thesosastudio

The lonely road that the misunderstood investigator decided to take turned out to be bittersweet. His investigation was a project he could not leave unfinished. He refused to surrender it. He had gone too far in to simply to give it all up. Why would he cease exploring a world that promised him so much? As far as he could tell, stopping meant exchanging what he valued the most, never to be seen again. And for what? An old, rusty treasure chest containing nothing but standardised models of toy aeroplanes? Not a sweet price at all. Many years had passed since he had opened the first door that eventually changed his life. If he were to take his time and ponder when exactly that was, would he be able to remember it? Would he be able to recall the initial time when the windows he looked out of began to focus on entirely different landscapes? Responses to these questions are ones he will have, once the disturbances he receives decide to leave. The doors of perception had

The rain is peaceful, The rain tells me to dream. The rain beckons me to imagine, To imagine wonders; Wonders I do imagine, But yet I am unsure. Unsure of their reality. When thunder comes with the rain, They combine. A composition Of music; Music that’s relaxing. The rain’s a melody. A melody that helps me dream. The rain is a dream.

Planets collide in darkened skies, As the spaceship flies, we realise, The light, up high, won’t compromise, We’ve lived a lie. Everything we hear and see, Can’t set us free, as we need to be, So we must flee, from all the debris, Without any fee. Now it’s time to meditate, old habits break, Because of all that is at stake, and all that is fake, Must separate, as we wake from this state, And await our fate. - By Jason Black and Hector David Sosa

In this peanut acorn overlay mandala, Tasting green, from the flying Kabbalah, And then one said to the Dalai Lama, Conquistador, por que marijuana? I am familiar with the smoky dragon, Hitching myself to a fallen wagon, On a treadmill of unbridled passion, I am accustomed to psychedelic fashion. Poignant oceans burning purple flowers, Smoke of renewal, painting horizontal towers, Drawing in deep, tripped out, ethereal powers, Into the coldness of the early hours. - By Jason Black, James Desira, and Hector David Sosa

"'Surrealist automatism' is a method of art-making in which the artist suppresses conscious control over the making process, allowing the unconscious mind to have great sway." — Wikipedia The following is what came about when I undertook such a method when writing. --- The Catastrophic Element Emerging from the Aether (2004) Sand, water, papier mâché. Shadows. Luminol, the glowing substance, beckons me. Unusual patterns are undisguised so that you can believe them. They don't hold back. Discrepancy should be exercised like the way electrons spin. Run every now and then, but also walk, jump and take rests. Figures inspire me and marks deliver reinforcement. Manage to find that that is me so that we can see without feeling like one needs to flee. I assume nothing, but I expect trouble tonight. Even though one should expect all and everything not listed under all, one should persist that they are the creators and wherever they go, the landscape is made according to their own