What is it about the power of the image/ although I am an artist with the word,
I am drawn to self expression thru multi media..some photos are pure visceral poetry in and of themselves.
In my study of myself as object..I see something attempting to break out, to break free.
Motion, E/motion/in motion..
I am as carnal and embodied as I am cerebral..
I have become unbalanced …physical poetry , my body and the body of others as canvas can no longer not be twinned in my search to self express.
monstrous this captivity.
self imposed and waning..
there is pain and there is joy in the incarnated form. I am not all mind.
Pinned. Exhibit F.
I long to dance.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me..
from Tommy/the Who
Deadly this catatonic speechless insomnia of the body self.
When looking at porn, so many of the pictures present the subjects of the photo as static, to be possessed by the viewer, all there solely for the discreet pleasure of the one who would appropriate, the viewer.
However, when the subject..looks back at the viewer, says fuck you, I see you looking at me,
I SEE you..the power exchange is turned on its tail..
there is an ironic inverse..
The subject-object appropriates the viewer’s gaze
this is a power stance
and it a complete different sensation to experience than
passive beauty, no matter how dark and threatening the get up.
Is the subject objectifying the viewer…???
poecatt’s smirk for the day..
When I see others’ art of this nature, I am drawn into the force of their pyschic persona, not simply their corporeal body.
Who , I wonder then, is actually eating who?
In erotic trancing power exchange..both feel the draw…
you think looking at her breasts is hot..look into the eyes of a woman who knows herself powerfully as subject AND object..I dare you…
Something for both submissives and Dominants to give thought to..
You are a cunt.
As in ” Oops, Sorry,I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings..I was aiming for your balls.”
Not my quote, but I love it..
Seriously..said as kitten rolls around the floor in a small wickedly self indulgent fit..
I have been thinking lately about the things that have gone into the “making of my cunt.”
My submissive little cunt.
It always fascinates me when people share with me..male and female..and all shades between..O! our cursed binary system..
reflections on the SEMINAL moments in their
We all carry them..moments that we take to our graves..innocent, harsh, bittersweet, mindblowing..completely individual and idiosyncratic moments that somehow shaped and defined who you are.
I recall one such moment that hinted of things to come. No pun.It was the first time..ah..when someone said “good girl” to me.
Beleive it or not, I recall such a powerful and immediate reaction that what I almost said out loud..(Thankfully I could not..laughing here..I was restrained from speaking….)
It was such a visceral shock..such a hi..I did not have time to processs..but every little synaptic connection fired on overtime..
I knew something was happening..
It fascinates me ..what shapes us..it remains enigmatic..I don’t like to overly analyse these things..
but I do like to ponder them. I was sharing with someone the other day how when 18 and living far from home, one sultry hot evening I entered a repetory theatre..simply for the air conditioning..and wound up blown away by Marlon Brando’s performance in Last Tango in Paris.
I recall frowning at the screen, dumbstruck by his character’s journey..his intense need for a nameless encounter while mourning the suicide of his wife, and how, despite himself and his blunt edged cruelty..he falls in love.
Even at that age, I had a keen awareness of the dragon we carry inside..the magic, the pain, the wonder and the sublimely rediculous thing that is our sexuality.
Somehow I think we dont’t pay homage enough to the mystery when we label ourselves too neatly..if we are open..it is a mystery we carry a lifetime.
My grandmother ..god love her..is in her nineties, a tiny evil cackling little thing who still lusts..sigh..I see my future..
Soaking up what ever rays I can find..