PICS
I suppose my last entry was just too long, I'm getting bored with receiving next to zero comments. (Or I'm just suddenly a lot less loved by everyone, that might be a valid reason.
)So, Aenn's set was bought! That's doubly exciting, since not only is that my very first bought set as a photographer (which is so much more gratifying because it's my work, not just my ass), but also her debut as a suicide girl! As far as we know, she is the first hopeful to go pink through the darker / edgier / artier weekend set thing. Rock.
Also exciting: Stellaris' new set I shot.
It was absolutely unplanned and spontaneous, and the neighbors thanked us afterwards and sent us the images they shot:
So, besides that.
I had some menstruation sex:
Finally got around to taking pictures of the new items I made:
No time to post all the detailed shots - go here!
If you're interested in an item, have any questions, or want to order, you can send me a message or use either this shop in english or this shop in german. 
On to Horacenose:
Sometimes, he stands there for half an hour going: "Mom? my leg froze. This is urgent. I forgot what I was gonna do. Mom? My leg."
And then he remembers he had wanted to fit onto the tiniest pillow on the planet:
Huh. I haven't posted my FAQs in like half a year:
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
Before we begin, let me inform you of both Sheena's and Aenn's new sets shot by me:
Sheena - Corazon Salvaje
Sheena and I had always wanted to collaborate again after shooting for fun when she was in Berlin a while ago, but we never could make it happen. It's not as easy as one might imagine getting her out of Switzerland to come visit.
So we were both ecstatic when she made it in August and we could make this set we had envisioned happen. It's named after both her Wild at Heart Tattoo and the flaming heart on the wall on location.
Aenn - No Time To Sew
Aenn and I both sew clothes, and after discussing matters of greatest urgency, such as which sewing machine to buy and what makes a worthy machine for her, we got around to undressing and taking pictures of her.
The location is actually, contrary to common belief, not a cellar. It's an apartment on the third floor in the house I reside in a lot of the time.
And I'm super jealous of her awesome necklace.
So, back to events in Temper's life.
It's been a while. So much has happened, that's always the trouble. The more that happens, the less you can talk about it since so much happens.
Now I'm trying to structure it all into some written, chronological, sense-making form and getting frustrated because it's not working. This may, in part, be due to a man lying with his head between my legs, breathing on my pussy and rubbing his hard cock against my foot as I type.
In part, it may also be due to the most drastic event also being the one that, if told in detail and entirety (which would be necessary for any general understanding) would be absolutely beyond the scope of any reasonable journal entry.
I'm speaking of the court hearing regarding this inane incident. Why even a court hearing, no one knows. I don't know, my friend and witness Marcel doesn't know, anyone who got the story told to doesn't know. Everyone involved rated it as such a non issue that we were sure the charges would be dropped. What it came down to, really, was: If there is no damage, then how even make a case of bodily harm? It makes no sense. I didn't hurt her. Physically.
As I type now, my pussy is being eaten. I feel somehow very professional (how so, I'm not exactly sure...) because of my continuing ability to type. That sentence took about two whole minutes, but whatever.
So I made myself a court outfit consisting of a tight grey pencil skirt and white blouse. No, really. I looked pretty dashing. Alas, no picture since I haven't gotten around to it.
Ok, wait. I'll be right back, but I need to go have an orgasm.
So, long story short, the trial was a complete and utter farce. Everyone who lost will always say that, but I can't even begin to illustrate how farcical it truly was.
...
I just spent around 15 minutes with various attempts, and I am only getting angry, so fuck that. Fuck that and concentrate on the main repercussions, which would be me having to pay around 3000€ for something I didn't do. I need to pay for "multiple face punches" and "jumping on top of her" (?), her resulting anxiety attacks and thus aquired social phobias.
Alrighty then. I really hope all her alleged ailments are true, simply out of spite. I mean, I want to get something for my money, don't I?
The hugest joke came a few days afterwards, though. Friends started calling me to say: "What's up, Margerete?!" and being so good as to send me this as link and newspaper clipping:
I'm famous!
It's so bad you might want to learn german for it. It should be the general understanding that calling the BZ a "newspaper" is more than a euphemism, and the vailidity of any single word is unquestionably non existent.
Anyhow. What did I do since my last entry?
