My Sex Art
Whether it is scenic, textual, sound, visual or graphic, my art is exclusively sexual. It is rooted in a fascination with our bodies.
balls
Whether it is scenic, textual, sound, visual or graphic, my art is exclusively sexual. It is rooted in a fascination with our bodies.
My cock jerked off. Appearance soft or carnally aggressive, shocking, the urge to suck undulates. "Say, draw me a penis! »
Oh, my sex, you coppery piece of meat! Hey you! Touch her. That's how the body is made. To deny it is pure nonsense. Whether you like it or not.
I saw the penis, the little sister of a wanker, and from the height of its erect shaft, it said to me: "Eat, this is my sex! Drink, this is my sperm".
My dick is my friend. It's my boy's prerogative. I like to be what I am in the first place. I love my erect sex as much as I love my flaccid sex.
To decry sexual exhibition is to deny the reality of coitus, the most banal of our realities, in favour of an illusion of self, the mother of all violence.
Is it then inconceivable to desire to simply claim the lovable beauty of one's own purses, those simple balls that I cherish, my testicles?
My hatred, healthy and simple, pure and shining like a shard of glass in the sun, for the opponents and detractors of marriage for all.
Scam; burning lie! The vigour of the body dominates all the wisdom of the old. The human is only true through the bluff of its characters.