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ADULT CONTENT
This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
Sexual References: Features sexual themes or language, without the depiction of sexual acts.
Sexually Explicit: Description of sexual acts.
Sexual Assault: Features non-consensual sexual acts.
Gore: Depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts.
Child Abuse: Features severe mistreatment of children.
Self-Harm: Description of self-harm.
Suicide: Description of suicide.
Torture: Description of torture.
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AUTHORS NOTE: This piece has the context of being written with the overview of my girlfriend, who gave permission to allow her actions to be included in this article. The text on the left was recorded shortly after we had sex, with the text on the right being recorded during the process, her own whispering removed by her request. I put my own sweat and tears into this piece.
Headphones are suggested.ARE WE COOL YET?
I am a good girl.
I am a good girl.
I've been making art for as long as I can remember, and I've been a pervert since I was a teenager. Those two facts are probably the most important parts of my life, the more I think about it.
Mommy, I…
The first thing I ever made was a crayon drawing of the sun. I think I was three, I can't remember it that well. It was just a yellow circle with little lines sticking out the corner of the page, like every kid has drawn before. My most recent piece is a biological copy of my own body trapped in a permanent orgasm.
You're beautiful, you're so beautiful, God.
My birth dad and my mom split up before I was fully conscious. He refused to support her in the early days of my existence, although all three of us were still in touch until I was fifteen years old. Every few months I would come visit him, he was always in a new apartment or house or what have you. He always supported my art, being a tattoo artist himself. Looking back, I think he's the reason why I was really into it. He always really liked what I made, often flipping through my sketches and telling me what he enjoyed and all the details. I don't think anyone else did that. When I was twelve, I witnessed him beating his girlfriend. I eventually returned home, and through the plaster walls I heard that he was arrested, and then he eventually died in prison. No one sat down and told me about it, I just kind of heard it from my Mom talking over the phone.
God, please, please love me. I'll be good, I'll…
My Mom… God, I don't know where to start. She's sacrificed a lot. She's really, really done a lot, but she never really cared for my art, or the more experimental things I enjoyed. She'd smile when I showed her something, saying that it looked nice, but never giving any detail about it. Whenever I bring it up, it's like I never told her about it in the first place. Music is my main hobby, my main passion, my bread and butter. I've listened to at least nine hundred albums at this point, but she's never really shown interest in it, just telling me that it's nice or something else meaningless. And, uh, about my identity…
I'm a good girl, I'm a good girl, I promise…
My ADHD makes it hard for me to focus. I've been making art all my life, but part of me wonders how much of it has been missed by my inability to really focus on a project for too long. I've made a lot, but it feels like everything else in my life is just falling apart. I haven't taken a bath in a week. I know that I need to, I know that's what I got to do, but I just can't. I can't, and I don't get it. Everyday I am telling myself that's what I need to do, but I just don't get to it. It's just something I'll do later, and later, but I don't. It's not fair.
Fuck, fuck… Ah… Mgh, you're… You're so…
My first art project was pretty shitty. I was still in college, not exactly a good one but the closest thing to "good" that we have. I was part of a visual arts class, and the poor funding meant we had to buy all our own supplies. Not like I minded too much, my ideas were a bit too avant-garde for them, I guess.
More, more, I'm a good girl, I'm a good, good girl.. fuck, I'm… Fuck! Oh god, oh god, I love you, I love you so much, I…
My project was titled "Blackout." It was a film recording that makes the entire room pitch black, the only light coming from the screen. It played a fifteen minute video of a human heart beating, slowly coming to a stop. It didn't really mean anything, I was just trying to impress them and make it "edgy".
I love you, I love you, Mommy, I… Fuck, more…more, I'm… I'm..
Turns out that place didn't really like anomalous art, at least the teacher didn't. I got a few acquaintances that I continued to make art with. It was fine. I didn't really feel like it was going anywhere, though. I just made graffiti and played guitar at the CBGB. It was fine, I guess. Just. I don't know. I'm still thinking about my mom, I guess? She was never impressed by my artwork, she acted nice about it but always forgot about it, it makes me wonder if being an artist was really worth anything in the end.
Fuck! I'm, I'm coming, I'm..fuck, fuck, I love you, I.. I love you Mommy, fuck, I'm.. I..
I've still been working on my art. As I mentioned before, my latest piece, "A Little God in My Hands" is a 1:1 biological replica of my body. It's kind of sentient, but it's always in a constant state of orgasm. I didn't give it any other emotions, just those that you'll get while blowing a load or getting railed. It's definitely a bit more popular than my other works, but even then it's still nothing I really aspire to make.
I… I…. God, God… I'm pathetic.. I, I…
But, uh, I'm still working on all of that, but I've been rambling a bit too much, so, um… I guess that's-
More… more…
