• Testimonial 1
    ~Silas Nemo Zahi
    it's like some kind of fascination almost an infatuation. perhaps it is that far. that obsession with blood, horror, pain, and revenge. that need to see and to feel what is all i want now. because some part of me is tired of love and romance. happiness is such an overrated thing to watch. dry hollow emotions built in ignorance. pain is so much more real. the blood. the need. what makes it so much more real? is it the adrenaline from horror or perhaps the blood? i think it's the blood. that wonderful medium in ink and art. the beauty of an essence of pain. the search to see. to feed the obsession. but reality to see requires such a break of morals. though many have died few remain merely out of understanding of a consequence. but the art remains. one can see blood in art. and that brings that insane smile back to my dried cracked lips. to my pointed teeth. the thirst to see. to learn from pain. or perhaps my mind once sane now mutilated. perhaps just a destroyed image soaking in blood. becoming obsessed with the pain. becoming in love with what happened when the human part of me was slaughtered. but the drive, it goes on, to see the pain in art. the obsession with gothic and macabre. that is my head, living in shadows and blood. the walls of my mind all coated in caked blood and some still liquid and running down the walls. the little theatre playing nightmares on the screen. a small audience watches but does not see. and i just change the reels here. that is all i do. change the reels to each one of my never ending nightmares. because what they watch on the screen. it plays in my mind. only the blood keeps me sane. because those little voices are so much better than going insane.