I shot some pictures with Jo Fischer who is pretty great.
Dwam and I by Nemesis:
There was a bunch of tattooing of everyone around:
None of those are even remotely anywhere near done, but we're bored by repetition, so we chose to just add new shit tattoos whenever we feel like it. Yes, we like it like that. Although we do keep meaning to go over the old ones again to minimize the aesthetic damage.
Except that one on the inside of my thigh, forget about that one. For one, it was actually intended to be scratchy and awful for reasons that take to long to explain, and secondly it hurt so much I screamed death threats and wimpered in pain throughout the entire procedure. Eric thought that was sort of hot.
Ok, what else? Hot naked man in Manko's penis panties:
What the place looks like after terribly torturing someone:
(Pretty tame, actually. Just messy. Oh, and for the record: That someone might or might not have been me.)
Me looking my absolute most androgynous for this thing I had to do:
Photos I took of girls:
Nemesis:
There are still so, sooo many images unprepped on my hard drive - I'm sorry, girls! I'm doing my best.
Pictures I shot of myself and sometimes Eric:
And the Before and After of a bike I bought for 18 euro:
Super cute. I called it "Fury".
And you know what? I don't know if I can continue modeling anymore, I think I need to retire. The reason?
It just can't, under any imaginable circumstances, get better than this snapshot:
Ever.
A bunch of radical changes are coming up in my life, like marriage and moving into a new apartment. Especially the last ist sort of a big deal for me since I've lived in my place for nearly nine years now. Simply throwing out nince years worth of trash is overwhelming, then finding nine years worth of junk to sell, and then finding nine years worth of junk that actually means something and is tied to memories.
Observe this gem I found while looking for apartments:
The mind, it boggles.
I'm very seriously contemplating getting a second bull terrier from a shelter. I wanted Erna:
but it turns out she recently suffered a herniated vertebral disk and needs a little wheelchair, so all elements combined (Horace's temerament, our living situation, etc) make it clear that we wouldn't be doing her a favor. She lives with a family where she just needs to fall out of the door into the yard, something we can hardly offer.
But there are other dogs, I really hope to find one.
Ok, so much for now. I've forgotten a trillion things, but this is ridiculously long already.
First of all - thank you so much for all your lovely comments on my engagement story. I tried (I really did!) to return a thank you to everyone, but due to me not having internet at home and SO much to work on all the time, I failed. I got to page two after like a week, I think, and then gave up.
One of my sets will go up today. Considering my last front page set was in 2008, I was very certain my set appearance days were over. I want to thank the academy, everyone who screamed "TEMPER SETS!" when propositions were made in threads regarding darker / artier / edgier sets on weekends, and I honestly have to say Chapeau to SG for choosing not the safer set of mine, but the one that has less % ♥ and was described as a "meta-critique" towards the site and some of it's members.
So thanks. A lot. Again. For that. It's making me get all my gear together to shoot another set as we speak. It will be darker. And edgier. And a bit controversial. Of course. Since I don't learn.
After a disgusting and very, very lame story of a girl who's corroded and eaten away by jealousy since she's under the faulty and very sexist impression that I am to blame for her not being with my man anymore (who even thinks stuff like that anymore? It's so out of date and devoid of any logic.), and who has, over the last half year, done all she could to squat herself into my consciousness with vile little attacks and passive aggressive bullshit and generally is on a super moronic quest to make my life miserable while I alternate between feeling sorry for her as if she was some crab with torn out limbs or wanting to swat her like a grossness infested bug who might give me malaria, I now have a new facebook page again after she got my old one deleted.
(^^ That earns be the gold medal for best run on sentence AND most winding story ever.)
I'm very tempted to tell you that her name begins with a Nickie and ends with a J[...]g so anyone who feels like could just do what they please with her profile, BUT. I won't. It's because I'm noble and superior.
On clothes - I have been so busy. Results: Summer is here. Observe my fresh and radical summer set design:
Better late than never. And incidentally, simultaneous to summer's arrival here. I even got a tan already (which takes me about two hours, but still.)
I threw out all my dark and cold and arrogant and gloomy and exchanged it with a bunch of light and loose and bright and sunny. Finer, lighter fabrics, everything wants to be even shorter, and colors have softened.
As always, view all on my website.
