Like two crash survivors copulating amidst burning wreckage








“The first touch came when Bull was lying full-length along the skirting board in the little six-foot vestibule that connected the bathroom to the kitchenette and the front door. He was the picture of powerlessness. His sensible, striped M&S shirt was rucked up around his back, his white, cotton Y- fronts dewlapped over the flat surfaces of his buttocks. Alan’s fine and tapering hand described an arc over him. He knelt as if stroking a cat. At the zenith of the arc Alan’s palm made contact with the small of Bull’s back. Bull stiffened bur did not cry out or resist…Oh, cruel deceiver! For how could Margoulis not have known that in this moment of breakdown, of cracking distress, the thing that Bull, of course, still desired most ardently, was the dry, sensible touch of a doctor. ” ( Will Self, Cock & Bull )

– reading Mr. Self once again

– reading about myself

– reading about all those who have found shelter in my mind

– leaving no one behind

I am the queen of talk therapy, haven’t you heard?

hear me speaking, hear me dreaming, hear me breathing

– there’s just words between me and the world

– and the smell of paper and ink and

the leather jacket ,

reminding me of what has always remained hidden,

between too/two insecure thighs

photos by Ionut Sterpan

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