Portrait of a Female Futurist 3.

Andy Nawroski

Newport, United Kingdom

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Artist's Description

Collage – Photo/shop CS 8 e/v.

Psychotic Dreams.

Asleep in a symbiotic flotation tank
head lazily fastened backwards.
Four hands playing with my head
urgently working on something,
tingling the back of my head.
I leave my body to observe what.

Two people wear white robes and masks,
they work and pass surgical knifes.

Seeing my brain exposed,
soft and urgent looking.
Moving like pulsing vulva’s.

It makes me hungry.
looking closer seeing,
they slowly cut
My brain in half.

Then sit me up vertical.
My eyes cant move,
transfixed on a fish aquarium.
Big fish eyes look back at me.
They all smile together and say,
“There you are now all better. "
1
Instantly alone walking
through a blazing dessert.
Hearing a distant rumble
Looking to it, seeing
a cloud of dust getting closer.
Four wild rearing horses
trample over me,
laying me flat on my back.
Looking to see
they pull a carriage,
with wheels protruding blades.
Trying to stand to escape
It runs over me.

Looking again,
my body separated
Into severed pieces.

Looking again to see,
my body gone.
Just two eyes
lay in the sand,
my eyes.
Somehow blinking
alone in the sand.
2
Pressed spread eagled.
Back against a towering cliff,
below rocks and roaring sea.
Body slowly falls,
towards sharp rocks.
Arms push out to them,
they easily move away.
Like floating drifting
through space.
Moving forward,
my body through space.
Pushing away drifting orbs.
Speed hastening;
everything a streaking blur.

Falling towards earth.
passing through earth,
laying motionless
In a sparkling void.
Breathless breathing out -

Planets emit from my mouth
and circle my head.
Trying to laugh.
But more planets emit from my mouth,
then circle my legs.

Distant people begin to get closer,
they all peer at me.
Knowing them all.
My mother, father and sister dancing.
Me trying to join in with them
at a center of a room,
surrounded by a circle of people
holding binoculars to their eyes,
all looking at me.
I ask what they are looking at
they all reply in unison;
“Your severed brain.”

They begin to close in on me
so I dig a hole.
Deep down.
To some odd shaped wooden door,
that wont open.
Scraping hard with fingers.
Fingers bleed and bone protrudes
splintering the door open with bone,
finding a coffin lid not a door,
and myself inside.
I weep hopelessly.
Shaking my other body
It crumbles away,
Into dust.
Where four wild rearing horses,
come pulling a carriage.
Side doors open,
staggering in
It speeds me away,
With slamming doors
Taking me home.
Dropping me onto
A Psychiatrists couch.

Artwork Comments

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