The irreverent and revolutionary Old skull, the spirit of fun. Skulls were used in the old traditions of satirical and ridiculous poems making social criticism and protest, dates 500 years ago. Also had been used in different plays like the ”Dance of Death” in the 14th century. People needed satire to help deal with the grim world (plagues and diseases) around them. But the symbol emerged in Mexico as a means of expression especially used with roguish and ironic tones against the nobles and powerful of the viceroy times. It is also used during the celebration of the day of the death.

This is our tribute to the fearsome and honorable lady samurai of Japan, Onna-Bugeisha.

Warriors like the courageous Empress Jingū who defied the social norms of her time, or the menacing and loyal Tomoe Gozen, who according to the 13th century poem the Song of Heike, was a reckless horsewoman to whom neither the bravest horse nor the most rugged land could intimidate, capable of, with her skillful handling of the sword and the arch, face a thousand fierce warriors; or the intrepid Nakato Takeko who instructed in the martial arts of the naginata, directed the famous independent female unit Joshitai and before being captured by her enemies, asked her sister to cut off her head, following the Seppuku ritual.

The image of the shirt is an adaptation of Tomoe Gozen portrayed by Kikuchi Yōsai.

Many the biased lives, many the desolate lands and many their names under which the deadly and deadly lady with the scythe is camouflaged. Whether they are the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse, the black plagues or the fearsome pandemics that devastated humanity. It all starts with the dire omens that announce his coming, the sinister squawk of the crows and the dark songs of the owl, then the sepulchral darkness plunges us into a deep sleep from which we will not awaken. The Exodus tells us of the arrival of 10 plagues (מכות מצרים) that fell on Egypt, in the form of blood first staining its rivers; invaded by frogs, lice, flies and lobsters; like pests and diseases on humans and livestock, until plunging into blackness with the death of the firstborn. Will we be saved from the abyss?

There is a legend that says that in a place in the Pacific called Teaoturoa, lived a handsome warrior named Mataora who was captivated by the exotic and irresistible beauty of a woman from the underworld, daughter of Uetonga, descendant of the goddess of the night and the god of earthquakes and named Niwareka. He was so captivated that he asked her to marry him and she agreed to stay in his world. Things worked until one unfortunate day the brave Mataora went into a rage and violently mistreated the princess. Drowning in her sadness, she left her husband, returning to Rarohenga, to her old underground life. The clouds wept, the trees screamed, the rivers bled ... the warrior's supplications echoed in the depths of the earth. Sorry for his actions, he descended in search of his beloved to implore her forgiveness. Uetonga, who recognized him when he arrived, gave a great laugh because the hero's body paint had been erased along the way. Naked with shame, he exposed his pain in tears of regret, to which the merciful King forgave him by permanently tattooing him and showing him the art of Ta Moko. Reconciled, they returned from the afterlife, where they taught generation after generation this traditional Maori tattoo technique from New Zealand.

There is a legend that says that in a place in the Pacific called Teaoturoa, lived a handsome warrior named Mataora who was captivated by the exotic and irresistible beauty of a woman from the underworld, daughter of Uetonga, descendant of the goddess of the night and the god of earthquakes and named Niwareka. He was so captivated that he asked her to marry him and she agreed to stay in his world. Things worked until one unfortunate day the brave Mataora went into a rage and violently mistreated the princess. Drowning in her sadness, she left her husband, returning to Rarohenga, to her old underground life. The clouds wept, the trees screamed, the rivers bled ... the warrior's supplications echoed in the depths of the earth. Sorry for his actions, he descended in search of his beloved to implore her forgiveness. Uetonga, who recognized him when he arrived, gave a great laugh because the hero's body paint had been erased along the way. Naked with shame, he exposed his pain in tears of regret, to which the merciful King forgave him by permanently tattooing him and showing him the art of Ta Moko. Reconciled, they returned from the afterlife, where they taught generation after generation this traditional Maori tattoo technique from New Zealand.

There is a legend that says that in a place in the Pacific called Teaoturoa, lived a handsome warrior named Mataora who was captivated by the exotic and irresistible beauty of a woman from the underworld, daughter of Uetonga, descendant of the goddess of the night and the god of earthquakes and named Niwareka. He was so captivated that he asked her to marry him and she agreed to stay in his world. Things worked until one unfortunate day the brave Mataora went into a rage and violently mistreated the princess. Drowning in her sadness, she left her husband, returning to Rarohenga, to her old underground life. The clouds wept, the trees screamed, the rivers bled ... the warrior's supplications echoed in the depths of the earth. Sorry for his actions, he descended in search of his beloved to implore her forgiveness. Uetonga, who recognized him when he arrived, gave a great laugh because the hero's body paint had been erased along the way. Naked with shame, he exposed his pain in tears of regret, to which the merciful King forgave him by permanently tattooing him and showing him the art of Ta Moko. Reconciled, they returned from the afterlife, where they taught generation after generation this traditional Maori tattoo technique from New Zealand.

The first warriors of the Iberian Peninsula were fierce and faithful Iberians who defended with their death their warlords. They were expert riders who carried bows, arrows and the feared Falcata that they used until the end of the battle. Just like the men, the women, in addition to devoting themselves to cattle and cultivation, also participated in the warrior life and in the Assembly where the important decisions of the tribal states were taken. Dedicated to the cult of female deities (symbol of creation & fertility), they also offered rites to the Sun and the Moon. In their temples, adorned with sculptures of sacred wolves —representing the warrior ardour, the cult of the night, the guide in the beyond— magical ceremonies were celebrated by priestesses such as the famous Lady of Elche.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

We are the horsemen who ride with beasts of pipes and steel based on black fuel, in this hostile land, the roads are nightmares, the cities are deserts and humanity feeds on men... the leaders cannot stop this avalanche, the storm from fear…

Driven by this confusion full of frustrated dreams, we unscrupulously take revenge on the burdens, we will annihilate with our sword, with hunger, with death and with the beasts...

