Bowling How Much Dose It Cos T To Rent Shose

Transcribo aquí lo que Alison Brady dice sobre sus fotografías:

"Mi trabajo es una serie de fotografías en color que estimulan las emociones inconscientes, deseos y compulsiones sexuales, todo ello unificado en una dinámica que oscila entre lo real y lo fantástico. Exploro las cuestiones relacionadas con la locura y la alienación, tal y como existen in contemporary culture, focusing on expressions of neurosis, feelings of anxiety, displacement and loss of identity.

These emotions are represented in terms of visual conflict through my images, and are expressed in terms of grotesque exaggeration.
Issues related to the unconscious, elements such as eroticism, twisted humor, or horror trying to represent through them. I strive to create dichotomies between the sensual and the horrific, beautiful and destructive, the result, I hope, is a work formed by the deeply emotional and disturbing depictions of the unknown, the staging of images work in a metaphorical level, inanimate objects and settings sufientes illustrate the inner workings of the unconscious.








Portfolio: http://alisonbrady . com /

Fleshlight Charlotte Nc

Happy Birthday!



Happy Birthday to me and since we share the day of the outbreak in this land, also to Salvador Dali!
29 are few to many, many where thinking is not reaching them through the many and varied prevent risk of the existence.
But I'm still here, and drink to that!
Pores and much more, to continue the fight, today and forever.
Happy Birthday to me! ♪

Own Number To Cross P0401

do 'believe' Ballard ...

believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, release the truth that
in us, out on the night, to transcend death, charm motorways,
ingratiate ourselves with birds and make sure the secrets of the insane.

I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of a car crash, in the peace of forest
immersed in the excitement of a deserted holiday beach, in the
elegance of automobile graveyards In the mystery of
multi-storey car parks in the poetry of abandoned hotels.

I believe in the forgotten runways of Wake Island, pointing to the Peaceful
of our imaginations.

I believe in the mysterious beauty of Margaret Thatcher, the arch of your nasal passages and
the edge of his lower lip in the melancholy of the Argentine conscripts
wounded in the smiles disturbed employees
station service, in my dream of Margaret Thatcher caressed by that young Argentine soldier
in a forgotten motel, observed by a station employee service
tuberculosis.

I believe in the beauty of all women, in the treachery of his fantasies,
so close to my heart; at the junction of their disenchanted bodies with chrome rails
of supermarket shelves, in their tolerance of my own warm
perversions.

I believe the death of the morning, the end of time in the search for
time again in the smile of the girls from the bars of the routes and
the tired eyes of drivers air traffic at airports outside
season.


I believe in madness, the truth of the inexplicable, in the common sense
stones at the lunacy of flowers, in the disease stored up for the race
human Apollo astronauts.

not believe in anything.

I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, de Chirico, Magritte
, Redon, Durer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, Watts Towers, Bocklin,
Francis Bacon , and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions
the world.

I believe in the impossibility of existence in the mood of the mountains, as
absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, the cruelty of arithmetic
in the murderous intentions of logic.

I believe in adolescents in the corruption that is in them only by the position of
his legs, in the purity of their disheveled bodies in the traces
parts privates left in the bath motels miserable.

I believe in flight, the beauty of the wing, and the beauty of everything
ever flown, the stone thrown by a little boy who carries within itself the wisdom
statesmen and midwives.

I believe in the kindness of the scalpel, the geometry without boundaries
screen cinema in the hidden universe within supermarkets, in the solitude of the sun,
talkativeness of the planets, the redundancy ourselves, in the absence
the universe and the boredom of the atom.

I believe in the light they shed the VCRs in the windows of major stores
in the sharpness of the grills of the radiators in the rooms
selling cars, the elegance of the spots oil on nacelles
747 engines parked on airport runways.

I believe in the nonexistence of the past, the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities
present.

I believe in the derangement of the senses: in Rimbaud, William Burroughs,
Huysmans, Genet, Celine, Swift, Defoe, Carroll, Coleridge, Kafka.

I believe in the next five minutes.

I believe in the history of my feet. I

on migraines, the boredom of afternoons, fear of calendars,
treachery of clocks. I

in anxiety, psychosis and despair.

I believe in the perversions, in obsessive love with trees, princesses, prime ministers
, abandoned service stations (more beautiful than the Taj Mahal
), clouds and birds.

I believe in the death of laa emotions and the triumph of the imagination.

I believe in alcoholism, venereal disease, fever and exhaustion.

I believe in pain.

I despair.

I believe in all children.

I believe in maps, diagrams, codes, chess games, puzzles, board
airline timetables, airport indicator signs.

I believe all excuses.

I believe all the reasons.

I believe all hallucinations.

I believe in all the rage.

I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies and evasions.

I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees,
in the wisdom of light.

JG Ballard taken from "In what I think"
(18 November 1930 - April 19, 2009)