Love. FREEZE! Last Words before closing the factory

Marquis de Sade:

The only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure.
True and yet trivial. Every door to every heart through the Path Of Torment is open. I will find another way one day.

Amuse yourselves; but love not at all; nor be any more concerned to make yourselves loved: to exhaust oneself in lamentation, waste in sighs, abase oneself in leering and oglings, pen billets-doux, 'tis not that which you must do; it is to fuck, to multiply and often change your fuckers, it is above all to oppose yourselves resolutely to enslavement by any one single person, because the outcome of constant love, binding you to him, would be to prevent you from giving yourself to someone else, a cruel selfishness which would soon become fatal to your pleasures.

Piss off, Marquis.

And bye bye, blog.


Not yet awake but alive.

Earthlings. Don't look away

Everything is a dream, only they are real, because my love for them is neverending.
Watch it here or here. Edit: in Romanian, here.

"The systematic torturing of scentient beings whatever the pretext and in whatever form cannot achieve more than it already has: to show us what is the lowest point of debasement man can reach. If that's what we want to know".

"As we look back on how essential animals are to human survival, our absolute dependence on them (for companionship, food, clothing, sport and entertainment as well as medical and scientific research), ironically we only see mankind's complete
disrespect for these non-human providers.
Without a doubt, this must be what it is... to bite the hand that feeds us.
In fact, we have actually stomped and spit on it".

It was me!

If you were wondering what I've been doing all this time, now you know it. I did it.

Happy World Animal Day!

discoveries of the day

A long travel from South to North and the evening after offered me three new discoveries, all of them useless. The first one is just useless. The second one is painful. The third one is kind of cute.

1. uglies but goldies
Kate Moss likes baby-faced men. To say the least. Unable to find anything to read in the Stuttgart station bookshop I went for a Kate Moss biography. Intelectually speaking is just like a long article in the Sun but not half as spicy. So your voyeurism will remain unsatisfied.

2. my laziness prevents me from running amok
Which proves I have feelings left. The old man sitting next to me in the bistro has a very funny hair colour. But it's not a toupee. He looks like a tourist of a very different sort than I'm used to. Just like the train we're in, a Swiss Eurocity. Different kind of charm, if you like to call it that way. He comes towards my table saying: "There's one free seat left for sure, thank you". I never like people saying thank you too early so I'm wearing my cold smile. He's looking at the menu. Average men don't look like that, he's a connoisseur. He's got a huge oldfashioned wallet, my Dad used to have one like that, a "borsello". It's leather of course. I know I have become fairly uncomfortable for the rest of the world. I imagine blood pouring out of his borsello. I imagine telling him "You keep your money inside a cow's ass".
His food arrives: the valais plate. Three sorts of ham. I can't help noticing the way his face changes. He already forgot about me not wishing him bon appetit. His face is radiant. Pure, kind and fragile delight. He looks like a child. There's nothing else in the whole world except that valais plate. I cannot hate him, my feelings freeze.

3. an unexpected blog neighbour
I cannot fall asleep and end up in front of the TV: The Pink Panther (1963) with Peter Sellers, always hilarious and the music of Henry Mancini, always fantastic. The singing-dancing scene upon Meglio Stasera is one of my favourites, therefore it's got to be posted.

Fran Jeffries is the singer. Her most likely sensuous moves and generous hips (way before J.Lo's time) don't capture my attention, as I am entirely under the spell of Mr. Sellers' white sweater and his dancing moves, but the male readers might want to know a bit more of her unusual career and might like to take a look at her blog!

shoe orgy

Vegan bimbo and biatch ass bootz. Got all of them today in a cheap store. The shoemaker is most likely Anonymous from Detmold who uses many cover names: Tozzi, Wortmann a.s.o.
Drinks for everybody!

esthetics of tasteslessness

I found a better definition of action art. It is "how to throw your psychotic trash on your audience without getting caught".
The recipe is easy:
1. get all your nightmares and obsessions together and mix them into a thick lump;
2. add some of the following ingredients: blood, sex, food rests, pee or poo;
3. if any room left, make it as ugly as possible;
4. blame the society for it.

What student brotherhoods and drunk teenies consider acts of courage, modern actionists call art. Goat-fucking, pet-eating, dancing naked in a pond of pig blood, you name it.
Animal welfare, for example, can still provide a lot of ways out, so go there and create your brains out.

Here's a work of art from the Dutch "artist" Tinkebell. Don't ever doubt it: it's real dog hair. In fact, most of the dog is still there.
If you happen to be doing your PhD in Psychiatry don't ignore her website, it's worth a look. So is her youtube account (at least for the negative comments if nothing else).