I moved into a new shop especially for german buyers. All international orders can still be placed through this shop.
Which brings us to my first request - and seriously, only do it if you have zero else to do. It doesn't take long once you get used to it, but anyhow - I'm in a contest with my clothes.
If you'd go there and skim through the submissions until you find one or all ofthe following items:
and would click 5 stars, that would be pretty nice!
I wish I wasn't sitting in this poisonous atmosphere of the internetcafe in Wedding (<- not the best part of town), since I'm sure I could describe more adequately a situation we're subjected to.
Remember all those lovely images I've been uploading lately, the ones shot in all these gorgeous indoor locations?
That's Eric's apartment. He and I both knew that the pleasure of living there is overshadowed by plans of others - mainly, an entire group of houses is being redeveloped and slowly but surely, everyone has been driven out of their living space. Eric and one other guy with his girl and their baby on the first floor are the only ones left.
We are living right in the middle of a huge construction site, and it's actually quite unnerving how much closer and closer they get every day, until this is what wakes you up in the morning:
It feels like such an incredible invasion to people who may or may not have it too good, I don't know. I realize that change happens and this is somewhat of a luxury problem considering AIDS infected infants die elsewhere, but nonetheless. I don't want it. Eric doesn't want it. Apparently most others don't care or just don't care enough since they allow themselves to be relocated into the brand new super great shiny apartments that were stripped of their post war soul and are now equipped with central heating and fancy windows and faucets that don't leak.
No one needs these things. If it was -15 degrees in January and there was no money for coal, then so was it. I don't know... I guess I'm romanticising, but honestly - given the choice of this ancient apartment full of history and heritage and past events with a little inconvenience, and a soulless piece of concrete and steel with fake Jugendstil windows from the goddamn hardware store - screw the latter.
If it were simply an improvement of things in the house that cause environmental problems everyone would be happy, but unfortunately, this isn't the case. Old buildings are bought by investors, stripped, cheaply redone, and rented to newly arriving people from some village in Schwaben who are able to pay the rent that has then increased by 300%.
In a place like Berlin, where everybody wants to live because it's so wild and free and whatnot, but everybody is dirt poor since unemployment is perpetually high and it's not like this fabled idea of "minimum wage" has any impact on anything and it isn't uncommon in the least for people to work for 4-5 euro an hour, this is a serious problem.
The paradox is that all those who come here all young and full of zest for action from little fart villages never, EVER experience what they came for, since they're the ones that are used to the luxury and comfort of functioning houses, get government benifits for studies and allowances from mom and wrinkle their noses at anything not declared as sanierter Altbau. They totally dream of the typical Berlin Altbau flair and park their spoiled asses into those places that previously housed... us.
After we were told: "You gotta go."
"But I've been living here for 8 years and this is my home."
"That's nice, you gotta go."
"What about my neighbour, he was born in this house and loves it."
"Yeah, he's gotta go."
"What about my other neighbour, she's 85 and can't really get used to new surroundings."
"Whatever, she's gotta go. We're offering an alternative."
"An alternative on the 4th floor without an elevator!"
"Not our problem, you all gotta go."
"I'm not."
"We're raising the rent."
"I'm not paying it."
"We're threatening with our lawyers."
"I'm ignoring it."
"We're turning off water and electricity."
"That's illegal, turn it back on."
"... Ok."
*pause*
*psychological war fare through building dust, obstacle courses of cement sacks, hoses, cables and machinery and jack hammer noise all day long*
This is the apartment underneath Eric's:
They have tried to scrape him out of his place forever now. I won't go into details, since this is a private matter and of no concern to anyone besides him and the building guy, but suffice to say that politics between the two are reaching a crescendo and Eric's door now looks like this:
Very simple. Very reduced. Very effective. Black coat of paint, Horace is now trying on his new suit as "dangerous dog" who guards the premises (no one needs to know he'd probably nice anyone to death in reality), and article 13 of the german constitution: Die Wohnung ist unverletzlich, the apartment is inviolable.
On a lighter note, I spent a few minutes feeling like a children's book heroine with my space suit, bull terrier, goose and vehicles. Observe:
And I leave you with some sex:
Well we took the motorcycle over 1357km through germany and what we saw was this:
and at the end of it I was engaged.
