fresh symbols

Rising in the Dew!!!

Hmmmmmn, surround smell!

Barbra

On Friday night I went to see my parents. Both of them have been reading Les memoires d’Hadrien. Before going to bed we played Barbra Streisand’s A woman in love and they danced. My father remarked that he could understand why Barbra was such a gay icon, ‘because she just got everything right.’ lol.

oh yeah. I reread parts of Streisand’s wikipedia, and an interesting post anticipating the new star is born. The article pointed out that the 1976 version was full of crap dialogue and campiness:
Gaynor was ambitious as Esther, Garland less so, but driven still. And Streisand was a little bit of everything in her portrayal.

That ‘a little bit of everything’ goes a long way for Streisand, who not only executively produced this film, conceptualized its adaptation, casted, wrote songs, acted, co-wrote the screenplay, styled, etc, but constructed a complex myth of motley -ness in doing. 

"Pre-moistened Handi-wipes, fabric softener, stain remover, strawberry douche — everything for a perfect marriage kit!"
"Strawberry douche?"
"Unless you prefer apricot."

"Would you like to rub salt in your ass!?"

"I love you, Esther."
"I hate you."
"I love you."
"I hate you."
"I love you." (They kiss awkwardly.)
"I hate you."
"I love you."
"I hate you."
"I love you."
"I hate you."
"I love you."
"I love you." (Full make-out)

sic.

just seeing it transcribed like this Irigaryan statistic, it stands on its own. The leads’ lack of chemistry adds to the seventies performance-art hellishness of it all, needless to mention the self-abnegating rituals of which famous art couple… 

That description of a 'perfect marriage kit' 😟 i wisj i'd written it. Tho with Joan Didion credited as screenplay writer, I can't say I'm surprised ...

Meneer

- Meneer, ik heb geen idee hoe ik mijn takenlijst kan volbrengen, want ik heb zoveel te doen
- Nou jongen (Flaams), laat ‘s even kijken, kan ik je vertellen of we wat kunnen bedenken…
- IK HEB GEEN TAKENLIJST IK HEB GELOGEN IK BEN een pathologische leugenaar…
- Nou… ik zal je vertellen dat je op zeer ludieke wijze gebruik maakt van dit WC akoestiek, dus daszit wel goed, eh? ;)

Milan

Far Away AquiliNE
KISS BLOW TRAN goth
And a
Sequin croptop from a
Vintage shop.

summer is coming

don't worry bout the mind,

itwill come,
once the body is in time

feel the rhythm

Fanta H

bongwater

Guitars and Psycho-sex in Bongwater is the sixties extracted, ionized.., turned inside out.

In “What if?” the nightmare of the psychedelic sixties is ghosted. “What if I twisted it in like a knife, until it made you cry, until it made you lie, would you still love me?”

Maybe Lennon’s “I’d rather see you dead little girl” or some of Jagger’s mid-sixties Misogyne mantras are finally addressed in the nightmare hysteria of the pothead’s strife, i.e.. “What if I threw your carkeys in the lake.” You can hear the cackling of the bikini-clad Ann Magnuson, and the teary wet-look of the chequered-shurfer.

Twin Suffragettes emerge from a deus ex machina yellin

I ain't wearing any underwear...

I ain't wearin any underwear

   I aint wearin any underwear

   I aint wearin any underwear

obscene and pornographic art...

The Paisley Swim-Bikini

The Paisley Swim-Bikini

l.a.b.o.y looks cute in denim, the only one without the full latex poured, so we crowd round his giant thies, per three. His curly hair, matt, macassar’d, with complex braiding techniques, archaic, perhaps oriental or corinthian.

We suck each others thumbs deeply while making gurgley sounds one makes underwater.. Splasheywashey-wash,, while l.a.b.o.y adjusts the pink belt, we sing the lachrymost tunes to Charli’s lipgloss.

“Not enough” I whimper before moving, gorging the glistening cock down my pink throat

“it’s never enuff” snarls the one with the worcester sauce on her bib.

The TV is on, and L.A. Boy is hard as Hell. I’m Watching Britney. Her body is in beyond shape,

What is the best sex? In the sun in plastic pumps, or upon the hot dust spitting out sand with some glamorous beast’s heel in your rear (in the sun in plastic pumps)?”

Earlier @the beach...

Rower #1

Phuw phuw! You gotta hot body

Rower #2

Come to France, I’ve got a big Mansion.

Rower #3

I want to sit in you and tug you along like an octuple scull.

Rower #4

yeah, get under the tarmac with me, get nasty.

Me

You gotta work bitches [enter beach choreo]

One year later…

I’m reading the French Classics in lace.

It’s very interesting reading, and very sexy.

But When I first read your poem I wanted to clean the whole house front to back.

Your loops and knots hold my flesh taut

Dear, Your style

the likeness of a milkmaid’s lactating breasts. Please suck on them, and do not fear the farmer’s reprise.

“They were meant for this!” she insists,,

I can see before me your arched back. You bend over the tablet with some designer specs and trimmed Macassar’d Hair (your favourite Korean pencil)

Descent

your balls falling beneath a pair of caramel legs.

While you are reading I ride you drily, gently with my index finger catching the moisture between your buttocks.

I softly clench the leotard you have on, pressing my member against the taut fabric,

(gradually parting)

Only to feel a new, synthetic stretching.