Direct eye contact and a wrist like that is not an...

Death-obsessed and liminal; demarcating a visceral junction of the gay, the grotesque and the wildly overstated. It's something like grafting the rot of ages onto the depravity of Classicism, or maybe like putting a dress on dirt; in there exists a fragmented and bent aesthetic --- with occasional taxidermy. This is my journal, my sketchbook, my card index. Think recombination, schism, suture, graft and
shard; Chrysalis, threshold, shattered mirror jarred.

Direct eye contact and a wrist like that is not an invitation for sex, SLUTWALK has taught me, but if this is on some glammed-out cross-continental euro sleeper train I am going bust my buttonflies and hear the rivets tink across the floor and under the fridge or something.

Reminds me immensely of my first love, the Tsar

1 ♥ / 14 February, 2012

mommyslittlefaggot liked this
thecuntoftheminotaur posted this

← Newer
/ Older →