No, ok. There's obviously a bit more to that story, what we actually saw was this:
Ok, enough, the joke wasn't funny the first time. But before I elaborate, let me inform you about Fraise's set I shot:
As usual with anything on SG concerning sets I'm involved in, the comment count is ok and tons of people hate it.
In other news, my twin sister is pregnant. With twins. No, really.
And I have some pictures of me being wet:
Maybe I'll reconstruct that very spur of the moment thing wearing some clothes I made and form it into a set. Shower set. Boring. But if that's what earns me 500 bucks I need for the Moving Continents Fund and a front page appearance I may be pursuaded. *shrug*
(The Moving Continents Fund is exactly what it sounds like - I've been wanting to leave this beloved but hated and godforsaken place in which it's three months cold and nine months winter for a few years now, and considering that Eric feels the same way, there's really no reason not to finally take some solid steps into that direction.)
There exist some pictures shot by hektikproductions with my clothes and Miez' accessories:
So the reason we parked the dog with my ex, pulled on our leather jackets and shoot-from-cannon helmets at 5 am:
was Eric's sister's birthday somewhere in Hessen. It was the first time in a hundred years that all his closer family members would be in one place at the same time, so obviously the perfect occasion to introduce the skinny tattooed jaded big city girl who makes clothes parents usually don't understand and is naked on the internet and shoots snot lumps out of her nose instead of using a tissue. Hello mom, this is Temper.
That breathtaking blue jacket I'm wearing:
has a fabulous little story in which, due to the fact that I could not, partout, find my old leather jacket at all, anywhere, for weeks, and it still remains disappeared, we drove all through this town one entire day, through 13 (!) stores and not one had a simple normal leather motorcycle jacket that fit me.
This one's too big, discard. This one's too big, discard. This one's too big, discard. This one's too big, discard.
Until we reached the last shop, which we nearly overlooked if I hadn't yelled: "Stop! Go back." and upon entering, said: "Ah. I have a good feeling in this one."
And sure enough, we finally found this grey toned, dingy jacket that was stiff as a board but wanted to fit as though it had melted onto me. And the guy wanted 100 euro for it.
Considering all others cost around 30-50 euro, we said: "Yeah, no." but cried all the way home.
The next two days I spent calling everyone I knew who could know where the hell I'd buried my old jacket, tore through my apartment to at least find patterns for jackets so I could sew one of my own in a hurry, and generally threw my hands up in frustration until I went to Eric's place at night. He said he had a surprise for me and I honestly did not, in any fold and crease of my brain, believe that he had returned to the shop and bought the jacket.
Even when I saw it hanging there for me I didn't believe it, probably also since the stiff and grey block had magically turned into a soft and smooth little piece of flattering perfection in a deep, rich blue due to two days of care with luxurious Swizoel products by Eric.
I ♥ him. Guys, if you want to amaze a girl and make her want to drop to her knees and suck your cock forever, do stuff like that.
Meeting his family actually turned out to be pretty easy, his mom was nice but a little distant, his sister was very nice but just incompatible with how we are, and I got retardedly drunk with his father and that was alright. He and his son are very alike, so basically we three just sat around at this garden party, killed around ten beers each and talked about ass fucking. Good times.
The ride was really the reason we went. We ignored highways and took smaller, winding roads downs south through bavaria and into hessen and back again. I spent four days of my life on this:
Yes, that seat. The one that barely holds a cigarette pack.
There, behind Eric, were there is no room for another person by any stretch of the imagination:
I admit my ass was in pain at times, but was way too proud to use a pillow we took along. Good work, soldier, as Simon would say.
Being squished into that non-space was quite practical though, it allowed me to either sleep quite comfortably with my head on his shoulder for miles on end or constantly be busy with all sorts of free handed stuff like dealing with the map or smoking cigarettes or taking pictures:
What do you mean, "hold on tight"?
We spent the nights in tiny and rather tasteless but oh, so awesome places like Pension Bettina, in which Eric is being out of place for a picture:
and creepy cat head was creepy:
We were so very proud of our packed little pony:
She was reliable and sturdy and awesome, and in over 1300km the only little malfunction was the exhaust pipe rattling loose, which was quickly fixed with some wire from a fence or something.
