Lust after material wealth, taken one logical step further. A visual story of commodity fetishism by your faithful screenslavers Brian Sonia-Wallace and Keith Warren.
//by Keith Warren//
Three weeks ago I began an experiment in abstinence.
And last night I stayed over at a girl’s apartment. I was looking forward to a pleasant evening of sex, however tame I knew it would be. She doesn’t let me press my thumb into her asshole.
She lives at UCLA and I work in Beverly Hills, so no matter how unsatisfying the night might turn out, I’d at least revel in the fifteen minute mosey down Wilshire Boulevard to the office the next morning. After a quaint dinner at a local eatery, we settled in for a movie at her apartment. I’d never seen Night At The Roxbury before, and it was as terrible as I imagined. The outfits were “fun,” if nothing else.
We headed to her bedroom not one head-ticcing moment to soon. The shared room somehow boasted floorspace for two fucking queen beds. And the roomie. Who was in. Instead of out. Should’ve been at a party, but there she was.
Fuck me. Continue reading
By Brian Sonia-Wallace
On this midnight birthday
Daybirth afterbirth afterhours
Womp womp womp
We gather here
In the rosy afterglow of the bomb
To bear witness to the death of sex
This is a eulogy
Not the birth of the next messiah
But the elimination of the procreative tools that create pros,
Who create prose
Prison and palace and reverberation
Auto erotic asphyxiation of the NEXT BEST THING
How do you make art in the Age of Nicki Minaj?