Sometimes we worked out in Venice, looking at the surf. We were together a lot and it was good times for all of us. Acid, sun, friends, the ocean, and poetry and music.
Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it’s usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move.
To keep their love, you keep pretending – performing. You get to love your pretense…It’s true, we’re locked in an image, an act – and the sad thing is, people get so used to their image