Androgynous eyepatch-boy, by the way, is me:
and wearing that thing on my face was not a fashion statement. My eye was leaking pus and gross-ness if you must know, so no contact lense or wind for those days.
Stopping in these teeny towns and villages smelling of manure for gas or water bottles was something special. You invade them with an exhaust which is LOUD, so everyone stares at you before you're even visible, so to speak, and when you catch up to your vrooooom! intro and walk into the gas station, everyone's like: "What the hell are these two fags doing here? Oh my god, the one with the eyepatch and tattooed neck is a girl! Holy shit. Let me reach for the alarm under my counter. Ok, I won't throw them out right away because the guy is 6'2" and sort of strong looking and I don't want any trouble without calling the boys first.
Ok, they're leaving. Phew. Got lucky this time. Now, since I'm fat anyway, I'll go to McDonalds three villages away and tell everyone the story of the century."
Oh look! My very first home made .gif!
EDIT: Ok, I suck at making gifs. Maybe next time I'll succeed in building one that doesn't stop after one run.
EDIT: Ah, success!
Anyhow, we had a lot of dialogs such as: "Ugh, smells like cow spirit."
"No, it smells of being wild and freeeee!"
"Being wild and free smells like cow shit."
*grunt*
*grunt*
Look, our very own SG soccer Eintracht:
Other impressions of travelling:
^^ getting both of us into a picture fail.
^^ creepy rape bus house was creepy and rape-y.
I was taking pictures of some crap during a break when Eric said: "That house is so gay."
And I took a deep breath to start my human rights speech of: "What the hell is wrong with you, could you please refrain from using "homosexual" in any derogatory manner? Many a person is...."
"Temper, that house is really, REALLY gay. Like, flamboyantly so."
And I looked and he was right:
^^ my compilation of Nom.
Oh, guess what? I'm growing tits:
I have no idea whats going on, but since about 2 months, my boobs are painful and bigger. I was also subjected to horrendous mood swings and severe jealousy, like... super idiotic outrageous jealousy, he'd say something like: "Look at the shoes on that girl." and I'd go: "GRRAAAAWWWRRRRR!!!"
I'm glad that's over since my last menstruation, but even though two tests, my IUD and a doctor say I'm not pregnant, there is definitely something weird going on that I have another appointment to get checked on thursday. Until then, I'll continue to suppose I'm just old enough to wear a bra now, mom.
I found another useful thing to do with my butt:
^^ happiest wild boar alive.
The very, um, respectable surroundings we endured at times are hardly conveyed in words:
and they made us look utterly misplaced:
We saw some odd contraptions on our way, such as this piece of machinery building that ran askew right over the road and puffed out dust clouds through a hole in the bottom and delivered whatever inside through a hole on top:
or this... thing that just looked amazingly sexy, I felt:
and I wanted one of these:
The following was us being stupid and suicidal, since yes, Eric held the camera, and yes, we were going around 90kmh:
This creeped me out:
It's a nice sentiment, but really reads like: Hello there, our village is polluted with Nazis. Have a great day!
I don't know if you care, but in case you do, sorry there are hardly any pictures of me, I was the camera girl. And you need to get a little imaginative for pictures of yourself or both of you when you're travelling alone.
Yes, I know where half naked. I know it's dangerous and omg! Your kidneys, child! and I also know that all other motorcyclists hated us.
But when we left, the weather in Berlin was this:
and by the next day, 30°c in the shade, without shade. Wearing a bikini top on a motorcycle when you crash is pretty shitty, which is why we didn't crash. Simple as that.
There was also a lot of this:
and stuff like this:
For some reason unbeknownst to me (probably since in the country, there is Nothin. Else. To Do.) I developed a talent and excelled in bug portraiture:
^^ she was pissed after realizing that the stars on the license plate were not, in fact, flower bits. She took off griping.
(I guess not so much of a "talent" after all, considering most of my bug portraits are blurry and half of my models are dead.
I was very exasperated by a slater bug who I scolded by telling it the truth about how it was such a bad model, and he was never going to make it in the business. He ran home so embarrassed.)
By the way and apropos nothing: Eric is the author of the most retarded nickname I was ever christened with, he calls me Chicken-Bob.
