We desire every day and on special occasions. We desire loudly and quietly. We desire burning with shame and completely liberated. We desire upon waking and at sunset. We desire in secret and we desire openly.

The threads of attachment get tangled under our feet. We pluck one away with the other to find that we have tied another few threads attached even before dinner. Pulling them out from under our ribs is painful, but necessary for us to be able to breathe. We become attached to people, things, places.

To life.

Life is fragile

For me, dark humour is an invaluable aid in the worst moments of life. When everything hits the ground running, sitting in a hole and crying is of no use. We can tell ourselves that 'feelings need to be thrown out', 'shouted out', 'talked out'. Digging into difficult subjects is good material for poetry or a book. In real life, gaining distance from ourselves and our concerns works much better. And I don't mean running away from problems. I mean detachment as the transformation of traumatic experiences into something completely different.

Using humour to tame the misfortunes that happen to us and will befall us despite our best intentions. Laughing despair straight in the face is not the easiest thing to do and is dangerously close to madness. Pushing the boundaries can be troublesome and of course - we expose ourselves not only to ridicule or pity - but also to aggression.

We risk a lot by defying social norms, but this is often the only good option, especially when suffering is frequently knocking at the door. In that case, we don't have many tools at hand other than fortitude and the grotesque. I speak for myself here, of course.

For some, the presence of loved ones, head strokes and warm words work.

For me, calmness and extreme stoicism in dramatic situations or those without a way out - leading me to blind fury. Wild, uncontrollable fury. I know that rebellion in the face of death is simply ridiculous, but nothing drives me off balance like apathy. Mainly because - I am not nearly capable of such a feeling.

I cry at films, I get angry watching the news, I can't sleep after watching documentaries showing the cruelty of nature.

My only weapon is laughter. Jokes so inappropriate that I don't trust myself to tell them to anyone except my better half and my diary. Jokes so nasty that by the time they leave my mouth I'm already disgust by them. Dark humour grips me tightly in its embrace and only awaits a moment of weakness.

About drawing

I keep writing that I 'love' something, or 'adore' something, or 'collect' something... but really my interests are a swirling vortex of entropy :D

Actually there is no animal that I don't find fascinating, so I can't say that chameleons are any special to me. Nevertheless, I find them absolutely remarkable, not only biologically but also aesthetically. Eyes that rotate independently of each other, a tongue that looks like a stretched-out jellybean and colours that even the most beautiful butterflies can't match... And the way they walk... always makes me laugh.

This time, however, there will be no colour exposion or crazy close-ups of eyes. There will be a corpse. A teeny - tiny corpse, mummified by the relentless rays of the sun. The dried out tiny body of a chameleon is not some kind of crazy uncommon thing. But I admit that I myself have come across photos of these creatures in an already stale state - quite recently. And as a great fan of anatomy - I appreciate the opportunity to study the creatuce in depth without having to hurt the animal:)

Only thig I did differently this time around is the paper – I dyed it slightly using strong brewd earl grey tea. I added pictures documenting the process for those who mind be interested.