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Sada Yacco as Ophelia, Japan 1904

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Norman Lindsay (1879–1969) - Where Life Ascends, 1924

etching

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The Fireflies by Henri-Camille Danger (1896)

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(vía Voces)

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Preacher’s Daughter trilogy concept

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he looks like he works with his hands & smells like Marlboro Reds

genre of men: Crush by Ethel Cain (part 2)

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SALEM

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HOW TO DESTROY ANGELS (INSERT) COIL, 1984 – MARIGOLD RECORDS

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The Texas Chain Saw Massacre

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Me listening to pulldrone by Ethel Cain

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Bello de noche

Mi rosa se marchita por el humo que haces fumando en cadena hasta entabacarnos

sin embargo no te pido que lo apagues

Te conocía de verdad tus impulsos más animales tu mirada de odio deseante

Como me gustaba ser tu víctima labios quebrados y violetas por el vino tus besos sabor whisky que se mezclaba con la menta que aparentaba pureza en mi boca

De noche eras un sueño húmedo o una pesadilla y yo feliz de no despertar Te calentaba que estuviera triste que fuera un recipiente vacío que llenabas de vos y sentías que era tuyo Como cuando me prestabas tu ropa que me quedaba grande pero tenía desde el primer hasta el último centímetro de mi cuerpo envuelto por vos Yo, la excepción a todas tus monogamias irresistible mi rebeldía joven mi no miedo, ni vergüenza a ser el otro

Llenabas mi vacío con tu aura de incertidumbre mientras mas veías como te miraba mas te creías la imagen elevada que tenía de vos

Me encuentro completamente entregado a vos a fumarte de bajón a verte en el medio de la violencia a limpiarte la sangre de tu sonrisa y caer en que la noche se está aclarando con la lentitud que nuestros cuerpos se separan cuando llega el día y te vas a ser un tipo normal sin toda la oscuridad que negas pero conmigo presumís

Parecías el victimario pero estabas igual de vacío que yo encontrabas el único poder que te habita usándome nos usábamos los dos te calentaba tanto que odiabas asumirlo y me odiabas y me amabas y vivías en la incertidumbre porque en el fondo el poder de mi sumisión te controlaba. __________________________________________________________ He was beautiful at night My rose withers for the smoke you make chain smoking until we get drunk

however I'm not asking you to turn it off.

I really knew you your most animal impulses your look of desiring hate

I really liked to be your victim lips broken and violet from wine your whiskey flavor kisses that was mixed with mint that simulated purity in my mouth

At night you were a wet dream or a nightmare and I'm happy not to wake up

It turned you on you that I was sad that it was an empty container that you filled with you and felt like I was yours

Like when you lent me your clothes that was big for me but I had every inch of my body wrapped of you

I, the exception to all your monogamies irresistible my young rebellion my no fear, no shame to be the other

You filled my emptiness with your aura of uncertainty the more you saw how I looked at you the more you believed the picture I had of you

I find myself completely devoted to you to see you in the middle of violence to clean the blood from your smile and realize that the night is clearing with the slowness that our bodies separate when the day comes and you leave to be a normal guy without all the darkness what do you deny but with me you brag You looked like the victimizer but you were just as empty as me you found the only power that inhabits you using me we both used each other it turned you on so much that you hated to assume it and you hated me and you loved me and you lived in uncertainty because deep down the power of my submission I controlled you.

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by Jan Frans De Boever (1872–1949)