Chicken because I'm so tan naturally I, according to him, look like a skinny tattooed Brathaehnchen, and Bob came from this film where the cop asks the other one: "Is that right, Bob?" and we constantly use that phrase when the other claims something very stunning. At some point they were joined, probably in a very profound conversation such as: "You need put oil on the spaghetti after draining water, moron!" - "Oh really. Is that right, chicken bob?"
And now I'm stuck with it.
I shouldn't have told you that.
Oh, and found this beautiful abandonded house in which the entire roof had just collapsed - I know everyone and their cat love abandonded buildings, but it really was pretty great:
^^ I don't care about blood, piss, genitals or granny porn - those last two images are easily the funniest or most unnerving I've ever shot. The black leather gloved hands holding pages of a Bravo from the 1980ies before a background of demolition becomes more and more perverse the longer you stare at it.
^^ Eric finds creepy chute:
^^ Aw, Jean Pascale slept there.
^^ Those where notes of a welding apprentice.
And finally, of course, the lake.
^^ If you look closely, you can discover a swarm of tiny fish.
So. About that engagement thing... ^^ That little beach somewhere on the ass of the world in Meinhard-Grebendorf on the very romantic B 249 road is now somewhat dear to me since that's the place Eric asked me to be his wife. And where I said Yes.
Or rather something like: "Guh buh, yes dude." since I'm classy and know all about dealing with emotion ladden situations and lifetime decisions.
But what happened was the following:
We stopped there to drink cheap wine and rest our weary asses and after some splashing and rock skimming and being tipsy we were lying piled on top of each other and he asked me: "Is there anything else you want from me at all?"
"What, now or generally?"
"Generally."
"That you finally propose. Can you do that at some point, Spasti?"
And he looks at me and says: "Stand up."
A complete moment of disbelief and WHAT. No way. follows, but apparently yes way, since he asks: "Does that mean you want to stay with me for a really long time and not love anyone else?" and I'm like: "Uh, ja."
And he reaches into his pocket and produces a little chocolate brown ring box containing a slender, delicate rose gold ring with two tiny intertwined jewels and asks if I want to marry him.
I was wearing nothing but a pair of red Bart Simpson underwear for 12 year old boys, road grit and my eyepatch, was close to passing out from standing up in the heat and my blood pressure not catching up and generally just being caught so off guard and being rendered speechless and overwhelmed and so I immediately said:
Nothing.
I didn't know what. My mind drew a complete blank and did not process what the appropriate thing to say or do was, until he had enough and said: "Dude, I'm kneeling on pebbles and it hurts like hell, if you don't answer me right away I'm going to throw you into the lake! In case you didn't hear me - do you want to be my wife?"
And I said the previously mentioned legendary words of: "Guh buh, yes dude."
That's the way it was.
This was my outfit:
And this is the ring:
He searched high and low for the right ring and eventually found it in an antique shop. The story goes that it's exactly 100 years old and only belonged to only one woman throughout this time, who was, before her death upon reaching some ancient age, aquainted with the shop owner lady who sold the ring to Eric.
It was her engagement ring in 1910, and now again in 2010.
I find that pretty breathtaking.
Even if that story isn't true it's a pretty good fable. Although I don't think the old lady in the antique shop is that cunning of a liar, so I choose to believe it.
What I also learned then was that before our departure, Eric had contacted my father. Who I haven't talked to in 12 years.
Eric is so extremely oldschool (I'd even say conservative sometimes) that it was extremely important to him to speak to him before proposing to me. You know, the whole: "Hello, my name is Eric and I want to marry your daughter."
My father is in the US again now, so he contacted him the only way possible, which was to sound out my sister for information and finally writing him via internet.
I don't care how cheesy that could sound to anyone not involved, I found it breathtaking and heartbreaking and flattering and incredible.
So remember guys - If you want to awe and amaze a girl and make her want to fall to her knees and suck your cock, and only your cock, forever, then do stuff like that.
So I let work be work for a change.
I got a new (1 euro 2nd hand) children's My Little Pony shirt and cut off the arms to fit me. Horace hates me and is plotting his revenge.
It's not as if you can tell, but that's the shirt:
And this guy who is hot and happens to adore me and tends to be goofy with me between bicycle repairs and fucking and stuff.
I look solemn simply due to sun squinting:
And squinty simply due to sun squinting:
And oh, look! An SG conundrum - is it porn? Or is it art?
