borkinstein

[borkinstein]

This would be facking sick for a NOTHING MORE album cover

Dé Ly†e

[borkinstein]

This gives me: “A typical Tuesday in Chernobyl” vibes

VLP. gouache watercolor painting from 2017

[borkinstein]

Karl Wilke

[borkinstein]

I’ve been feeling so cold, I’ve feeling so old.

Tell me things you don’t want me too know, tell me things that you’ve done.

I can feel your soul and the beating of your heart.

I’ve lost my brother because now he’s become my son.

Trust, it doesn’t belong to us. It’s so difficult for us, because we haven’t been close enough.

One, the number we are so familiar with, the word that divides us, because it couldn’t make two of us.

We can’t escape so we’re stuck.

I’ve been feeling like mold and have feeling so lost.

Tell me the things that you love, tell me things that you lust.

I can feel your bones, I can feel you letting go.

He’s no longer my son. He’s fatally turned into dust.

We won’t know..until they go..we drive down that long road.

Until we get stuck, until we get stuck.

Forward on, until we lost everyone one of our thoughts.

We cannot become what divides us and tell each other our thoughts

Our thoughts.

(Lyrics inspired by Chet Faker, song title: Forgotten Trust.)

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Some of the art I've done for folklore from my homeland of Asturias:

El Pesadiellu haunts people in their sleep. It will stand atop you, pressing down on your chest to cause suffocation and nightmares. As soon as you wake, it will vanish.

It takes many forms, from a huge hairy hand (la Manona), to a male goat, to a purely invisible being. All across Asturias, it is believed to be the cause of many of the horrors that affect us in our slumber.

In the forests of Asturias, people know to beware of the scraping sound of washboards near streams. It means the Llavanderes are working.

One of the washerwomen will ask for help drying her blood-soaked shroud. Never twist it in the same direction as her, or she will drown you.

El Sumiciu is an entity that embodies the void. When someone loses an object that seemed to be in front of them moments ago, they will usually accuse the greedy Sumiciu of swallowing it. Oft misconceived as a house elf, its true shape is shrouded in mystery.

When travelling the craggy mountains of Asturias, beware the hiss of the Cuélebre, a winged serpent which grows over the aeons until the earth trembles under its weight.

If you are foolish enough to seek its treasure, find its cave on the Summer Solstice, when it is weakest. You must bring an offering it may feed on, and hide inside it knives and needles that will slay it from within.

This picture was taken the night when two kids passed away from tuberculosis in a small Asturian village, 1892.

In these remote areas people still tell the tales of La Güestia, a ghostly procession that will march towards a dying person's house and carry them off to join them.

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Watching my blood leak from my body and sink into the soil.

More so fascinated than feeling the need to scream and recoil.

My flesh wound deep and stretched wide exposing my fragile organs.

Yet I felt empty and disregarded my inner turmoil.

Surrounded by pure darkness as my last beacon of light was a Lantern with very little oil.

Shrouded by the pitch black surroundings as the flames fought back as if it was Constantinople.

Shrieking screams and demonic whispers slowly crawled through the grounds of the chapel.

Hopes and prayers were far gone with no sign of my personal rapture.

Great evils crawl into my exposed wound feasting on my flesh only moments after.

I welcomed them with no struggle before closing my eyes and told myself out loud:

“On to the last chapter, where there is no happily ever after.”

Your personal demons will always try and prolong the suffering, it’s you who can only make the choice of accepting and giving them a voice. Those of who are blinded by sin will never see the daisies grow because they are the very fertile soil that helps them bloom.

“People will dig their own graves just so they can say that they have their own space”

(Not my art)

[borkinstein]

Childhood can be scary.

A collection of some of my hand-drawn horror looping animations!

[borkinstein]

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night and immediately experience imposter syndrome? Feeling off and not mentally grounded, yet…it’s almost welcoming? I pondered this while sitting upright and just staring at the dark abyss that lingered past my doorway, hearing the voices as they attempted to coax me by whispering sweet nothings…Especially his voice. That putrid, gurgling, quiet voice that I’ve gotten used to but is still able to make my skin crawl. Where did he come from? My suicidal thoughts? Perhaps the addiction I suffered and put myself through…or possibly my trauma that has became its own entity.

