“I sit here before my computer, Amiguita, my altar on top of the monitor with the Virgen de Coatlalopeuh candle and copal incense burning. My companion, a wooden serpent staff with feathers, is to my right while I ponder the ways metaphor and symbol concretize the spirit and etherealize the body. The Writing is my whole life, it is my obsession. This vampire which is my talent does not suffer other suitors. Daily I court it, offer my neck to its teeth. This is the sacrifice that the act of creation requires, a blood sacrifice. For only through the body, through the pulling of flesh, can the human soul be transformed. And for images, words, stories to have this transformative power, they must arise from the human body--flesh and bone--and from the Earth's body--stone, sky, liquid, soil. This work, these images, piercing tongue or ear lobes with cactus needle, are my offerings, are my Aztecan blood sacrifices.” ― Gloria E. AnzaldĂșa, Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Photo-graphic

I forgot where or when I took these, if you can find the reference I'd appreciate a comment for citation purposes. These were taken from my laptop from a film short I saw depicting various images of Japanese erotica. 

Here we find a Japanese man entranced by the power of love that the lovely lady's heart emits. Together, they seemed to have reached a level of radiosextivity.

Here, the man miscalculates the heart; thus they are not radiosexactive. He's as hot as a chipmunk in a sock, but she is not having it. He takes a very, very deep, deep breath, and attempts to re-direct the situation into a mutual plateau by going in for the neck (clever chap). Will this maneuver work? perhaps, so long as he takes it nice, careful, tender yet firm.


Guilt? What have we done? It's ok, it happens to many men. What is really going on here? This certainly has more mystery than a Mona Lisa half-smile. Drop a comment, what is your take?

What did she cut? Why so serious? These questions and more seem to go through this seemingly blank veneer, for under the guise of calm, this femme wonders why she wore a santa suit. Where did the idea of a fucking santa even come to Japan? A seasoned picquerist such as herself cuts off ties to her surroundings, only to find that the outside somehow seeps into her mind.

Reference(s):
In the Realm of the Senses

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