Some women convinced, some men are not like women.
They are different.
Some men convinced, some women are not like men.
They are different.
Seems like everyone is the same.
Almost everyone.
Shallow. Superficial.
One part of them showing the surface.
Their own surface.
The other part of them showing toys.
Ligature toys.
MMM.
Eye-crushing practices.
The smallest tools of the human body.
So powerful.
So powerful they can destroy simple beauty built by touch, by action.
Just look.
Long legs exposed to sunlight.
And to those spectators behind him.
Thick lips, an abyss in their midst.
Producing sentences rivaling minimum wage.
The top, the most popular.
The bigger the better.
The more exposed the bigger.
Why not.
Showing off your perfect body half naked.
Why not.
Not using the gift of God for inspiration.
Intensity. The intensity.
A color photograph capturing the left angle of the body.
A color photograph capturing the right angle of the body.
Then the back, the chest.
Like a mannequin spinning on a podium.
Full of spectators.
Why not take advantage of it?
Why not show everyone that extraordinary, beautiful body.
No doubt it’s beautiful.
But for me, the extraordinary is not hidden outside.
There’s a similarity out there.
Two legs.
Two ankles.
Two eyes.
One Nose.
Thousands of hairs.
One ass split in two.
Two breasts.
Every woman has them.
Color. The shape. Size. The only differences.
The rest the same.
So why the exaggerated focus on what is visible to the eye.
Like cars. Watches. Clothes.
Similar shape.
Similar material.
Similar purpose.
Colour. Size. Price. The only differences.
The rest the same.
So why the exaggerated focus on what is visible to the eye.
Love at first sight destroyed by the first word spoken.
So romantic.
Real beauty, real extraordinariness hidden where even the most
expensive camera has no access.
Inside. In the heart.
There rich diversity.
There inside, each of us different.
And yet only a few individuals looking in.
Not with our eyes.
But with the heart.
A response to the rain.
Walking with the dog.
Singing.
So breathtaking to observe human beings with the heart and watch
how their insides communicate.
I’m sorry.
Maybe I’m weird.
Weird.
I don’t care about the poses.
Uninteresting to me.
It’s an actor’s performance caught in the moment.
Pre-prepared.
Planned.
Inside.
I want to take you apart like a watchmaker takes apart a watch.
To understand you.
What you like.
And what you love even more.
I don’t want to see your body on the beach with the ocean waves.
I want to feel how you feel when you’re lying on the beach and the
ocean waves are tickling your knees.
Are you enjoying this?
Are you shy?
Do you feel anxious because you’ve suddenly come up against an
opponent who is tougher than your own stubbornness?
Next time, use a letter instead.
Describe where you are.
How you feel.
Whether you fit in.
I want to know your soul.
Your heart.
I want to build a relationship with your soul.
With your heart.