No matter the origin his purpose was to torment me and push certain limits that’ll nearly break me. Every attempt I’ve made to try and move on he’s right there in the corner of my eye and just glooms over me like dark storm cloud…Showering me in doubt and guilt so he can fuel my anxiety and self isolation. One thing I picked up on overtime is that he has an obsession with carousels the very foundation that led onto these series of nightmares…or past experiences that I’m reliving.

He’s here with me as I make this post after all, he is the main attraction. Just glaring at me with those dark and beady purple eyes hiding behind that severely damaged deer skull, his exposed rib cage stretched out as if they were the legs of an arachnid exposing this black tar like substance that was once his organs…Lastly his lengthy and boney talons that looked as if he’d sharpen them using an axel grinder.

For those who stoop on my posts, I’m nowhere near ending it as well allowing the sanity I have left within my fractured yet functioning mind. Oh. And his name? Glad i reminded myself, his name is: Kane. My hell bent familiar, every negative part of my mind meshed and molded into one entity…And these are the everlasting tales of Kane and Stein.

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When the rain drops hit against the window and make a symphony of tapping sounds… Most finding it soothing, some find it depressing, as for I? Find it terrifying. Sitting there at the foot of my bed looking beyond the stained now wet glass trying to find and muster whatever courage I had left deep within my fragile mind, to embrace mother natures now polluted tears. As I go to get up I suddenly froze into place looking down at the illuminated hardwood floors the old stand up lamp in the corner of my room giving it exposure, you could see the reflection of every rain drop piercing through the old red and yellow stained glass…As well the outlining of a figure casting over where I was frozen.

“Dear boy, you know what would happen if you go outside and join me right? Remember the carousel?” Even the his soft whispering and gurgling voice could pierce through the thick glass and be heard over the arrhythmic tapping of the rain.

Taking a moment to clear my throat as it was now becoming dry from the pure fear that was being pressed and forced down it, I was able to mutter the words: “I wasn’t there, you made me think that I was.” Looking down at the floor still and impulsively started to bite the corner of my bottom lip.

He simply responded with a faint sigh and following it up with a teasing giggle, without any warning of sound or time to react the dark figure was once again in the corner of my peripheral standing right by my night stand…Just about to give in and turn my head to him, he finally spoke again. “So why am I here? To make you think that you were?”

Attempting to make me frustrated just so he could get me to say more wouldn’t work this time… My simple plan was to get up, run to the front door, and embrace the rain. As I was about to put this plan into motion but it suddenly dawned on me. “Wait…Why are you inside, if you’re warning me not to go outside?” There was no response for a few moments.

I decided to slowly get up and turn to where he was once standing but to no surprise he wasn’t there anymore so I let out a short sigh of relief finally being able to gather my thoughts… That all ended abruptly when I heard a different tapping pattern from the rain hitting the windows it took me little time to realize what the harmony was. It was carousel music.

“Just because you let me in…Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you out. Take your medicine Stein.”

Waking up yet again to feel the gust of winds hitting me from my ceiling fan…I really wish I was a kid again, so I could enjoy what it’s like being outside again.

(Not my art.)

[borkinstein]

I sit as I watch the carousel spin

Taking in the surroundings with each gust of wind

In the corner of my eye i could still see him as his stench smelled of sin.

Mindlessly asking him “Will your burdens always remain within?” Not wanting to look at him.

Abruptly, the carousel stopped and my true fears started to set in.

He replied in a soft yet gurgling whisper “Ask yourself that because it was you who allowed me to come in”

Before I could even respond the carousel started to spin again.

Forgetting my burdens with each gust of wind as the scenery changed to my ceiling fan, laying there with bottle in hand.

Whispering to myself…I wish I was a kid again.

(Not my art)

[borkinstein]

Why hello, yes. This is dog!