Black bright dangerous science of irrelevant paranoid dreams

Today was perfect. Tonight was dangerously empty, because everyone seemed lost without purpose and motivation. The beauty was the only sudden desire which followed strangely. Day disappeared in the shadow of black unconscious night.

Sinners. Saints. Objections and Principles

Why? The first question of existence.

Perhaps art gone wild away from bit rotten but right once time ago ideas of humanity. Post human might not be humane at all in the world where idea of life and death became weird commodities, or would simply disappear in the virtual reality world without life and death or black and white which is practically impossible to outline just some strange kind of existence relying only on the energy of solar system, seeing only death of a matter or event horizon of a nearby black hole as an event that will make existent disappear completely. Gods and idols, totemic ground for forbidden; majestic in the glorious beauty of it's delicate status. The world sometime was felt burning to the dust everything what was humane; world sometimes seems populated by someones sleepwalking unconsciously routine of a simply programme, day by day, from dust into the dust, and absolutely overwhelming nothing. Their world distorted by interrogations into privacy, insanity of being exceedingly sane in the false principles, the ones which is to regard of postal clerk, seen only in the mechanics of matching the similarity of entities and correctness of delivery. Christ, once adored symbol of humanity? extremely dependent upon fulfilling the will of his father; the one suffered for sins of living promising a life afterwards. What for was that made by his father, one might ask. The entire thing. A protection of technology, medicine and education. When billions born die and suffer thousands years to hope one day death is conquered to the will of living; and what to expect thereafter? Increasingly beautiful legend of a human world. An Oedipus complex, profoundly infected. Strange results. Crusaders pursuing idea to capture a God's love and a Holy Grail by means of sacrifice for most living in the Holy Land. Love of God is in the blood of millions, in the cancer and schizophrenia man die for, it's unlimited in it's reach for everyone of a billions living. Blood so beautifully engaging undead. Sudden love is your only reward, once you feel to escape gloom of everything. Praying people seem quite beautiful in their desire to infect something divine into own reality.

The dead gravity of love

The dead above living. Dead is God. Death absolute. The fear is superb ruler. The absence of fear absolute to dead. Fear is the king. Death irreversible. Everything was dead and everything will be dead. The power of the ruler is built upon power to control death. Withdraw death to suspended sensual existence. Someone born and die by multiple reasons and billions circumstances. Death is a biggest commodity of all trades, whatever you pay you pay to make a distance from the dead. Death is only something that makes you love fragile exaggerated return for the fear. The all great art is purified death and the biggest graves torque your existence into the feelings. The greatness of absolute is within this supreme dead gravity that makes feel this what is alive.

1. Nicholas Chistiakov, Murder in Istanbul, 2008, 60 x 40 inches © Nicholas Chistiakov http://www.nicholaschistiakov.com. Photography: Allan Martin Leer

January 6, 2010

Today is calm day with crisp air and absence of movement around. The live has been suspended in some kind of infinity since 2007. I wish there was a day to break this entangled relativity into a joy. Kind of really amazing once life. To break the silence...

When I think about Moon

I remember the days under open skies in the raw fields of wheat
A burning fire
An absence of reason in a joyful game
With someone
I liked to catch
Perplexed
Close
Disarmingly
The cold moon was never close to me.
I can't imagine being there.
One day self replicating something might be infected into it's cold waterless surface.
Within matter of days it may populate large areas of what seemed so far from being alive.
Change everything sensationally.
Absence of feelings is dead body in nameless grave.
I think about Moon
Desires exuberant oxygen raw black skies stars sharply in memory
Was it yesterday
Or never
With you