what I aspired: power, while an outdoor pageantry. I have seen nothing that might be more personal values, needs more intense or more deep. determined early on by social values of power and expression, I chose the edge of childhood tyrannical both sides of the body and mind: the muscle and writing.
within these tracks, I had access only to empty - there I was putting that desire - and in that vacuum, in the fullness of my requirement with the unbridled greed that led me, still more tense in an energy surfocalisée.
for many years, I padded, I had to find themes.
in androgynous Eros
I loved the moans filled with finesse and charm of the enjoyment of A.., both kinds of cries resembled but were more numerous, more widely. They took the guts. ranges, a song with a specific meaning, melody, beauty. I said: "I still sing your little cries" that my ears can enjoy, my soul, my heart can beat in unison, that you understand the precious gift you make me. I chews you like to play a musical instrument, I'll tear you, one by one, pretty little hair, for the pleasure of hearing the sounds of your complaint. I bite small tits, small strawberries, much redder, more vivid between the enamel on my teeth, and you love it so. I scraped my nails your skin. I beat your ass. I punched your hole. I eat your tail bluntly. I am careful not to pierce a bite, your balls, but I get angry with their beauty. I grind your flesh. j'enserre and compress my muscles, feral, your body. I am inhabited by a carnivorous joy. I hate love.
musculature in
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