The remembrance, the reminiscence of this little boy, hands up with his skinny legs and wearing a cap too large for his little weary head, wrapped in a coat that cover most of his frail body, anxious, hopeless, desperate, in Warsaw. I see in him and the whole photograph the blood running from an axis to another.
Black and white – the non-colours of a people I support and shelter in my heart, the syndrome of the headsmanhanger of the most fragile birds of prey.
despite the gap between the times
The blood has to be cold and unconscious,
it is definitely black and white, both shades are found elsewhere in the far east
as yin and yang mean
killing in the name of” made part of a black and white collection that yelled the rage against the machine
machine gun ex machina
For sixty bloody years the then victims of barbarians became vultures and carrions, carnal carnivorous
criminals, unexpectedly claiming clutters of land the carelessness of coward cowboys did not prevent from
harm, from drama, tragedies and corruptions. Executions, excruciation, crucifixions and exterminations.
From Carmine Carnival, Lazarus Media, 2013