GENETICBOI: DARK MOVES OF LOVE

This is a collaboration between me and my friend Nate, he writes short stories and spoken words. So I provide the visuals, and he provide the writings. This is the beginning of our yet to be titled zine. Our pieces are in some way inspired from each other. Here is what we have so far. First is his amazing spoken word piece, my personal favorite...

HIS PIECE:

“For What It's Worth”

Tonight, I’m going to rip open the sky.

Arms outstretched,
I’d love to exhume stardust bodies
And catch the orbiting abandoned dreams of ex-romantics.
Careless lies strung out across galaxies.
The skeletal remains of your beauty bleached by your sins.

Naysayers of love,
Why do you cry so?
Where have your hearts gone?

I too once stopped believing,
That maybe,
Love, for what it’s worth,
Is buried six feet under.

Is passion dead?
Encased in a tomb made from insecurities
Vines of jealousy entrenched in its walls.
A coffin for where your heart once lived.

If so,
Let me rent out your love.
I can use my body as pay.

These arms, they may not be sculpted and firm,
But they will hold you close
The gravity of our embrace
Collapsing the world that twists and turns around us.

These hands, they may not be wide and long.
Yet, my worn palms will weave through the stars
Scooping up the waters of the Milky Way.
I’ll part the heavenly seas
So that you may walk away from your past.

These shoulders, as slim and gaunt as they may be
Will stand tall and break the atmosphere.
Stand on these shoulders
So that you can see all of creation
And whisper your prayers into the ears of God.

My eyes are not what they used to be.
But, in reverie…
The planets and I stop our waltz.
A stand still-a dancefloor hushed as you stride and dip.

Will my words find their way ?
They surf along the infrared, violet, and radio waves.

As I pin my hello and goodbyes
To the tails of comets shooting over head.
Like the passing lights
That shatter the sky,
Maybe our words were only meant
To cross one another for not too long.

Come closer,
For my chest has room to spare.
A door unlocked…
For every lock of the lips.
The corridors of this temple
Have long gone unlit.

When did you take your leave?
From cliffsides looking out on spatial storms
And wind that sweeps the deserts of Mars…
You’re traveling the universe…
With and without me.

Take care,
For if your heart still lives underground
Let these arms,
These hands,
These shoulders,
These eyes,
And words take you from the earth.

Be you an imperfect god or goddess,
A deity who wears a crown made of interlocked hands
That tug at the very memories you so wish to forget.

Remember…I am willing to rent your love.
Let this body be payment, a place to call home.

Naysayers of love and ex-romantics.
The shit-talkers, the gossip heads, and the cheaters.
Who spit sarcastic venom from fangs kept in their backpocket.
Your time is up.
I am coming for you.
We are coming for you.

So, let me ask:
For what it's worth...
What is love worth to you?

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MY PIECE:

I did this little sketch inspired by just a small part of it, because his spoken word piece is full of evocative visuals, I couldn't put it all into one! However, I will refer back to it for more inspirations for future artwork! :P

“IS PASSION DEAD?”
(click to enlarge)

PROCESS:

MY PIECE:

“Death is the Future”
(click to enlarge)

PROCESS:

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HIS PIECE:

“Whom He Fears”

It was a terrible sight to behold.

Like newborn child, He now feared the night. The din was not a bother. 'No', He thought. 'Such typical things are not troublesome anymore.' Over time, He got used to the screeching of passing by souls. But by divine prank, the thought of It haunted Him once again.

It was something so inconceivable, yet so damning. It was the walking flame—a creature stitched of corporeal essence and the looming ether. A beast all too familiar to Him. After all, was He not the Reaper and Messenger? One made of black and iron? Apparently, mankind had found a way to cheat Him. And frankly, that struck terror into His beholden heart.

It came to Him not as a grown person, but as a child. Normally, He would’ve passed up such an easy score, but something deep within urged otherwise. Who was He to deny His calling? After all, how long would this take? A single swipe and the messy ordeal would be over with.

And so, He raised his blade and struck deep.

But, this time, no cries of slipping morality or wailing death would be heard. Rather, it was the shrill laughter rising deep from the infant’s lungs. The two locked eyes and He, for the first time, felt fear. It had hazel eyes. Yes, two beautifully brown eyes that elegantly pierced and shattered all He knew. Panicking, He drove the blade deeper. Again, more laughter and smiles. And for a moment, Its eyes grew brighter.

The dream always ended the same—a stalemate between Him and It. No matter how hard or how fast He sliced, It would remain forever vigilant. He even faintly recalled one instance where It touched him. Quite stupidly, He reeled away thinking that It could bring him back to life.

Nothing could turn the abomination away.

Late at night, He mumbles of wicked things. Of infinity incarnate and the walking flame—the end of Death and the uprising of Man’s Kingdom.