So what did you do this sunday?
Due to the vast increase in orders received recently, I am unfortunately UNABLE
TO TAKE ANY NEW ORDERS UNTIL JUNE 1st!
Thank you so much for understanding and I apologize for any inconvenience.
There are two possible options for placing orders currently:
1. You are very welcome to place your order at any time by messaging me, emailing
info@anthracite.de or using the shop, however I will have to add you to a waiting
list. This list will be processed starting June 1st. Depending on how quickly you
order, it may take up to three weeks after this date for order to be shipped.
2. It is possible to ensure your order receiving priority treatment by adding an extra
fee of 30% of the listed sales price. This enables me to adequately employ
competent help to my one woman show. Since I do not want to raise all prices
due to this, I am offering this option as an alternative.
All else later.
Gutterpunk Journalism of Total Randomness:
I was in Zurich, this occured in the hotel room:
because I guess there was something under the bed or whatever. You know how much sense pictures of ass usually make.
I was at Eric's place and this happened:
And then I fed the dog:
Nomnom chicken necks.
There's been a bunch of this because it's getting to be summer:
And some tribute pictures because why not:
Horace and Eric like each other:
which is good because they get up each morning and go to the bakery together to get me breakfast. I die a thousand deaths of cuteness at the mere thought of it, it's like some primal family instinct has suddenly been sparked to life.
Meanwhile, Horace eats a bear:
I look like gollom while Eric is blown out:
and we went to visit my grandmother, who is seventysomething and in my opinion, breathtakingly gorgeous and knows how to pose:
She is constantly super glamorous in jewelry and sparkly clothes and smokes a single cigarette zur Feier des Tages when I see her, but chops wood and cares for animals and built two entire houses on her own and we talk about penis and stuff. She is generally a very impressive woman, and it's good to know that my genes ensure I will be awesome when I'm old.
I was on the phone with her recently and said: "... blablabla, was that all? Because I'd want to go now and fuck."
And Eric was like: "OH MY GOD WOMAN!"
Except she relentlessly lets me know that I'm too skinny, and asked Eric if he didn't prefer a girl with tits.
Then I roll my eyes, Eric says No, I tell her that if there's one thing I have no problem with it's getting boys to want to fuck me, and she gives us both The Look.
Then she talks about how hard she had to work after the war and accuses Eric of not having worked physically in his entire life, to which he retorts: "Excuse me, but I spent three years delivering coals and carried 200 pounds on my back into cellars all day long."
And she exclaims: "What! You have no muscles!"
and I explode into hysterical snortlaugh fits because a) I can see he's getting pissed off, b) I can see he's thinking of undressing then and there, and c) we know what he looks like naked, so they both proceed to get into a pissing contest about who has more biceps.
*snort*
I saw an owl.
Where is it? There:
We went to the Air Force Museum:
I took pictures of uniform and clothing details, but those are boring if you aren't a fashion geek:
I absolutely realize I'm going to hell for this, but when I entered the WWII room and saw these three nazi boys in their little glass cage:
I wanted to fuck.
The rest was quite enthralling:
Oh, and these:
seemed pretty familiar.
And then, completely unrelated to the above, I saw a rope jumping tooth:
and with this, my blog entry is concluded.
That's all for now.
Go here if you missed sex, fun and nakedness, or wait a day or so for a picture heavy update.
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Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
Since my ad is on SG:
I have been pretty swamped with orders. So much in fact that all my other activities (be it working on new items of clothing or debauchery) have come to a sudden screeching halt and I remain in my four walls, up to my eyeballs in fabric and ironing steam and racing sewing machines for about 16 hours a day, every day.
My only, and very welcome, distraction is shooting girls in my man's place since it's like he furnished and interior-designed it for the sole purpose of having SG sets produced in it.
Observe Sheena:
Dress by me.
Observe my ass:
Observe Fraise:
A few more of me in Manko's penis panties, shot at my place however:
Wish me luck that a crop from one of those is my new profile image in the future.
And yes, I realize I look romulan. I'm hoping my lovely wife Adria will endorse this. Actually, I look like a slightly unnerving lovechild of some romulan and Jeanne d'Arc:
I've been wanting to reenact that last image in a more contemporary way, however I'm having trouble obtaining a ray gun instead of the sword. If anyone has one, give me.
