In a nonstalgic moment I took down my big book of Surrealist porn from the top shelf and flipped through it. So many old and wonderful things in here: Man Ray's photo of Barbette Dressing, Max Ernst's erotic collages and The Story of the Eye.
The book also has crazy wide margins. I used to write in it, like a journal:
All the signs are there: the scattered clothes, shed in luxurious heaps to the floor; the shed jewelry making tantalyzing tips as it loops, thrown down... the smell of aloe cream, rum [cake] & lavender...
The desire is there, at times so strong that in anticipation I will shed all these things and then turn to the bed, faintly surprised there is nobody.
You’ll Get What’s Coming
2 weeks ago
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