Light ivory
Thinking of oneself as an artistic endeavour is a complex process. Why write? Perhaps simply to feed the flow of things.
identity
Thinking of oneself as an artistic endeavour is a complex process. Why write? Perhaps simply to feed the flow of things.
A new free and raw blog, as a necessary refuge for the written word. A little secret but not stuttering and spontaneously readable for anyone who would like to come there.
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 art of living is nourished by the joyful obscenity of childhood; disguises, make-up, genitals manipulated like toys and sexualities...
My pornography is the rejoicing space of my excitement and the voluptuous retreat of my tranquility. It is the sunny resort of my thoughts.
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.
"Childhood of art", not in the sense of simplicity (can childhood be simple?), but understood as the dawn of another form: the staging of a site.
An ode to the exhibition in the form of an initiatory journey. The fantastical universe of a man subjected to his sex and his journey towards his desire for nudity.