nude emptiness .

by sylvain-emmanuel prieur

from dazeddigital.com/blog- hussein chalayan .
obsessions with nudity through clothes .
imperfect bodies trapped in perfect bodies ..
showing but also covering, hiding through revealing .
we're not all empty, although we wish we were .
unstuffed, unfed .
perfection is overrated . we crave excess .

perfectly pornographic, by hussein chalayan .
sexcess .

shit, cum, vomit, urine, blood .

receipts .
worthless pieces of notes, thickens your wallet .
spills into your money .
the past spills into the current and future, bothering, disturbing .
those white fucking neutral pieces of paper .
it's just business, honey .

you know what we do with receipts ?
we wipe our asses with them .

it ticks .

(copyrighted image)

[EDGE OF BRAIN DEAD .] .
Battery low-lowering-ringing - dash by dash, dash by dash .

High blood pressure, drops, drops, dropping, DROPPED – low blood pressure . whatever happened to stability aye ?
Eyes closing, but the brain’s still working. - Tick-tock, tick-tock . Another sleepless night . Let’s dream . Oh yeas, dozing off sounds appealing . Well, thats until you see your reality spinning in circles -you. reach rock bottom, alone & forgotten .
. . Awake yet ? That’s what my momma said . But then again is she real ? Ax . A headache - a hammer tapping, a hammer drumming, the hammer beating .

[SO UN BRAIN DEAD .]
Pressure . Spin . Stop . Spin . Stop . Like a child running around in circles . You walk around in a daze – every touch, every movement, every interaction – unreal, all of it – unreal . confused, is it morning ? Is it night ? I suppose there are time periods in between ? Or so they say .

A daze . Blur . Its like a person without their glasses . Its like the beginning of the vodhka working. You don’t feel anything, not till it hits you . Hard. Strong . [ Blackout ] . But that’s alright, this daze ain’t going far . Ain’t moving . Period – you ain’t going anywhere . If you’re not moving forward, STOP – they say you could move backwards . I somehow couldn’t, but then that doesn’t compare to the . STOP . standstill . Already, its been like this for long .
Tock-tick . Tick-tick . [SO “UN” BRAIN DEAD .]

[YET, AGAIN – VERGE .] Slap – slap – slap – slap – awaken .
Inhale . A new daze, still a daze, but a better one . A flavoured one, inhale . New – them fags make your head go a little ta-wist, ta-turn, a-round-and-round-and-around . The daze with blackened eyes, entangled hair, the knotted thoughts . Not to mention, the digging towards the depths .

The eyes, they have spoken up. *Rest – it is a requirement*.
b a t t e r y – OFF . BRAIN DEAD .

;[signed]

nothing . NOTHING . nothing .

o nothing.

right.
a sense of what fuck.
right.
a scratch for prevalence.
right.
a saint in your crimes.

wrong.
a seek out for adventure.
wrong.
a stain of right.
wrong.
a sip of desire.

wrong is right.
aint go vulger.
right is right.
aint so flavoured.
right is wrong.
aint no order.
wrong is wrong.
aint o nothing.

;[signed].

death & sex come hand in hand, "un"fortunately .

Lara Stone (fashionspot)

by Terence Koh
obsessions with weight everywhere .
if i had lara's cheekbones, i'd bleach my eyebrows too .
purity . simplicity .

death looks pretty painted on your face .

oh, please fucking shine ; they don't know this truth of mine .

(original image & edited - at the rooftop)

the sun ain't fun - that moon, it looms, looms. this is your life.
my quirk - the smirk you lurk from using that innocent knife.

Heh .
;[signed]

lets abandon this .

Reality check .

Looking out with those dried swollen eyes;
Wearing a worn-out smile as a masked disguise.

The sense of coldness running through my veins;
As a reminder of the hidden fire left as remains.

Another day? Oh, fucking yes. Stuck at a cross road;
Lights not changing – walk! run. An ascending mode.

I would call it – carefree. No need for a raised brow.
No strings unattached. Or that’s just what I say now.

A stroll down the streets – I call it, my second home;
Because. Dear family, my own home has no dome.

My flying hair conflicting with the love in the breeze;
Sentient. The teasing suffocation too much to cease.

A shiver down my spine, a worse place in time;
Where feelings are worth an ounce of slime.

The nervousness at its edge in this tattooed chase;
with the underlying meaning to life soaring in space.

Feeling superbly deprived. The bile is all set to derive;
From that underlying meaning to me that’s chewing me alive.

Burning arms. Ofcourse, I was holding the rope of hope!
Cause the sting of it slipping away – its too much to cope.

Leave the grinding nostalgia. Deal the cards, with a smirk.
Let it be its own master and slave. It’s time to shirk.

Too bad there’s no on + off switch for emotions to find;
Especially when reality check has beat you from behind.

& memories; we all have our time machines– they’re myriad.
& now mines started working. Turn yours on, it’s vital. Period.

;[signed].

no me .

POP magazine (fashionspot)

by Dan Colen .

penis envy some would argue but fuck that .

i don't need one myself when there are plenty everywhere else .

in me, please . not on me .

isn't that sweet .

dumb dumb dumb people . they overcrowd, overfuckingpopulate .
spill their rotting genes all over, all over you and me .
if only i had a machinegun leg like cherrydarling, i'd blow them to bits .
then we could finally breathe .

hell, new beginnings, for you & for me .

by Dash Snow (RIP) .