I hate my grandfather’s imposition
I hate my mother’s imprisonment
I hate my stepfather’s conviction
I hate myself for not being free.
Yet the love inside me cannot wait to burst.
TO CAPITALISM (NOT AN ODE)
Stop stalking me,
following me everywhere, fooling around with me, confuse me, threatening me, violate me, hurting me, suffocating me, forcing you on me
you cannot persuade me.
you will never convince me,
you cannot force me anymore.
you cannot buy my heart.
I will never love you,
For my soul cannot be conquered but only loved
For my soul cannot be consumed.
For those that have to keep the spirit of their hearts locked up into hidden sacred places.
TRAINING FOR THE SHOPPING OLYMPICS
This gallery contains 15 photos.
Jammed plastic bags
This is why I need to make art work!
Back in the days, when back in the dark room, I used to play with light and time. Through the enlarger I was attempting to immortalized them on my photograms to depict plastic bags. Time and light, and plastic bags, what an appropriate equation, now that plastic bags are magically vanishing from our daily lives. Silently departing, they leave for the archive of history. Will we miss the rustle that invaded our environments? Plastic bags, consumerism’s new scapegoat, banned to make space to the next one. As technology is substituting time, this time I have scanned the last of plastic bags. I have scanned their flimsy essence to penetrate through the dermis of our ghostly souls. In no time and effort I have pierced through the layers of crust, of bark, of fur, of skin, of membrane, of epidermis, of peel, and got inside the organ of poetry, scanned and canned onto yet another sheet.