there is something definately very sexual about macro photography...
i love to sense curves, to feel my way around a body, to glide and hover above the surface, barely touching it, and yet running close enough to feel the slightest of shudders.
everything feels so smooth. the glide, the body, the surface, the lips, the skin.
velvet
the delicate flirt between my eye and the object is like my hand sliding blindly across a body to feel every change in reaction in the sole quest of pleasure.
when you glide across your subject, you shink to the size of an insect and discover the micro world. you ride the helter skelter with such speed, and yet so smoothly everything becomes as comfortably vertiginous as the confusion and dizziness of an intense ejaculation.
pleasure for the eye
pleasure for the palet
pleasure for the mind
it doesn't compensate for the lack of sex, but it can get quite close.
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day"Frank Sinatra
I wonder if it's because the weather is so fucking bad...
i mean, shit, it's summer in a couple of days, and it's pissing down, and barely warm...
so, i was wondering if it was the weather that had made me into a lethargic mollusc.
no more impluse. no more great ideas. no more talking. the whole concept of carpe diem has been shelved... [ a bit like when Ghandi was asked about western civilisation, and that he replied that it seemed like a good idea).
whatever happened to the great food projects, the country house, the travels around the world, the week long sex sessions, the loud music, the bright pink paintings, the 8 foot light designs,the fantastic photos, the 3 o'clock in the morning walks across town, tha adis prit unda tha Eileff towa...
... to start anew, i must wipe the slate clean...
... funny, because molluscs usually like damp weather.
my mother died 31 years ago today.
it's the first time i actually realise that.
it's hard to think about it, let alone write or talk about it.
with experience, i realise what i have "suffered" because of her absence.
with experience i realise that i am who i am mainly because i have "missed out" on this maternal love.
with hindsight, i realise how i have managed to compensate this, and that still now, more than ever, i compensate this gap, this hole, this mighty emotional chasm that lies before me and that i try to bridge this gutter however i can, everyday of my life. more than ever i think of this manque and how it has shaped my life, influenced my decisions [or lack of them], modeled my reactions, and above all directed my relationship with women. more than ever, i realise that my ombilical cord has never really been cut and that if it had been cut, i would be someone else, and definately not typing out these words. I embrace this link. to be honest, it is probably this link that i try to emulate with the women i meet (I need some serious analysing before getting into that one...). it's sort of reasuring knowing that the cord is still there. it gives me the impression that she is my guardian angel, still looking over me... and i truely believe that. i know that i've been very lucky and fortunate in life up until now, but i really think that i have a "bon œil" looking after me.
31 years.
yes, all of a sudden i feel a little older.
31 years and i still think of her.
31 years and i still miss her,
so i compensate,
and so,
i am not who i really am...
... or should be,
but,
i like who i have become.
© Steve Bell/The Guardian
... yes indeed, he did it his way...
...Thanks Mr. Bell for once again being so witty and so true...
Brussels, home of the sprout, Hercule Poirot, the Manneken Pis, chocolate, beer, comic books, design, chips (fries), and for some reason FORTIS BANK (anybody who finds another bank wins a Mars bar)... brilliant or what ?
well it all began on the wrong foot (literally)
when looking for the hotel i got the directions COMPLETELY wrong which earned us a rather long walk about the town... mmm, then the hotel...
four fucking stars, a whole load of praise and PR bullshit, and you sleep in an IKEA showroom in which you have TWO SINGLE beds as opposed to a fucking-huge-fuck-me-over-king-size-bed...
i was not impressed...
...neither was my superheroine
the WHITE HOTEL is now officially blacklisted
and then, you get this shiver and wonder how bad things could possibly get...
... diner and bed...
they next day, it was supposed to rain... but they got it wrong again...
[the weather report ; the peoples new opium; they talk crap and you blindly walk into it...]It was a day of many FIRST's :
• i bought an eyebrow pencil for the first time
• actually had fun, shoe shopping for the first time
• ate a Fricadelle for the first time
• got very drunk on beer for the very first time [for once that SuperTwinky lost her super drinking powers and was in a sadder state than me !! tee! hee!]
• ate a carbonnade for the very first time too
... diner and bed...
the next day, was a day that should have been spent in bed, drinking tea, eating big macs and pizzas, reading the sunday papers, watching silly movies and having slow sex... hotel check out time was noon...
-> welcome to the real world lead head <-
walking around in a haze was magical. It's such a great impression to feel the hand - no matter how sublte or how soft the touch - of the one you love stroke you; the contact conveys so much affection and love in such a short space of time, it's electrical...
48 hours in Brussels.
lots of walking
lots of beer
lots of chips & mayo
no sex
no regrets
... had we sexed just a bit, the week-end would have been perfect...
there is something definately very sexual about macro photography...
