlesque. In a way, it also represents a continuation / spinoff of Bianco/Nero - my most voluminous series of 515 pieces created between 2019 and 2022, as it takes cues from its monochromatic aesthetics, confirming my statement that in the labyrinth of my own, I am at once Minotaur, Theseus and Ariadne.

(the end)

Like a Pink Worm

 I don’t need another time zone to know who I am,
Because who I am is always round
With an equilateral triangle inside,
And the Sun in the center.

Darkness seems to come in phases –
First, it is indigo blue and afterwards pitch black,
But there are always stars,
and shiny debris floating between.

So, when I am dead and beautiful
Like a pink worm that’ll eat my flesh,
I’ll make sure to fuck an angel –
Someone with red hair.

collage: (In)Vulnerability (Kinoko II)
March 3, 2020

Metak

Noćas je svinja preskočila Mesec,
i za njom je nemo uskliknulo dete:
„Gle, kako krava proždire lava,
a jelen, sav nadut i zelen
kao beskraj kroz modra usta...“

Pusta im je duša, pusta,
i prazne su im oči crne,
u tri igle udenuto, trne
sećanje na konac, zloslutni početak,
ples inog haosa k’o jedini poredak.
Gde je ta krv što miriše na počinak?

Gde su ti crvi i trag koji se mrvi,
dok u glavama gomila se mrak?
Crven i jak kao bik iz pakla,
sveti zjap za svet od stakla. 

Crna zemlja za žedna usta

Kao mesečar po polju od trnja

žuri nekud ovaj sat.

Da nađe zlu ženu?

Ili drvenog patuljka?

Kao zvezda se stropoštava u bezdan,

a ja ni kriv, ni nezvan,

ne znam...

Sanjam tri sna, a nijedan nije pravi.

Bar da je jedan plavi,

pa da dreknem u tri kuće iz sveg glasa.

Kupus za lek, crna zemlja za žedna usta

i odsečena tri prsta mrsna!

Kriva je luda lutka

i oskrnavljeni grob kraj puta.

Iznutra...

Sve se iznutra mrda

i liči na vrata uzaludna.

Kad ih otvoriš, zjapi rupa ružna.

(A hobotnica se obvila oko krsta.)

kolaž: Bezimeni mozak, polimorfna duša

Everything but the Moon

A bitter remedy from my Moon-scented memory

Seethes in the Sun of their psycho-reality,

Killing the meekness of my dawn

Tearing apart the fawns named after you. So,

Hear their putrid cries and glazed lies

Ever so decadently electrified from the inside,

Meticulously purified from guilt

And tell me how the tower will crumble –

Divinely, suddenly or not at all?

Once they fall / if they fall,

No one will want to know, because

Everyone will gloat in their own mud, alone.

Zenith in π Madness

 Zenith in π Madness

Oh, sweet Silence, I walk thee
In the trousers of rain checkered lust
And the pooch spills on the floor
Every single smile for the killers of
Mid-day and walls closed around

When the leeches bark above
The Lake of Wherever You End Up
My honest yellow belly whipped cream
A dead dream absorbs their hatred
Isn’t that the wonder of being born

Everything in the rainbows of our mists
Exists on the same oak stake in bloom
The rulers burn, they burn serendipitously
Under the clouds of ever-changing
Delusions open-minded and sick

Wait (for) me, Maio Dutee!

Mr Mindfucker's Magical Metamorphosis
(March, 2019)

Gemini: Axioma Lucis / Mortis

To your health this glass of poison I drink
And I sink and I sink and I sink
Into a sea of tranquility
Into a dream of
memory
6

(original size: 40x50cm / 300dpi)

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Birds of Turmoil (Through the Mirror)

 Burn this house of lies and its gilded secrets.
Burn the ground they walk on and let their children
Cry until all of their dreams drown in tears.

And don’t be sorry – the shadows don’t feel.
And don’t be holy – the first snow will bleed
And lead you into a new labyrinth
Where you’ll be as lost as you’ve ever been.

Raise the dead of your vivid memories,
Invoke the black clouds from your reveries,
And sing for the infernal rain never to stop falling.

(At midnight, we’ll turn into reflections of our pain.
In the morning, we will pass through the mirror.)

Concelaed

The sea opened its mouth

and swallowed the butterflies of hope.

It was a day like many others,

with no Sun to whisper to

and no stars to take into your arms.

In the simmering of absolute light,

there was but amplified darkness.

Their blood turned to snow,

and the Eyes cried the nectar of thorns.

When the Being left, nothing changed.

When the Being left, everything sang.

