Craving

10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

The Vampire (From ‘Fleur Du Mal’ - Charles Baudelaire)

Thou, sharper than a dagger thrust
Sinking into my plaintive heart,
Thou, frenzied and arrayed in lust,
Strong as a demon host whose art

Possessed my humbled soul at last,
Made it thy bed and thy domain,
Strumpet, to whom I am bound fast
As is the convict to his chain,

The stubborn gambler to his dice,
The rabid drunkard to his bowl,
The carcass to its vermin lice —
O thrice-accursed be thy soul!

I called on the swift sword to smite
One blow to free my life of this,
I begged perfidious aconite
For succor in my cowardice.

But sword and poison in my need
Heaped scorn upon my craven mood,
Saying: "Unworthy to be freed,
From thine accursed servitude,

O fool, if through our efforts, Fate
Absolved thee from thy sorry plight,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
Thy vampire's corpse for thy delight."

— translated by Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil

Immaterial

 

10x13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

We are at war with ourselves.
Fighting for life with ‘Self Destruct’ programmed into our motherboards.
Do and die. Kill and be killed. All guts, no glory!
It is a slow burn horror flick with no survivors!
This IS civilized; we are assured. This IS progress.
The world is an orange.
We have peeled off the rind, dug our nails deep into it for oil, and squeezed out all the juices from each one of its carpels, and dumped the rest in radioactive waste.
The corporates own the seeds; also the air, water and our freedom.
The filthy rich and powerful own the corporates.
We own nothing, not even our own selves!
All of that conceit, that greed, that deceit, that unbridled need to win, will come to nothing.
The genocide, the ecocide, the hate mongering and democide will not make us invincible!
We will perish, and rot, and so will the memory of our plot.
What will remain is speculation and dust, on our toxic dreams and lust, in between the layers of the earth’s lithosphere.

Snail Trail

 

10 x 13.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I trace the stray strands of coiled hair
Clinging to your forehead,
Damp with perspiration.
My fingertips slick with your saliva
Blends the cool wetness,
Absorbing your attention.
As my fingers travel on your bareness,
A creeper trailing a wall
In search for lubrication,
My parched mouth nibbles your ear,
Sucking out moist moans
From the well of satiation!
My face slips onto your broad shoulder
Held in the cup of your neck,
Inhaling the aroma of passion,
While my tongue licks your caramel skin
Moving south, leaving wet trails
On a map without a destination…
I am a nomad without a planned route,
In the wild landscape of your body
Discovering terrain for exploration.
My tongue lingers on mounds and valleys,
On downy fields and musky clefts,
Heady with a sensual revelation!
When your fingers plough through my hair
With an infectious hot urgency,

I sense ecstasy in dissolution!

Salvation

 

20x30 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on tinted drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

You peddle salvation

As if, you own an infinite source

To supply the instant high!

Have you inherited it as an heirloom?

Always promising a recourse

To the lost soul in distress,

As if, you have the precious road map

With the only route clearly marked

To lead them out of this mess.

What gives you such confidence?

Who appointed you the guide?

I wonder…

Does a particle of dust find salvation

Just by clinging to your hide?

Yes, I know,

We are gullible

Marinating in our sins,

Fermenting with guilt

We are fallible,

Easily herded like sheep

Seeking safety from imagined wolves,

Settling down meekly

For a life of servitude.

No, you are beyond reproach

For we are to blame!

We put you on a pedestal

With our fears and our faith,

To avoid being responsible for

Our own lives and deeds,

To find shortcuts to repentance

And forgiveness for being bad seeds.

If a dip in the Ganges

Can wash away my sin,

Why bother mending my ways?

Let the waters bear the poison

While I remain conveniently pure and clean!

Otherwise, Straight Acting...

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Pen and ink, acrylic paint over graphite pencil on drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Desires cannot be regulated by external forces through enforced conditioning of gender performance and expectation. If the gay dating apps were to hold up a mirror to the society, this failure would be more than apparent. Many gay men describe themselves or is described by others as ‘Straight Acting’ which simply means that this person is ‘Manly’ enough or doesn’t have the tell-tale behavioural markers of being gay. He is not a limp wristed, lisping, willowy, and flamboyantly effeminate homosexual! But it is acting, nevertheless! It is a performance put up to pass as a ‘heterosexual’ man in the cock-eyed surveillance of our society’s stereotypes and standards of judgement! A performance to remain undetectable as gay in the public eye. How they perform in the privacy of a more enabling space can be otherwise. A space where inhibitions and judgements are rare, many of these men can drop the act and be more attuned to their desires and behave accordingly. This constant performance of suppressing desire in the public eye has to be acknowledged and applauded with the cautionary tale of how this affects the psyche of the gay men constantly living in fear of being ‘found out’.