Infant terrible

infant terrible

She is a she. She must be careful and strain herself. When she does things not permitted for girls she is putting something out of balance and finding stability of her own, which is incomprehensible, unsafe and exciting. Norms for girl behavior are very strict, therefore they are fairly simple to break, if one has the nerve to do it and become infant terrible. Punishments will of course be severe, results somewhat expected and the girl will be shut out as she is improper, stupid, intolerable, smelly and dirty, always in trouble for testing limits set by adults. In the end all she tests is herself and where she can go with small gestures, small cracks in reality, cracks made by her that got bigger.

She farts loudly in a restaurant (small farts smell the worst, but bigger farts make a disturbing element in a sophisticated environment). She starts singing in a bus when everyone else is silent, unexpected noise and clearly retarded. She pours milk on the table and strikes the glass out on the parquet leaving a dent on it. Naughty girl, what is wrong with you. Is that all what happens? It does not take much to become a talking topic. She sees woman on a balcony below her and pours water on her head.

Anyone ever wondered what kind of an influence one’s sex, origin and looks have in life in general and in the arts?

I claim they have more significance than anyone cares to admit. Vanity industries do pay attention to the surface much more than I and I am shocked when what I wear is paid more attention to than what kind of art I do or my looks tell what I am capable of (with which I like to play with). How much is it in the interests of the arts to keep stereotypes alive or whose interests are in question all in all, because they are not mine? One can wonder and it is truly weird one has to keep up appearance and act upon one’s appearance. I make this assumption, I should act according to my sex, sex and gender are always an issue, and appearance, because such is my strongest asset? What is the appearance of an artist today, a businessman who functions like a machine, is efficient and more importantly is male? Clichés are so much alive, I wonder the speed of progress. (What progress?) Things that instantly come to your mind when you see someone, what do they tell of you?

BTW, any modelling agency hire 45yrs old? That would be a career change, lol. Oh no, I should lose weight.

River of no return

How many takes?
She was very sweet. She was a comedian. She was very shy. She was fuck me. She was very uncomfortable. She was convinced, she was not very sexy and pretty. She didn’t have an aura of sexiness about her. There was some magic about her, she would play at it. She would burlesque it. She seemed like a lost child. It seemed to her like Alice in Wonderland and she could not believe it. Anybody was very serious about her. She really felt she didn’t have the inner qualifications to fulfil the image of a sex goddess. She thought that the whole thing was a lie, because it was not her. She would never feel worthy. She was very very difficult. She was vulnerable. She was weak. She was teary. She was struggling. She was falling apart. She was hurt. She was an addict. She was needy. She was difficult. She was in pain. She was adorable. She was drunk. She was nice. She was childlike. She was late. She was lovely. She was hanging on. She was calling me. She was calling everybody. She was caring. She was unprofessional. She was sexy. She was beautiful. She was funny. She was doing the thing that was wanted of her, she was not doing what she wanted.

Perform a blowjob in a gallery space. Museum space would be even better.

Perform a blowjob in a gallery space, a museum space is even better.

Instructions: You are among a crowd (friends). Get slightly drunk. Offer a man to get down on him right now in front of all these people you do not know (friends). Fall on your knees and lick his crotch. Open his belt and caress his thighs. Be graphic. If he refuses follow him on your knees. Tell you are very good at it. Ask in front of everybody, if it is ok to perform in front of everybody and perform anyway. Be loud, say please. Ask why he refuses. Don’t you like it? Don’t stop, follow him. Be persistent. Say it is good fun and that you are cheap. If he is not willing ask why. I am not cheap enough, you ask. Say you are desperate. Say that you have heard you like it, I’m sure you’ll like it. Look at my mouth, say. Tell it is good fun and you have been dreaming about doing it exactly with someone like you. I like your smile. Don’t stop until you are removed and kicked out of the place for disturbance and continue to do it outside gallery space.

Another idea: Hire a male prostitute and go to a museum opening among people you do not know (friends and colleagues). When speeches are over and people are enjoying cocktails, themselves, choose a visible spot. Go on your knees and give the male prostitute a good old-fashioned blowjob. Don’t forget to swallow. Don’t stop sucking his penis even though you will be interrupted and told to get lost. Talk dirty, shout loudly and laugh, lick everything.

