by Karl Lagerfeld
I feel rather week this morning, I hope i wont crave for some food this afternoon, as this day is important. I’ve got the shoot from 8 pm till 12 am, so I must look gorgeous and project an image of success and beauty. I’m strong, and I’m stronger than hunger, Im sure I will manage this 9 hour work day with coffee, cigarettes and some spoons of oatmeal.
By the way, I have recently got some interesting comments in regards to some of my posts and thoughts here on the blog, I think I will be addressing them soon, because I feel these are rather interesting and not trivial issues.
Besides I’ve got several messages from the photographer I worked with the other day, that again proved him as a strange, slightly mental and as a result rather interesting type for me. You know I love weird people. So I thought that I would try to experiment with him. He’ll be my guinea pig. During the shoot and in the meantime he talked a lot of himself and I … well I enjoyed whiskey. He talked of his hobbies, his past and interests, and thus I learnt he was keen on psychology, manual therapy, hypnosis, mental illnesses, various types of psychosis. So, read: my-type-of-guy. It’s not perhaps difficult to have guessed that he’s not that young anymore and the beauties of youth were no longer present on his body. But there are more pluses to this than minuses, as I’m surely not into long-term romances with manual therapists and I have not yet tried a mature man of this kind. And by “this kind” I meant somewhat 20+ years older than me. You probably wont believe it, but when I entered his studio located nearly in the heart of the city, I realised the place obviously belonged to some sort of famous person, and I dont really mean like pop famous, the person, whose face you see zillions of time in commercials, magazine ads etc, but on the contrary well-known only to a rich few or appreciated by some sort of circle dedicated to fine art, literature or photography. And yes, he turned our to be a former soviet spy, who worked in Afganistan, was captured by some sort of tribe and then, adjusted, had been taught the secrets of penetrating human mind. Yeah, I know it sounds like a joke, and I felt this way until a few time I noticed he saw me through. Doest it make matters look sexier now?
I imagine him coming up to me from behind… He gently touches a thin stripe of my white long maxi dress with his finger, so that the stripe finally yields to his touching power and falls on my arm, revealing my breast. His hand moves slowly towards my nipple while his lips touch my neck. Caressing my breast, he starts licking my ears slowly so that a slight shiver goes through my body. And I realise I’m getting wet…
Sounds like a fun experiment, huh? I dont deny I might chicken out and decide not to come to his place next Friday. But if he is really into hypnosis, he will make me come. Both meanings of “come” I mean;)))
I’ll entertain you later with his letter.
Laters. Have to work now.
Yesterday before my dance class I weighed myself on the scales and they showed 106.5 lbs (48.3 kg), after the dance class finished they showed 103.6 (47 kg). Amazing I thought, but most probably it was due to absorption of water or something similar (not sure how these biological processes are called), so thinking of the start weight 106.5, Im still 6-7 lbs away from my goal weight, which makes me a bit sad indeed. Especially taking into account the fact that I’ve got a shoot today and I must look skinny, but I dont. I look slim enough, but I dont like myself the way I am at the present moment. I want to be thinner. I want to be fragile, like a figurine, so that in a man’s hands I was tiny enough to wallow in his embraces.
Last night I also received a message from another photographer that read: “Hi, you seem ideal for something Ive been planning to undertake here… Feeble, delicate, slender, weak, desperate and ruined girl…Bones, you know, they are so romantic.”
I’ve just come from my beautician having fixed my brow. The place was smelling coffee with milk, so as soon as I got home I poured myself a large cup of hot coffee. And while sipping it, I surfed the pages and stumbled upon The Dreamers’ fan club, so I realised I blogged about Murphy, Lazareanu, but how could I forgot about the best slut ever imagined? And for me the word slut doesnt have any negative connotations, I think sluts are the most liberated women, besides, every single person has their own definition of a slut. And as they are free, beautiful, strong, independent and inspiring (yes that’s right! in fact all famous stories, fiction, non-fiction etc were inspired by these women), why not blog about them. Especially this one. French. I mean, I dont have anything against french men, but I’m more into French women, you know, into their sense of style and their views on life.
So…dedicated to all sluts, including this one (below;)
I cant believe I still dont own one.
The main reason though is that I always seem to lack the right amount of money to do one, but next year, I’m saving up!
Yes, fetish 2. Esp I love weird quotes on the hands, small birds all over the body and other small drawn objects expressing your hidden self.
I’ve found this blog in particular an interesting reading http://researchtattoos.blogspot.com/2010/11/arm.html