Nails
Saint Creature Who said that double-sided tape can only be used for sticking phone screens? 
Preparing my nails for my upcoming work. Testing out methods for attaching them to my fingers so they can be removed quickly 🙂
me
Sa wish you a Merry Christmas and a happy nu Year!
My friend wished me a Merry Christmas with a picture of him naked. It struck me as a “nu Year”. So…this work was born thanks to him.
Happy Holidays, my dear friends! ^_^
Perfect Parts
We lose our “perfect parts” throughout our lives. For normal people, it’s probably nothing, but when you’re a perfectionist, it’s like cutting off pieces from a whole person.
Once, as a child, at least as I remember it, I was thrown into a car. More precisely, a car with a cut-off roof. I’m not sure if it was the first injury in my life, but that’s how I got my scar on my left leg and my first four stitches on my body.
Another incident was related to the fact that, while at my grandmother’s, I climbed onto a pipe to call my mother. The reason? Strange and stupid. Ugh… I needed to wipe my ass. So don’t ask about age. My foot slipped off a pipe that was lying on the ground, and…so I got a wound in the scrotum, running into a rebar sticking out of the ground. Everything was sewn up and “put back in place”, but I ended up with another scar in a rather strange place.
The third incident also happened in my childhood. When I was going down a roller coaster. My older brother was having fun from below, who was sitting at its base. When I went down, I was scared that I would drive into him, and my finger got electrocuted between the metal pipe of the swing and the canvas, which was also made of metal. No, my finger wasn’t cut off then. But since then, another scar has been appearing on my little finger.
About 15 years ago, my nose was broken during the New Year holidays. Some bully, because we were relaxing in our informal party. They attacked us and…since then, my nose is the way it is.
Interestingly, throughout my youth I was more careful than before. So I didn’t get any special injuries (except for mental ones, of course). When I was 17, I had a varicocele cut out. About three stitches. But that doesn’t count.
It’s funny, but most of the injuries I got in the city where I live now. Once I almost put my eye out when I put a board on a stone, put a cherry tree on one side, and stepped on the other side with my foot. It’s funny now, but it wasn’t very good then. But it hit me right in the eye. It hurt. A lot. Sometimes it seemed to me that because of this, one of my eyes sees everything in more yellow tones, but over time I learned from the Internet that this is typical for many people.
In the same city, when I was 10-12, I probably filled a plastic bottle with gas from a lighter and… set it on fire. As a result, I had a burn on my finger, but it was relatively minor because it can’t be seen now.
There is a small scar on my left hand – and I remember exactly that it is from a watermelon. More precisely, from a knife that slipped off. Just like there is a scar on my other hand from the same place, which was obtained with an old knife that was used to cut nettles for chickens. I don’t remember exactly how I got that scar.
I have a scar on my eyebrow from hitting a door. It’s from my military days, when I hit my forehead against a wooden door in the dark.
One of the stupidest scars, or rather not scars, but an almost severed part of myself, I got when I was repairing a bicycle. I spun the wheel, tried to stop the disc brake with my hand, and my thumb got caught between the brake and the disc. The tip of my finger was almost cut off. But, thanks to Pavel, we got to the hospital, they treated the wound there and everything went well. I can’t quite feel this tip, but the finger looks like a normal one. It was he who became the reason for this post.
During life, we lose our “perfect parts”. We become destroyed. Not like others or as nature created us. I feel sad that certain parts of me will no longer be the way they should be. But I can’t do anything about it, so should I be sad about it? I’m still looking for an answer to the question of what cuts off parts from us more – iron, or negative experiences received from certain people? I lean more towards the second.
I have a lot of imperfect parts with which I have learned to live. I have come to terms with what they are. I once thought that if I lost even a part of myself – it would be better to die than to remain disabled. But if you think like that – you should have jumped off that bridge at 17, because that’s when I got my first serious disability.
There are many people in the world who are more beautiful than you or me. More perfect than us. But what of it? In a broader sense? It doesn’t make them more important than us. More beautiful (in a broader sense) than us. Better or anything else. Everyone just has their own path, just like everyone was born under certain conditions, in a certain place, and in a certain family. It’s not scary that you may not be rich, or have some flaws – the main thing is not to make these flaws the meaning of your life. Not to focus on them and not to attach more importance to them. My camera is worn out, but it still takes great pictures. I’m worn out too, and sometimes I do great things. It doesn’t depend on my physical condition.
Fun Fiction
Once, in a conversation with her about her feelings after moving, she quoted the movie “Green Book”. In general, the term “Green Book” itself is about a guide for black people, which lists safe places where they could stay for the night. And, in fact, the quote from the movie sounded like “I’m not black enough for blacks and not white enough for whites”. And today I somehow tried it on myself. Apparently, I’m not straight enough for straight, but also not enough…anyone else for someone? Apparently. I don’t use “them/they” in everyday life, not in general. I don’t want to get hung up on something like that. Sometimes I think about what it’s like to be with someone of the same sex, but the problem is that in our country, men are not about sexuality, but about dirt, sloppiness, an unpleasant smell. That is, you can’t somehow visualize this character, if only because you simply don’t have any source from which to draw.
