Manster or Mon? Part Three

Mountains reach the sky. A man is ever-changing, like a young mountain. He wishes to meet great heights. He conspires to rise to the top of the mountain. Climbing to live, not just to climb. He would ascend to the heavens. Ascension of thought and progression. If it's a man's world, I don't want to be king. Man would reach the stars and never look back.

Twisted and contorted become our pasts with every hike uphill. Landmarks travel with us in spirit and manifest in strange ways in the physical world. The more they twist the farther the memory gets away from us. Our icons start to become our past. Man is lost for words, and when he's not, he's just lost. Keep one eye on the future and one foot in the past. So, the saying goes. Man does always seem to repeat past mistakes. Some far in the past and others looming in our near future.

Sometimes we descend from the mountain, covered in snow. Draped in it. Stuck to one's sides. At times we are worse for wear when all the snow settles. We come down feeling like some abominable snow beast. We scream in discontented confusion. Illusions dilute us from contending delusions. Say that five times fast. Ice-capped we must scream in frustration. Insert frustrated scream. Like Captain America frozen in ice, screaming for help. Man was meant to be thawed. Thawed and full of spirit. He hungers for change. And beef.

In spirit and of mind is he changed. Every ounce of him burning bright and hot. Transformative in outward appearance and aura. Aliens of a sort are all around him. The things around him don't feel quite right. They are foreign objects to him. He tries to steady his footing. Fighting an inner battle. Twisting between tech and alien entities. Shifting focus between fighting and giving up. Man must choose to keep going forward or lie dead in his tracks. Some people just want to give up. And then some actually do give up.

Rigor mortis had long set in. The snow is almost completely gone. Visage is changed into a yellow, bloating corpse. The weight is too much for one person to bare. If they don't have a line of emotional support, it can easily fall apart. Be accountable and call the same person every day. Line up support members; therapists, counselors, group meetings, online meetings, etc... If a man has no plan, what kind of man is he? Self-care saves lives. I said it, self-care saves lives. Some of us fall under the weight of pressure easier than others. Even fewer can get themselves back up and change their point of view. As we slowly die, we are still left screaming. Screaming to be heard. Screaming to matter. What legacy is left behind but the chaotic screams, instead of the good times? The tongue begins to putrify as he is frozen in the last scream. Degradation is slowly approaching.

Forcing himself into the darkness he would never escape from. No lifeline to be heard of. No plan could be set into motion. Now it's playing it by ear. Left here rotting as the birds swoop and peck at me. Basically a buffet for the avian variety. Not a huge paying crowd. Oh sorry, flock. Gotta be politically correct. Flock!...

The flesh has been torn from its owner. The ghastly photograph of his corpse is forever etched into my brain. Imprinted to DNA that cannot be changed. Will someone bury me or leave me to become a necrotic paperweight? He was once a mountain, now kept papers from flying away. How things have changed.

*I created this series to express how I sometimes feel in this world. I wanted words to match images, yet left to be interpreted. Art is subjective after all. I just lead you there. Please let me know how you feel about these pieces. Leave comments and show some love. If the series is a big enough hit I'd like to commit to ongoing series of works.

-Artwork created using Starryai art generator.

-Panels and Filters by Comica.

-Image to PDF for transfers.

-Adobe Acrobat