I bought my first very own brand new notebook, and I'm pretty proud to say it wasn't sperm money that paid it. Sperm money is cool and very much appreciated, but getting cash for other work is something else entirely. Anyhow, I keep doing dumb shit with it just because I can, like making this my picture when I start it:
Ah yes, webcam. I realize I'm lame and like 20 years too late, but wow, technical achievements! What will they invent next, the combustion engine? A zeppelin? The internet?
My man, brother in law and I are enthused:
I found some pretty awesome snapshots of Eric and Horace from a few months ago:
It's like they're being katapulted onto the Kreuzberg from another dimension. Pewzing! PEW!
Pew. Levitation.
Oh, and here are my friend Zeynel and I at some super dumb "fetish" party after we stuck a hundred syringes into the "dominatrix", who had, prior to that, run around the entrire dungeon naked and giggling. (Yeah, I totally feared her wrath.)
Oh wait, I'll go find some pictures of the process itself ... wait... Ok, here:
It's ok that I work so much since quite simultaneously, Eric got his new super great absolute perfect dream job in which he crawls around expensive cars all day and makes them look luxurious. He spends 12 - 16 hours a day cleaning and washing and waxing and rubbing and using secret tinctures with ethereal ingredients until they shine in an otherworldly gleam to be presented at shows and whatnot.
It's sort of sensual and sexy, in a way. I need to get pictures.
But it means that currently, we are both working like donkeys and rarely see each other, which leads to terrible orgiastic occurances on weekends. I've just now left his lair and am sort of relieved actually, maybe due to the rugburn I received over half my face while I whimpered: "Stop, please, you're hurting me, please, please, nnnnghhhohgodohgodOHGOD!"
So what we learn is to not be fooled by pretty faces such as this one:
since they may deceive you into thinking they wouldn't be capable of fucking your ass before breakfast, then bringing you breakfast politely and fucking your ass again afterwards, then showering and leaving you a panting mess just to stick their cock down your throat upon return, eating your pussy in a way that makes you cry and pray to god, after a gracious and rather condescending pause provoking you by purposefully uttering sexist things like: "Girls shouldn't ride motorcycles." until you get into a defiant and stubborn discussion with him even though you know he doesn't even mean it, only to have him punish you horribly with asphyxiation and forced orgasms for "talking back", and at some point fucking you so hard you vomit afterwards.
All the while, you propped up in an easy access fuck position somewhere between couch and floor, he forces you to admit you love him lest he just stops ramming his cock inside you, which would be the worst thing imaginable since you are absolutely aware of the fact that he is by far more disciplined and in posession of far more self-control than you and would not allow you any penetration for weeks on end if he decided it an appropriate measure in regards to your impertinent behaviour.
He drives me crazy. He might be the only person more nasty, relentless and perversely power-trippy than I was with most boys, back when I wasn't so addicted to just one man.
Although it can be pretty funny at times as well, especially when he tries to keep me from wanting to fuck him.
"No Temper," he says, "we have things to do." which is true, like shooting porn for private customers.
But he's half naked and filming me while I insert things into my pussy, so I touch him because he's hot.
And he grabs my wrists and tells me: "No." again, which I find even hotter and nestle up to him nearly purring, so he needs to counteract this by forcing me away with his upper body strength, of which there is plenty, until I'm lying on my back in bed with him over me, still holding my wrists, which I find hotter still.
So he gets exasperated and doesn't know whether to fuck me, slap me or laugh and says:
"No! And quit it with your fuck-voice, your fuck-breathing, your fuck-eyes, your fuck-mouth, your fuck-whimpering and your fuck-back-arching!" which I find incredibly hot, and he cries:
"Oh my god! ... must be unsexy... uhm, ok: Women's right to vote was the worst mistake of the past century! ... and, uh... No matter what, Kachelmann* is innocent!" and it's no use at all because then I have to laugh hysterically and funny men are sexy.
I have it so hard, I know.
(* Kachelmann is this TV weather dude who allegedly (or as I'd say, proven guiltily (<-- no idea whether that adverb-ified term exists) raped his girlfriend after a fight and it caused a huge ruckus and some super misogynist news coverage.)
The FAQs:
Remember, if you know me and see I've forgotten a crucial question, please tell me.