Кафена кашичица ДАДА-раствора на дан

О, Мистеријо Мозга, изађи из кухиње

у касно подне је обрачун испред гнезда гнева

кх, кх, кх, љљљ,

а изнад неба, изнад неба у три потеза

трин'ест лицемера играју коло

прво поп, па поп, па поп, и на крају трт

ко узме птицу из бурета без дна

и (р)еволуцију за реп

и кашику меда наште

а фискални рачун у ђубре! 

F Mode

Fog, fish, film, fear, freak, flame, final, flower, future, fetish, fertile, forever, freedom, fantasy, fortitude, fascination, forgiveness, forgetfulness, fragmentation... All of these and great many other words start with F, and hold different meanings marked by futility when it comes to expressing what cannot be fathomed. From the foam of their failure, fanciful imagery is born and flourishes in spite of the formidable forces...

In the illusion of a distant universe,
Perverse thoughts traverse the emptiness.

There’s a lot of walking and thankfully not much talking,
And the beautiful dream of... What is the dream about?

Oh yes, half-born, half-dead,
With a thorn inside its head,

It grows and it knows that there are no words,
There is no Sun - only the third Moon
And the proximity of distance...

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Celestial Diptych

It’s growing... it’s growing like a tear-drenched dream under the big, yellow Moon. And it feels different than before. Truer? No, not truer, but brighter and increasingly translucent, a glittering petal in the tempest of shadows. The dolor it creates opens the gates towards the forest of seraphic mirages where the slug of oblivion hides, bleeding echoing silence. When the time comes, it will burst into ephemeral infinity... A bubbling  denouement.

Confabulation

Transfiguration

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Simulacrum: A Rule Is an Illusion (Post-Apocalyptic Bonus)

Our sadness evolves and mutates into a pearl.
If we break open the shell, it won't disappear.
It will only grow.

My latest and one of the longest series, Simulacrum: A Rule Is an Illusion, obviously refuses to die, so I guess it won't hurt to increase the number of pieces by 2... And who knows, maybe I'll play necromancer once again?

Simulacrum pt. I / Simulacrum pt. II / Simulacrum pt. III

So Eager to Start All Over Again

Under the Watchful Eye, in a Jiffy

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Simulacrum: A Rule Is an Illusion (the Final 6)

Deeply immersed in our oldest thoughts,

We burn at the stake of the Sevenfold Dreams,

Their blood limpid and their matter black.

 

Countless and restless are our Sundays

And the hopelessness of our serenity enchants us. 

Who will sing about the end of this world?

The final six collages of the Simulacrum series (Part I / Part II) refuse to provide any resolution - instead, they deepen the enigma and reach for the most inaccessible recesses of the subconscious. What if the answer floats beyond death?

 

Innermost Forever: Indiscretion Guaranteed

 

A Second Prior to the Rose Opening

Switching the Roles / The Millennial Intermezzo

Like Walking on Water in Early Morning

Another Five Minutes of a Contemplative Nap

Yellow Omega or a Belated Apocalypse?

 

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Simulacrum: A Rule is an Illusion (the 2nd Batch)

The abandoned planet vivisects the horizon,

Setting the Mechanism of Perfect Blemishes in motion.

When the Loop opens, the earth trembles.

As we lay completely forgotten by our gods,

Their murderous intentions become clear as a child's tear.

There is no higher truth than this Arcanum.

A continuation of the Simulacrum series brings six more pieces that obstinately defy clarification, plunging the couple of unnamed characters deeper into a feverish delirium of uncontrollable abstractions...

The Final Recognition of a New Dawn

Eons Later, Above the Sea of Undreamed Souls

Sailing the Clouds of Yesterday

Penetrating the Fabric of the Future

Instant Crystalization of the Now

Shadowless Hours in Full Bloom

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Simulacrum: A Rule Is an Illusion

A toxic bubble graces the skies with its presence.
We stare at it with our eyes touched by the Void.
For a moment, our breathing stops,
And then everything becomes the luminous absence.
A whisper in disguise denounces the alleviating pain...
 

A blend of vintage erotica, esoteric mystery, geometric magick, the elements of steam- and cyberpunk subgenres, as well as pulpy fantasy along the lines of Bakshi's Fire and Ice or Filmation's He-Man and the Masters of the Universe cartoon, Simulacrum: A Rule Is an Illusion is my latest series of collages set in a fragile, continuously mutating world of frequent temporal disruptions. I present its first five pieces, and more will follow soon...

The Dayspring of Evanescent Eternity

Star Collectors Challenge the Nightfall

Just Before Midnight: A Time-Bending Ritual

Sudden Rupture During the Great Paranoia

A Transcendental Rest at Frozen Noon

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