Futur sucks

Futur sucks
What it used to be before our cellular lives

mercredi 17 janvier 2018

Untitled

Rape takes away the spontaneity of sex.
That and more. It takes away the ability to think of sex as a possibility free of consequences. To think of sex.
As something, other than a punishment. Other than a coerced attempt to steal one's intimacy.
Rape takes one's body away. It is not a body anymore, more of a cage in which one feels like the bars are burning. There is no touching these bars anymore. No touching anyone else.
Rape makes home feel like a trap, from which there is no escape, because there is no place safer than home.
Rape locks one up.
Rape is disgust. For periods, people, skin.
Rape is long hot showers and the thought of never getting clean. Rape is the impossibility of sleeping and that of waking up.
Rape is tiredness, over tiredness, that stays, from the moment one opens one eyes, to the last breath before nightmares.
Rape is empty nights, with no dreams, no nightmares after all, just sweat as the clock rings.
Rape feels like punishment, revenge. Rape is anger. The anger of not being able to like, love, breath, simply. The anger of being reminded every time one's body appears. Every time  one's body is touched.
Rape takes away the spontaneity of sex.

vendredi 29 décembre 2017

At it again

It feels like eternity since the last time I checked in.


Last year

Close up
Let's say I'll do this again, a bit more, as it used to be. This kind of reminds me high school, and not that I miss it, it feels like home being back at it again.
Next year I'll be out of France, studying abroad and I guess nostalgia and confort brought me here, like I needed a pillow on which to lay down until the end of December.


I hope you're doing great, 

Lélo.