Sebastien Tellier - Sexuality

The retro-synth sound comes courtesy of producer Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, better known as the gold Daft Punk robot. Hit it up.

Ah ha.

Strike that and reverse it.

Fuck.

I thought I was over it.

This is the year of revenge.

I am Boudica. Only this time, without being defeated.

Phantom Limb.

At first I acted just like everything was the same when of course it wasn't. At the grocery store I found myself buying dijon mustard and feta cheese, when i'd come back I'd find all the dishes I'd dirtied then cleaned still on the drying rack. My little plot of bed space would continue to be my nation what with the Monroe Doctrine and the routine engrained in my existence. It took months to muster up the gumption to roll over or spread my self to the edges of that world, a trepidacious Marco Polo landlocked on a queen sized planet. I cannot remember how I got here, unwhole. In the backyard, the brambles and thorns of my garden of evil catch and sting, threatening to take me whole. There is a tiny believing spark in me that hopes that were I caught up in the vines and snags my own hands have wrought that a small insignifigant sprout from your garden of good would venture, would risk the ugliness that has me and work a magic of undoing. Who will shepherd your side? The garden of evil's ranks swell with poisonous toadstools and strangling vines, barbed trees and carnivorous plants all under my tuteledge. Your garden of good passively awaits spring for its colors to shine again turning back the miasma my side spews forth. But will spring come next year?

Found!

Check out my new favorite website. http://ffffound.com/

As of right now, it is invite only. If anyone has an extra invitation, send it this way.

I’d be hurt but I’m not, so you’re lucky and so am I.

I am opposite. I do not burn old photos in a rite of rebirth, I do not squirrel away my most shamefulls in the root system of an old oak. For some reason I romanticize all goings on back there, be they mine or others. I dream of nice clothes and well written letters, of horses in the streets and good ol' fashion duels. I'd see that burning visage of a past love and know that the acrid smell of sulfur and burning photostock would not absolve me of anything. My fondest and not so fond memories intermingle in warm pool of something in my mind highdiving and cannonballing, drowning and peeing. Even the villains of my life are there like a funny rogue's gallery (they are usually peeing) and are harmless enough. I like not understanding why. I like having all those old letters and knick knacks cluttering my shelves, each one a touchstone of some instance or occasion begging me remember. I do remember and cherish.
But I fear the future.

Mall

It was the one before the last. I don't get bothered as I pass the makeup counters on my way up. I am not accosted by fragrance or samplers as women in white smocks bump into one another smearing colors on each other in the resulting melees. My crows feet don't catch their eye, my poor complexion isn't caught in their mirrors. I am the hard sell. I am on the ninth floor walking past graveyards of mannequins moth balled before the coming war. My feet preceed me in echoes rattling off the stairs. I am a bat finding my way by radar. And up here in a place between places not quite heaven but nine up from hell I am reminded of a familiar but not so feeling. It is the biggest trigger, or so I have been told. The sense of smell can jostle loose fragments of pieces stuck in a belfry far too long unkempt. What do I do? Chase it? Up one flight (what's one more?) and into Minos' labyrinth of clothes and cubicles a bazaar of fashion and memory. Now I have been here before and found the corridors confusing and serendipitous but I have a golden thread with me leading towards whatever is on the other end.. I am at a crossroads at what I believe to be the very spot. It(he) smells just as I remember and he has to be at the most two corners from where I stand. This is the moment, yes here among a clutter of designer skirts and fall fashion, mens apparel and back to school kids wear. I can't even remember who I am and no one here thinks to ask. In my awkward way I turn about to find my way back and I am confronted by some dweller of this place. May I help you,who are you looking for, who are you? No, I'm not sure, Theseus.