Ensconced in Velvet

One of my earlier confrontations with sexuality was with the giant rectangular velvet nude that sat above a lavish burgundy velvet sofa, within my lawyer/antique dealer Grandfather's home office. This Celestine beauty was flowing in the right places and splaying her cunt for all ye to see. Each and every summer visit there, I made sure to take her in, studying each and every curvature. When he sold the moldy mansion in the late 90s, I never saw her or that soft and sexy chaise lounge again.

2022 was a sick year. And I don't mean like "sick, man, that's awesome." I mean like, I had Covid twice sick. And art was the worst it's ever been. I can't even remember any movies that I saw. Not even the good ones. I don't recall hearing any new released music that I liked. To the best of my knowledge, everyone outside of my little bubble died, because I stopped looking. 

But there was Columbo and Joe Bob, and the endless repeat viewings of all time favorites. Dinner time 'by-the-decade-music-listening' around the table was always paired with cheap wine, broccoli, and deep conversations. We took little trips, bought massive amounts of blu rays, got into things passionately, went through phases, cut hair off, made some changes, and made no progress at all. It was a year that literally everything and nothing happened.

Tonight I will finish my pieces for my art show opening while on my new burgundy velvet couch. This next year looks to be a sexy one. We live in a random and chaotic universe.

- Babes