The great earthquake dyes the sun black and the blood moon, the stars fall from the sky...

The great day has come... in the midst of this chaos hope will resurface...

We are the horsemen who ride with beasts of pipes and steel based on black fuel, in this hostile land, the roads are nightmares, the cities are deserts and humanity feeds on men... the leaders cannot stop this avalanche, the storm from fear…

Driven by this confusion full of frustrated dreams, we unscrupulously take revenge on the burdens, we will annihilate with our sword, with hunger, with death and with the beasts...

The great earthquake dyes the sun black and the blood moon, the stars fall from the sky...

The great day has come... in the midst of this chaos hope will resurface...

La Estantigua (in Castilian tradition), Güestia or Bona Xente (in Asturian mythology), Corteju de Genti de Muerti (in Extremadura), Estadea (in Zamora), Hueste de Ánimas (in León), Vision, La Huespeda… different names to refer to the Santa Compaña, that group of wandering hooded ghosts, a dark army of souls in pain that wandered in the gloomy night through the towns, forests and crossroads as an omen of death. To know its origin, we must go back to Germanic paganism (Wild Hunt — whose evolution under the medieval Christian veil would give the gloomy spectral procession Mesnie Hellequin—) and Celtic (the Sluagh or the Fairy Host) related to omens of wars, plagues, diseases future and acts of gathering souls.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

Quién eres? De dónde vienes?

No importa, de muy lejos. Venía a conquistar tu tierra, pero ya no puedo…

Inténtalo si te atreves!!, ¿acaso crees que no domino el arte de la naginata?

No voy a luchar contigo… ¿Y eso? ¿el aroma a sakura ha nublado tu ardor guerrero?

Quizá, pero ahora sé que no he surcado con mis naves hasta los confines del universo solo para someteros

¿Someternos? Jamás os vi ni oí hablar de vosotros, pero tu odio jamás nos detendrá…

¿Es que no lo entiendes? No son tu sol, tu espada y tus crisantemos blancos por lo que descansa mi furia

Quédate entonces y verás florecer los cerezos…

This is our tribute to the fearsome and honorable lady samurai of Japan, Onna-Bugeisha.

Warriors like the courageous Empress Jingū who defied the social norms of her time, or the menacing and loyal Tomoe Gozen, who according to the 13th century poem the Song of Heike, was a reckless horsewoman to whom neither the bravest horse nor the most rugged land could intimidate, capable of, with her skillful handling of the sword and the arch, face a thousand fierce warriors; or the intrepid Nakato Takeko who instructed in the martial arts of the naginata, directed the famous independent female unit Joshitai and before being captured by her enemies, asked her sister to cut off her head, following the Seppuku ritual.

The image of the shirt is an adaptation of Tomoe Gozen portrayed by Kikuchi Yōsai.

This is our tribute to the fearsome and honorable lady samurai of Japan, Onna-Bugeisha.

Warriors like the courageous Empress Jingū who defied the social norms of her time, or the menacing and loyal Tomoe Gozen, who according to the 13th century poem the Song of Heike, was a reckless horsewoman to whom neither the bravest horse nor the most rugged land could intimidate, capable of, with her skillful handling of the sword and the arch, face a thousand fierce warriors; or the intrepid Nakato Takeko who instructed in the martial arts of the naginata, directed the famous independent female unit Joshitai and before being captured by her enemies, asked her sister to cut off her head, following the Seppuku ritual.

The image of the shirt is an adaptation of Tomoe Gozen portrayed by Kikuchi Yōsai.

You were a humble peasant who barely knew how to read & write. In your native Domremí countryside you heard voices & embarked on an uncertain destiny to liberate France from the English. Together with your faithful soldiers, you raised your banner & launched yourself in suicidal acts until liberating the siege of Orleans & crowning your dolphin. That was your glorious rise that preceded your terrible end. They betrayed you & accused you of heresy. A scorching fire ended your life.

Were you perhaps God's chosen one or a madwoman driven by schizophrenia & hallucinations? Be that as it may, you were the maiden acclaimed by your people, the fervent heroine that you faced against all the powers of the earth until you almost won the Hundred Years War. Today Joan, your name is already a legend.

Listen to her desires, there is no calm from where to escape, the intensity of her pain is revealed which encloses the secret in a ritual of beats about to explode. The essence of light at the heart of her formula: Ode to freedom, an irreverent burst of daring that awakens consciences, melt into the encounter of civilizations, the tension finally gives way to lethal caresses that confine hatred and envelop it in the depths. Crucible of Cultures, catalyst of life. Redeeming Apocalypse. Listen inside, there is no longer anguish and pain. A new horizon enriches her soul.

Sailors be careful as you approach the coasts of being caught by the songs of the mermaids. You will be absorbed in their melodies, their voices will invite you to pleasure & you will forget everything else. These young maidens, with shiny scales, fear nothing, that although they descend from the depths, from the darkness & the cold, their hearts are warm. Legend has it that Ulises was close to crossing the gates of Hades when hearing his seductive music if it were not because he tied himself to a mast so that he could not throw himself into the waters. Who does not want in exchange for a tragic but beautiful ending to continue dreaming, imagining to escape the sad reality? Let's be dreamers and fight for a world where imagination do not end up leaving the mermaids themselves stranded.