Category: Uncategorized

Rimel Neffati – Title unknown (201X)

Death, The Last Visit
Marie Howe

Hearing a low growl in your throat, you’ll know that it’s started.
It has nothing to ask you. It has only something to say, and
it will speak in your own tongue.

Locking its arms around you, it will hold you as long
as you ever wanted.
Only this time it will be long enough. It will not let go.
Burying your face in its dark shoulder, you’ll smell mud and hair
and water.

You’ll taste your mother’s sour nipple, your favorite salty cock
and swallow a word you thought you’d spit out once and be done with.
Through half-closed eyes you’ll see that its shadow looks like yours,

a perfect fit. You could weep with gratefulness. It will take you
as you like it best, hard and fast as a slap across your face,
or so sweet and slow you’ll scream give it to me give it to me
until it does.

Nothing will ever reach this deep. Nothing will ever clench this hard.
At last (the little girls are clapping, shouting) someone has pulled
the drawstring of your gym bag closed enough and tight. At last

someone has knotted the lace of your shoe so it won’t ever
come undone.
Even as you turn into it, even as you begin to feel yourself stop,
you’ll whistle with amazement between your residual teeth oh jesus

oh sweetheart, oh holy mother, nothing nothing nothing ever felt
this good.

Rimantas Dichavičius – Untitled from Žiedai tarp žiedų (1965-1989)

All of Dichavičius‘ work that I’ve encountered feature female nudes in nature (in fields of tall grass, walking along the shore of some eastern European lack or amidst sandy shoals and dunes).

The subjects of his images seem more like mythical nymphs than women–he likes wildly, disarrayed settings where grass, leaves and even cascading hair serves to both veil the subject and make them recede slightly, as if each belongs to the landscape more than the viewer.

Additionally, he preferences extremes of contrast–prejudicing tones at the edge of over-exposure and at the point where details in the shadows begin to flag to more measured/even tonality.

Along with his frequently surreal flattening of space and his efforts to skew perspective through composition tricks contribute an extra layer of surreal feeling to his scenes.

The work I’ve seen is all a bit too one note for me. But I’ve admittedly not seen more than the scant offerings available online. And really, the above image is thoroughly exceptional–not in that it’s far more concrete than a lot of his work.

(Further, I can’t help but feeling that this photo is likely an effort to imagine what the photo Imogen Cunningham might have taken of Twinka in Judy Dater’s reknowned photo if the photo had been an actual random encounter instead of a staged happening.)

Source: theenglishgroup.co.uk

miscellany

There’s two (2) weeks worth of posts currently queued up. (With a little luck, the thought is y’all should be able to count on a post every day through the end of May.)

Also: today is my birthday, in case anyone cares. (And I understand if you don’t.)

Anyway, If you dig this project and have a little bit of disposable income, perhaps consider hopping over to the Acetylene Eyes Patreon and pledging. (I’ve hit some pretty dire financial straits. So every little bit helps.)

Lastly–thank you so much for following, reblogging without stripping attributions and just generally mostly being top shelf folks. Here’s to y’all.

Be well.

Malerie Marder – Untitled from Carnal Knowledge series (1998)

I’ve wanted to post this for at least a year–but have not be able to track down anything larger than a teeny-tiny thumbnail. (I have complicated feelings about Marder’s work; over all I lean toward the fan person end of the spectrum.

Now that I can post it… I just don’t have any thoughts on it. I mean I love the direct sunlight, the way it makes the skin shine. I love the way you could likely distinguish shadow detail to a degree that would allow you to distinguish individual strands of pubic hair around the edges of the bush–but things go dark and become solid away from the edges (almost like a vague nod to something not unlike modesty, in spite of the explicit nature of the image).

I love how the low angled light stains the boys cheeks with the shadow of his lashes. The way he’s meeting his partners eyes even if the viewer can’t see them. The gentleness with the way he’s touching her things with his fingertips.

Still: looking at this I have trouble feeling the usual resonate rush of vicarious anticipation that I usually do when I spend time with it. I know why I feel this way: my fortunes have shifted rather drastically over the last year. I’m definitely in a better place than I have been but I’m a long way from OK.

And honestly, as much as the feeling of this image has always been something that motivates hope for future physical intimacy with folks I care about–that is something that it’s becoming increasingly clear is not in the cards for me. So while I love this and want to share it with you and hope you can feel something towards it that I don’t seem to be able to muster any more.

uttermusik – Submission to transqueersxxx (2012)

On Loving by Forugh Farrokhzad

Tonight from your eyes’ sky
stars rain on my poem,
my fingers spark, set ablaze
the muteness of these blank pages.

My fevered, raving poem shamed by its desires,
hurls itself once again into fire, the flames’ relentless craving.

Yes, so love begins,
and though the road’s end is out of sight, I do not think of the end.
It’s the loving that I love.

Why shun darkness?
The night abounds with diamond drops. Later, jasmine’s intoxicating scent lingers on the spent body of night.

Let me lose myself in you
till no one can find my trace. Let your dewy sigh’s fevered soul waft over the body of my songs.

Wrapped in sleep’s silk
let me grow wings of light,
fly through its open door
beyond the world’s fences and walls.

Do you know what I want of life?
That I can be with you, you, all of you, and if life repeated a thousand times, still you, you, and again, you.

Concealed in me is a sea: how could I hide it? How could I describe the typhoon inside?

I’m so filled with you
I want to run through meadows,
bash my head against mountain rocks, give myself to ocean waves.

I’m so filled with you
I want to crumble into myself like a speck of dust, to gently lay my head at your feet,
cling fast to your weightless shadow.

Yes, so love begins,
and though the road’s end is out of sight, I do not think of the end
for it’s the loving I so love.

Source: transqueersxxx