Collage-work by: Are Mokkelbost

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The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, c. 1601-1602


Bastienne Schmidt

Patzquaro Mexico, Kind mit Totenkopf, 1992.

Visible Proofs, Old Forensics

Carbonic-oxide poisoning (Charcoal-fumes) [carbon monoxide], 1898

From NLM/NLH: "In atlases and manuals of legal medicine, 19th-century forensic pathologists used pictures and words to show students and colleagues their methodology—a precise inventorying of the condition of the victim's body. Chromolithography, which could render coloration, texture and subtle shading, was particularly well suited to the task."

Head and hand of a drownee, 1864

From NLM/NLH: "Fig. 7. The head, the neck and the upper chest of a drowned person. The corpse was pulled from the River Spree on May 10 and it was established that it had been lying in the water for three months, which is to say since winter. One can see very clearly the gradations of decomposition coloring from top to bottom. As described elsewhere, one can still see here, just as in many other cases, individual dark red islands in the nearly black coloration of the head. The distortion of the facial features through the irregular swelling of the skin cover is often even more pronounced than it is in the case of this corpse. The brown and red splotches on the neck and chest are pieces of skin exposed through the epidermis. When these skin splotches dry in the open air, they take on this coloration.

Fig. 8. The hand of a drowned person. The 14-year-old boy was pulled from the water in the beginning of May, when the air temperature was 12-14 degrees C., after being in the water for 16 hours. The hand was drawn with extraordinary faithfulness to nature. The blue-gray coloration of skin on the fingers, as well as the lengthwise creasing of the skin, justify the frequently made comparison between the hands of a drowned corpse and those of an asphyxiated cholera victim. Concerning the utter uselessness of this finding as a diagnostic indication of death by drowning see elsewhere in the text."

In this bickering room, pale orange light on the ceiling casting its shadow over me, it’s apparent that we’re here (where you are), to be where we can attempt to always “be,”

to be how we want to be, puzzled by hysteria of actionable wind, possible tornadic activity on the horizon, in the backward assemblages of “Really? This kind of weather in February?”

Taco seasoning and onions cooking in a large wok. Ambulance in the distance. The trees sparkle louder, even during the darkening evening, and I hear a dog collar, as well,

but I focus on the sirens instead. Perhaps a Fire truck, as well? Combinations of siren-sounds in all directions. Every horizon has its nose turned upwards; knees bent, eyes focused ahead.

Watch me do a 180 while standing still. Did you see me, did you blink too fast?


D.M.'s "Meeting"

I've always enjoyed observing people's faces, as if there was some sort of "stuffing" to be misplaced somehow, or perhaps it is like a mental private conversation, to unbutton imagination and let it harmlessly trickle throughout the soul. Like, "...I wonder about their life story; where are they from? What can they tell me?" &c., &c. We're typically always who we never were, but in a moment, we can become something we imagine being (or doing), as if we need translation; evaluation or re-evaluation -- the way one can imaginatively split something apart, like say an animal's head just by the mere thought of it, pondering what is inside its mind, like say a Bear for instance -- splitting open its mind where perhaps you may find silvery bright fish, mating partners and innocence. Where is the last source of "loss"? I feel it sometimes when I imagine something being in place somewhere where there's nothing there. Sometimes the chaos of minimalism thrives like political consequence. They've always said that death's shadow is white, but I have to say that it's a blur, and the confusion grows when one blinks too quickly, making it appear 'white' behind one's eyelids. There is an everlasting whirl in my psyche'. No, I think it may be in my chest, or no, maybe it's ... oh, it's everywhere. "Everywhere" is a cop-out, but maybe not. Maybe it's a reality, in this case, considering there's no focal-point. Unless I'm merely clueless. Or overly-imaginative. I know one thing: I'm too poor to buy more poetry. There was never a Cinderella, but there is always a cinder, coil and bright, burning like misery. Clocks always strike at midnight, or midnight strikes clocks. Who wants water with their dinner? ... sorry that is all that I have. I've lost my shoes, and my soles have lost their grip. Walked by a group of three this evening in the grocery store. One of them said, "the politicians in Washington are nothing but uneducated fools." I'm flying as the universe flies.

Jindřich Štyrský:

Untitled (from the series The Movable Cabinet)

Paul Outerbridge's "Woman with Claws" (1937)

Woman with Claws, a definite influence for Freddy Krueger

Ture Sjolanders outdoor exhibition and TV experiment, 1965

Aristides Ruiz

Brody and Blumfield (diptych), 2006

Daniel Spoerri: Fakir's spectacles.