Scene and Arts de vivre
My art of living is nourished by the joyful obscenity of childhood; disguises, make-up, genitals manipulated like toys and sexualities...
energy
My art of living is nourished by the joyful obscenity of childhood; disguises, make-up, genitals manipulated like toys and sexualities...
Me, I spend my nights in the shelter. From everything. Sheltered from you, in spite of your suavely mellow voice that's so concerned with radio, hygienic and concerned.
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.
Violence and harshness are in the air. "Fond d'âme mental", a poetic text written on November 1, 2015, before the terror came.
Writing relieves the tension of over-thinking, stops the bleeding, cauterizes the sense, temporarily closes the still moist wound.
It is up to certain libertines to want to escape the "mawkishness of free sex" from which they claim to be exempt.
In the theater of degradation... we go to great lengths to chain together beautiful images "in homage to..." At the Generator, we put our strength into the art of creation.
I am a plant, an animal, an asteroid or a living room bench... I am whatever my imagination can make of me.
There's the work that we don't do, that makes other works do... that feeds them all the time... the great mass that is huge... it's beautiful... good night...
First sleepless night. I have become accustomed to seeing my nights as a succession of hours and not as a whole stretch that opposes the day.