Showing posts with label grime. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grime. Show all posts

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

The morning after the wretched night of pain that went before, ever more

Tracy Emin's Bed. 1998.

This, if ever there could be such a splendid thing, is the most accurate, pure and honest representation of every physical, sexual, regrettable moment of my ever-moving, ever fucking life.
The dirt, the filth, the cruel lurkings within my ever-hollowed mind reside upon this stinking mattress. Though I may not respect the rest of this beautiful artist's work, this is sheer artistic perfection in my ever-open eyes.