His visible exhaustion is clearly unpornographic. His ambiguity though, firmly is.

Pisces in the Zodiac are bound by one thick blue smear, that is loaded, in my mind’s eye, with roe. They have had sex, but everything still clings between.

These are creatures with a body and a society. A cute naked little demon sits on the shoulders of another demon. Her vagina rubs against his neck. Are they just demon friends? Demons to the right are a little fat and big breasted. All exhibit a certain facial ugliness but they are all given bodies with sexual organs that are recognizably human. What is their use?

In ancient nightmares found in clay tablature in Mesopatamia one dreamer despairs,”I had sex with a demon!”

As a child, I read the erotica under the bed. One story takes plave at a public hanging. A woman feels a hand against her in the mobbed square. The hand lifts her skirt apart. The unseen man pulls her underwear down. This purely unidentifiable person enters her. He always pauses before each development; waiting for her assent or dissent. She lets him; she likes this. Something that is her will but not her choice, She did not choose him but she wills this. Finally, the bosy is dropped and the neck breaks. This is when he comes and she comes. He disappears into the crowd. They have never looked one another in the eye.

These armored images – with their slits and the liquid flasj of an undiscernible eye conjure up this same vision of the desire for something outside of identity – a recignition of desire – of something beating in the center – and that alone.

In icrcream colors, fat red head baby-men flash their little genitals while beating hybrid-beasts that almost seem joined. I am convinced someone fantasizes about this.

Look to the image on the Right. While dinner commences at the top, red headed muscular men bathe in the basement.

The man is penetrated by Death’s arrow. Images of San Sebastian, much coopted by Gay visual culture, make the erotic end of his death (for viewer) quite clear. The penetration of the arrow and the wound becomes absolutely incorporated into a homosexual vernacular. But here we have something less obvert. Yet the gentleness of the expression of the dying, the way in which he clutches his throat, and the swashbuckling nature of a winged death that is not unlike the bat-woman suggests a triumph that is the end but also an erotic end.

They have balanced themselvs on what may be comets or nettles to fuck. They have balanced animals on their non-engaged regions. They know pleasure in equilibrium. They are proto-hippies.