|Christina invited Lohbado for a drink of Jagermeister|
Saturday, May 31, 2014
He got hyper, too much thinking, mind out of control. Demons emerged from his mind and danced around. Drooling and laughing they stared at Lohbado. They communicated directly into his thought stream.
You are a prisoner of your own thinking, they seemed to say. Why do you insist on speaking so much nonsense? On the other hand, it’s not important. No need to exaggerate. Just don't do anything you might regret.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Friday, May 23, 2014
|ink on paper|
|colourized Lohbado drawing|
Lohbado moved into a gardener’s cabin on an estate partially ruined ten years ago during the Apocalyptic War. A gardener used to live there, in a white washed cabin with a green shingle roof, surrounded by a stand of fruit trees, crabapple, plum and a mountain ash. It attracted song birds in the summer and crows and bluejays during the winter.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
|two pages from a Lohbado book|
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
|Jan taken by surprise|
Monday, May 19, 2014
Saturday, May 17, 2014
|lohbado on the road|
|from Lohbado's image library|
No beginning and no end to the road, a while back, Lohbado drove an old road. Cracks in the pavement caught his fancy. He pulled over to study them and to take a few pictures. The road is an old analogy, driven to death, from birth to death. It gets worn, cracked and broken along the way.
Another analogy is food. Being born is like when a plate of food is placed on the table. One eats and gets eaten. One goes through the digestive tract of existence. One's corpse is buried or burned. The body returns to the elements. Another body is born.
The soul is like water in the glass. Identity is a like a glass container made out of DNA, education, economic and social status. One's consciousness is a set of opinions, beliefs, habits, thoughts. When the glass breaks, when the body becomes a corpse, the water in the glass spills on the ground, evaporates, flows back into the ocean, or whatever.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
For six nights, six hours and six seconds parasites attacked Lohbado, as he slept under the overhanging rock. He woke up, his skin burning. Dr. Stone pronounced Lohbado dead after he staggered into a walk-in clinic. He was dead, but had been given an extention, a kind of earthly purgatory, or a bardo, an in-between period of what could be happening between the end of life and the beginning of death.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Lohbado was struck by how light and sky reflected on the windows of a school gymnasium down the street. The beauty of the blue windows and pale red brick startled him from a day dream. It's strange how one spends time in various worlds. There's the immediate world of sight and sound. Then there's the world of thinking, day dream, fantasy or stupor. Lohbado realized he spent a lot of time on automatic pilot, barely noticing what goes on. After he retired, Lohbado slowed down and began to appreciate the flowers along the way.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
|photos from Lohbado's image library|
Lohbado contacted a virus, which developed into parasites, while crossing the Plains of Radiation. He awoke one morning, after sleeping under a rocky overhang, skin burning. Red patches and swellings itched from head to foot, another affliction, so be it. Lohbado squeezed cranberry and blue berry juice, mixed it with some mucous and mud and applied it to the swelling rashes on his lower back, shoulder blades, neck, chest, legs and arms. Little worms, about the length of a fingernail poked their heads out of his forehead. They nested in Lohbado’s frontal lobes.