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ART: Surreal Sculptures by Bruno Catalano

French sculptor Bruno Catalano works in bronze sculpture, with a reoccuring motif. His figures are always lacking mid sections, and seem to be eerily suspended in mid air.

Each of his sculptures feature somebody with a suitcase in hand, usually with an introspective or uncertain expression.

iwoulddieforprince

Prince made him pose like this because he lost in Prince’s home court.

thechanelmuse

"Game. Blouses."

stereoculturesociety

CultureSOUL: The Black Women *Photobooth Series* (1940s-60s)

The faces of black women from the 1940s-1960s. The color photos were developed using the ‘hand-tinting’ process which was a popular way to colorize black and white photos.

jasoniaistheway-deactivated2015

Love.

the rhythmic, calmed, crash conducted by aerial fingertips sounds especially like bent wrists and bites scratches, sucks, and licks to six lips; pink fucks, two ways, wet conversations with pillow-stained sweat. contextually sweet smells that are skunky in public. we both want more like american ambrosia: ranch and mayonnaise. greedy, we share our sins so that we can lie together in the heat of hades; maybe god will have pity on us, hell it was he or she who made every good touch feel bad (or vice versa?) perhaps in that holy tome, crucifixion means two loves crossed, intertwined, nailed, and breathless.

#poetry #poem #prose #creative writing #rejectscorner #spilled ink #erotic

how I miss sweetly when trees were big brown arms and noisy green fluffs that let me know how much they cared with every bloody scratch. the days leave and brown and fall. I grew tall and taller folk’s tales fell flat around me. I become dizzied having fallen from a busy merry go ‘round. the world didn’t use to spin so fast; in fact, at all.

#poem #poetry #spilled ink #rejectscorner #creative writing

says we need to talk-- we as in us all have no pulse having crashed and hurt ourselves to force the feel of hearts and bodies bro ken too many times like these I cuddle with my dog-- he eats his own shit-- its nice to lie about true love. says listen up! like a car tells the bits of pests painted peacefully on its windshield. hell, even honks the horn at the passive patience of pesky pedestrians standing, waiting on streets it wishes were clear: BEEP BEEP BEEP!! a lifetime of loud noises followed by an eternity of silence ... clear: flatline. call it, finally. patient departed on arrival.

#poetry #spilled ink #rejectscorner #poem #creative writing #butt #smut

lets not forget the good ol alchohol. im sorta beyond that shit affecting me tho

#'ll hv #l t5 <<□▼▲

lets see, xanax, dones, weed, blow. please dont wake up. please dont wake.