Spring is in the air and a young man's thoughts turn to slamming. This is me something like 15 years ago. I don't remember who I was then, or who I wanted to be. Hundreds of self-portraits later and not a lot has changed. Apart from the general disappointment in the human race and the diminishing blind insistence that existence is consequential, the overall lust remains, and the fundamental pleasures still lure me into a perpetual momentum; constantly lunging at beauty like a tethered, frenzied dog. Mindless, desperate longing.
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