Car insurance

November, 2006


30
Nov 06

Missing Commandment

Ever wondered, pondered,
Surrendered your heart asunder to the quickening of truth?

Ever plundered?

The perfume of sacrifice rises past the mundane,
Rises through the carnage,
Through the stench,
Through!

Ever plundered the promise of a child? Have you ever?

Ever looked upon your visage?
Rot adorns your grimace,
Your self-smirk haunts your day’s nightmare!

Ever walked with fatuous pretense across the shrapnel of your once honor
Yeah,
You,
Me,
And the shadow and the drumbeat picking up tempo!

Ever danced,
Let your guard down,
Surrendered your heart with love to the quickening of a child’s dream?
Yeah you!

- I.A.T.


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19
Nov 06

Ripple

On the 11th of November 2006, PaperMache was launched with an evening of discussions covering the gamut of ideas spanning physical and emotional infinites!

Elsewhere, the same night we opened an exhibition on portraiture showcasing work by a group of visionary photographers!

But, the 17th of November shall be noted as a uniquely profound milestone in the progress of my explorations. On that cold night, sitting at a table in Cafe Citron near Dupont Circle, while sipping sugarcane liquor with limejuice…she…

I could almost taste the humid air of a tropical mangrove in the warm glow of her eyes. The stone was cast, sending ripples along the placid pool eternally murked in eventide ink. Advent Madonna!

- I.A.T.

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8
Nov 06

Drums

I shall never forget the moment when I first saw her. She was huddled over a book, looking down; her raven hair streaked blue, tied in a bun coming off in a thousand strands! As she glanced up, with the arch of her brow she launched poison arrows right through my unguarded soul, but only to heal the pain with the nectar of the sweet dimple of her shy smile!

Little did I know at that moment that she is a queen impresario lording over the darkest most fatalistic drumbeats brewing deep in the German underground? I can hardly wait until I paint her as the fallen angel, harbinger of the Missing Commandment, rebel slayer of the Grand Archetype…

- I.A.T.

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7
Nov 06

Boxes

The angst in this image is quite deep for me:

!these cardboard boxes are painful reminders of my father’s failure. He was a great writer who never pushed himself and passed his life with a gorgeous mistress in the midst of Tokyo’s business scene… He died leaving behind a potent yet tattered manuscript… I managed to publish his book, but then decided that maybe he never wanted it to be read or that perhaps it wasn’t the will of the Universe for any of it to be read…
And so now the boxes containing copies of his book are being used as props for an epiphanous Daphne mused precipitously to take flight…

- I.A.T.

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4
Nov 06

Ghost

Somewhere west of Death Valley, there is a town called Darwin, a paradise lost, a dream frozen. I chanced on it as the sun was setting over the Inyo Mountains. I had a choice: to go straight and hit Lone Pine through the descending fog, or take a left and drive toward Darwin along the cracked and forgotten asphalt road. I turned left.

Although I had spent the day skidding across Badwater and waking a glorious plume of off-road dust along remote and desolate switchbacks and valley crosses, the road leading to Darwin gave me a strange sense of foreboding. I idled the Jeep at the entrance of the road and looked straight ahead for quite a while!the road rose toward a pass flanked on both sides by a sparse growth of Joshua Trees. Beyond the pass, the path dipped steeply and gave way to a vista overlooking an expansive valley. In the distance amid the last remaining glow of the day’s light something glistened, and my feeble mind interpreted it as a welcoming electrical light, perhaps a 7-11, flickering in the wind!and so I continued onward.

But all along, as I drove across the vast and misleading scale of this desert road toward the flicker of light, now no longer visible, not a single car passed, followed or otherwise gave solace to my sinking heart.

Half an hour later, I arrived in town. Strewn shanties and shacks, bleached and baked and sandblasted by decades of abandon and desert wind and unremitting sun, greeted me like ghosts surrounding mortal flesh. Although the town was deep in the shadow and buried in twilight cool, not a single light glowed, nor a soul stirred. My breath gave way to a gasp.

But lo! There were cars parked along the streets, surely!and this gave me hope! But yet again, as all delusions go, the mirage reaffirmed its brutality and on further inspection, it became apparent that the cars were abandoned as well, tires missing, engines rusted, windows shattered, all left there as carcasses of dead-end journeys!

Well, what followed, I will spare you!but it was nothing short of a miracle!

- I.A.T.


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