When I put, for example, people I know – the picture comes out too stupid, to be honest. Because I don’t like these people. They don’t evoke anything in me. In my life, there have probably only been a few people who would evoke something. But usually they are very distant.
I don’t want to speculate about anything. As life goes on, so it will be. I guess I’m just too picky. I guess these are strange considerations from a married man. But I perceive it all differently. It’s like a fan fiction for some story.
I’m the leader of my demons in my head today (Oh yeah, oh yeah)..
…At night, I drink until I feel them slowly float away (Oh yeah, oh yeah)…
Always Remember..
..who you are..
I painted white stripes, and on them letters. I wanted these strokes to resemble an old fence, on which someone had painted new letters. In general, it would be ideal to apply another layer of white on top of the letters, but I’m afraid that would ruin everything. I need to learn..
Dressed to kill pt.2
The other day we received some really adorable work pants. With one thing in mind – they are…feminine. What does that say? Well…it’s not convenient to fasten the button, they’re low-cut, plus they have a floral print. It all looks something like…this:
And here’s this magical print:
They are comfortable, they fit like they were made for me. Do things have a gender? I don’t care.
I have a pretty dirty job, and I want to diversify it. I want people to see not a man with a cigarette in his mouth and a smell of sweat from a mile away. Let me be strange. Let me be funny. But I want to be different. I want to be someone who will be perceived positively from the moment they meet. Because it’s about service. You should bring people joy, not a feeling that makes you want to wash yourself three times after meeting a person.
I like these pants and I can’t wait to work in them in the spring. They are thin enough to do it in them now 🙂
Don’t humiliate yourself
You again felt like you missed a chance. But..was there any chance? I continue to reflect on the person’s behaviour, and I understand that it is useless to blame yourself for everything that happened. That is, the person disappeared for no reason. Appeared 3-4 days later in the form of a comment in a completely different place. And you get the feeling that the person is just so comfortable. Not to be interested in others, but to appear when and where it is convenient. When it is convenient for them.
There are many things in which I would like to be wrong. So that I can be a little fool who makes mistakes again. But if not, then I will be a big fool if I decide that the problem is me and start humiliating myself.
I wrote a letter apologizing for the situation and wished the best, just to close this issue for myself. I deleted the message for myself, so as not to go back there, not to look at the profile, not to be interested. Because I told her that I trust the person immediately and completely. Because I fall in love with every interlocutor who answers me more often than others, or rather simply answers. And it’s not about building a future and marriage, but about the fact that you want to maintain communication with a certain periodicity, to which you get used.
I am guilty of actively supporting this communication and believing in it. I was ashamed of the very thought that I could somehow use a person so that he could help with the organisation in a new place if we decided to go there to work.
Sometimes communication for me resembles poison, which I poison myself with every time, forgetting about the consequences. And now I am again raking these consequences and getting from them…
Taboo
I asked myself – when did nudity cease to be taboo for me, and why exactly did this happen? Where did that shyness, which has always been a significant part of me, go?
Apparently, things just appeared that scare me more than nudity. In a sense, the world around me became more naked than I am in my photos. But, probably, that’s not the point.
It’s hard to say what came first – the chicken or me, who started some kind of frank blog. And I remember that the first attempts were probably 6-7 years ago. Maybe even earlier. A long time ago, back in Odessa, we sold sex toys. Even then, the idea of opening a full-fledged store came to me. I had the desire and inspiration to write about all this. Moreover, even during my freelancing days (that’s, for a moment, when I was 21 years old) I think I already had to write some texts for a sex shop. Maybe memories just pop up in my memories of how we started selling such goods. Why am I here? In a broad sense, my openness to something like this was a long time ago. But the fact that nudity is the norm came to me with the beginning of the war, when my photos became more candid.
Open windows in European countries show that people have nothing to hide. The exposed skin in the pictures probably says the same thing..
Rose
Well. Tattoos aren’t on my budget this year (I guess), so let’s limit ourselves to small sacrifices – I got a new earring. Two, to be exact, but I only needed one. It’s a rose, and that’s no coincidence.
I’ve been thinking for a long time about the design of the tattoo I’d like to get. Something like the inscription “Sa”, where the S will be in the form of a rose with thorns. But that design will have to be developed for a long time before I agree with it. Meanwhile, when I started creating accounts, the rose with thorns became the avatar. It’s funny that I can’t stand the work of artificial intelligence, but it’s like the avatar was made by it. So…
My thoughts on the topic of “how will I look with this” began to last for whole… 5-10 minutes. Because the thought “I will look the way I want!” comes to mind. And in this vein, you perceive yourself as anyone. If someone doesn’t like me – so what. I would be happy if he didn’t come to me for help and I could spend more time on my loved ones, myself, and our lives.