I kept dreaming that photo shoot got me a job… in black and white. The nymphomaniac artist said she’s exploring the ambiguity of form and energy. They never found her body…listen to the rain and the crows. See, no wonder I dress in dresses and nylons and express a mutable gender. I am gonna make an erotic selfie photography book. Those were practice from last night vanishing into the mirror body and optics for paint. Do what you love, enjoy your work. Google+
Gonna set off a mirror box in the corner of the room after I shower to express emotion and mood and tone and psychology without showing the face or the eyes. or clothes, or a dick, or even color. Though why not? The lighting and shapes get set off so it’s more focused on composition. Sometimes a little gets lost though. Always the mediation in my mind as I shoot is the woman inside me or the sexless, the isolation of being physically alone and just like my fashion sense, the cock is extraneous, at the same time, there is no need to kill it or cut it or need to be another gender, lesbian with a built in sex toy intent to arouse or titillate or shock or aggrandize or warp or deceive or elude or bewilder? To what purpose? Psychology solo intimacy expose. Is money an agenda? a love of shape?
Gender harmonics, ambiguity abstract, sexual realism. Questions I ask myself and answer. A public study of fucking psychology, meanwhile I enjoy the adrenaline and emotional introspection. I do it w/ poetics to no financial avail. Do what you love, enjoy the process. Twitter doesn’t fucking pay me fuck for work. Write for love, you couldn’t pay me not to. Same as Twitter. But Twitter doesn’t pay and I need to drink and smoke and enjoy my fucking life not being broke.
Should I keep the two separate? Why should I when I don’t have to. Censor myself or blindfold the world to who I am? Why accommodate haters? Why care about the sensitivity of an audience that does nothing for me anyway? Fuck penguin! Penguin don’t give a fuck. Publish & own myself. My family and loved ones already know I’m fucking crazy & exist in a mind space that is post sexual normality. Am I worried I’ll go to hell?
Interesting how even for me, a person who is pretty much fearless and practiced and knows who I am, how much guts it takes to go all the way. You can flirt with fear or kill it. Why look? Create your own solutions, the intent is to have fun, hair removal as a tax write off. All the silly shit people tell broke ones “maybe you should get into modeling” Taking off my fucking clothes and shooting myself is not the end of the road, it’s the beginning of the fun part of my adventures in living.
The mirrors are all set.