Perform a blowjob in a gallery space.

Language of turquoise

Excavator on a star looks lonely and abandoned. A horse called Flight was difficult to handle. The animal was sizeable and white. Only one who it let ride was a girl and I thought she was the bravest person I had ever met. I use to like to watch them work together in perfect harmony. The abused and hurt horse, beautiful and enraged, and the only one who could touch its white. How are we the same? What is the same? Why do you seek similarity? Why do you want to be safe with people like yourself?

Puta Madre conceptual garden sub specie Aeternitatis, where every deed happens: truth is a bitch.  Say the truth and you will be smacked around. Out-of-place, naturally dislocated.

Nymphaea looked for her earring on living room floor carpet. She said she has bad eyes. Great Horned Owl in her, in her bra was tightly pressured against her skin. Wanted to study her pressure marks, sunken bloodless steps on her, leaps of red. I thought it must have hurt to wear such bra. To wear underwear she did shaping her form. She always had a nightgown for me with a cartoon figure. I loved her furniture. She hung her jewelry on corners of her dressing table with oval shaped mirror. Smelling her bottles, her sheets, her plastic pearls, her things, her and valuables, details, piled magazines in her closet. Hers, language of her. I looked for it through her hanging clothes sitting on the floor. I poured everything that was in the box on the floor. Language of clichés,
language of beauty
language of trauma
language of banality
language of architecture
language of aggression
language of being a child
language of being alive
language of acting out
language of close
language of an old woman
language of dust
language of turquoise. 

Drawn on to ground

Call it divine, call it repetition of the name, repetition of the sound, call it repetition of the act, the same movement, the same fear and hate in the call,
do not expect the same, expect the worst, do not expect the sane, expect lunacy, expect your narrowest nightmare corridor with mass of people in it with you unable to breathe, with them and their smell, unwashed.
Call it hypothetical trust, blind hypothetical trust, insane hypothetical belief, expect the unseen, the unknown purity command, fury, need to make the idea of purity happen in black. See the flag, see the scarfs, see the eyes. Nothing will turn their heads around from this mission. Nothing. Crisis is in not negotiable in smallest space, in smallest breaths inhaled in passing out with the rest.

ThreatExpect the crisis, threatExpect the hurt, threatExpect the ill, it will come, it will be a terrorist, call it a terrorist, call it an organization Terrrrrrrrroriiiiiist. Terrrrrrrrrrrroriiiiist! It will be an explosion, a blast. Call it what you will, call it fear, terror, tyranny, call it many of who were hurt, many of those who are dead. Call it your blind heart, call it answer of the kind heart.

It is not a comical POW. It is not a comical savage. It is the hidden savage of Christ, the one you deny, the one you do not want to acknowledge, because it is in you, in your religion. Smell of divine captivated, taken, imprisoned. Moral imperative making monsters, sounds of this world, being a monster in an acceptable way, the same way as chanting righteousness, justice, superiority. Us and them, haven and threat, Paradise of safety and Hell of the uncovered. Those who did what they had to do. Those who accomplish God’s plan to save what there is for us to be saved, next to nothing. Standing next to nothing, next to a plan of salvation drawn on to ground.

I’m a slave 4 u./Climax cave

uhh baby yes harder   (is this a woman?).
Give it to me baby nice and slow   (is this a woman too?).
Yes harder, but be nice and slow.
That requires talent to do hard and be nice simultaneously. Niceness is of course the outcome of sex, self-evidently pleasurable. To be hard and nice is a lovely contradiction and combination what comes to having sex. It is like bringing up children, be firm but loving. Know what you are doing and what is wanted of you. Funny is how these pornographic clichés work. They must work because they are used quite much. Horny is a state of mind of the contemporary world.
Level of arousal and intoxication of upcoming orgasm is a state of overwhelming simplicity of sudden feel good.

Niceness and slowness, coming. What a disgusting image of drooling. Self-centered pleasure hunt. Where there is a cunt. Give it to me. What do I get in return? Is it a give and take? Sexist power play where there is something for oneself only. Good time for me, only, but you must get something out of it too. Yea, sure I want exactly the same thing as you, and I want to give everything to you, because we are the same mind, we want the same pleasure. In mutual understanding I provide your ecstasy.

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