Ghost Touch: A ghost created my authentic personage
Ghost touch. Not on your screen, but on your skin. While writing a scene, I gatecrashed my deceased aunt’s soul and summoned a spooky chill from an unworldly north pole.
Ghost touch. Not on your screen, but on your skin. While writing a scene, I gatecrashed my deceased aunt’s soul and summoned a spooky chill from an unworldly north pole.
Illusive brass hues, agleam in phantasmagorical woods, filaments sprouting to light. Liquid breaths, airy dews—desires stirred by whiffs from the fields. Merry daisies captured on canvas in immaculate expectation, dense…
Men paint. They paint women with alluring, black-hole eyes. Men write. About quests and clashes and fights. Male composers write music, getting awards for love songs and touching lyrics. Sinewy hunters create by squeezing women for art. Art is not feminine, but masculinity harnessed to get to life’s core. So, to make art, women themselves must take to the road of questing.
Her nude slouching, thighs thick, eyelids shut, Carola embodies Klimt’s symbol, ha. Paul says goodnight and departs, leaving her nude mute on the settee. Of all painted nudes, Danaë waiting.
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