10 creators | 240 Hours | 10 works
1. As light at the edge of the cloud
2. Gabriel Broyd
3. Who Wins
4. Morning program
5. I AM ALONE LIKE YOU
6. Domestic erotica
Her feet step on the cold floor. Her fingers twitch, clinging to the smooth tiles. Just yesterday she knelt down and cleaned them, and now they are fragrant, shiny, just waiting for her. She shifts her weight over them, from the heel pushed to the floor to the toe pads. An electric pain goes through her. The corner of the table struck her little finger, a surprising whipping. The bristles on her calves protrude with pain and pleasure.
She walks over to the library and flutters her fingers lightly over the books, touching untouched. Going crazy with anticipation. She knows exactly what book she wants. Here, she found the book she was looking for. Thick, full of taut, crunchy columns. She runs her finger over the first, stiff pillar. Slowly move your finger on the edge of the pillar from the head to the base. Her skin opens, a thin, transparent cut opens in it slowly, revealing her pink flesh. At once she opens the book in the middle and buries her head in it. She inhales his scent, moist, rich. A scent that had been closed inside for a long time.
it is not enough.
The floor warms slowly from its steps. When she retraces her steps she responds to her with her own sweat, which is repeatedly smeared on her fingers with every contraction and grip.
The kitchen. She places her cheek on the counter. The smooth, oiled touch makes her skin weasel. With a hand trembling with thirst she opens the tap and puts her lips on it. She swallows it to the end, over and over. The current is strong, she almost suffocates and does not sweeten her lips, swallowing the water as if she has not drank for a whole year, or at least since the closure began. After an eternity she turns off the tap. Last drops drip from it. She needs them. She purses her lips again, sucking everything, not to miss a single drop.
She wants more.
She opens the fridge and takes out a half-full mold of chocolate cake. She pushes her fingers into the brown mass, cupping the soft contents and pushing the fist into her mouth. How much she needed that sugar. Her whole body trembles from the energy that went into it at once. This hunger has opened up and cannot be stopped.
She takes a locus out of the freezer. She slaps the locus on the marble. The marble corner is broken by the force of the impact of the frozen, hard fish. She slaps her again and shards of marble and ice splash to the floor, to the sink, into her cleavage.
She has an idea.
She goes out to the porch and saws in the shears the frozen flesh of the fish. She sucks his frozen tail like a girl sucking a thumb. She grits her teeth at him and a sharp pain pierces her head.
The balcony. Potted plants arranged in a row, she sticks her fingers into the ground and sweeps from it a begonia flower, from the depths, from the root. She licks his rash column. Licking around the petals with perfect gentleness, then with a strong tongue penetrating into the leaves, sucking on the sweet nectar.
She bites into the garden furniture.
She penetrates to her elbow into the sponge bucket, fills it with rye bread and again, drowning her hand in it deep, deep.
She bangs her head on the sink.
It swallows the synthetic pillow filling. He stimulates her throat and she uses her fingers to slide it inside her.
She lets her knees swallow in the warm groove between the sofa cushions.
it is not enough.
it is not enough.
She hears a knock on the door.
She opens the door.
The spouse enters the house. The partner kisses her on the lips and says she is going to wash her hands. From the bathroom, the partner shouts: "You do not understand what the queue was at the supermarket."
The spouse goes to the kitchen. From the kitchen she shouts "Why have you thawed the locus? I thought we're saving it for Friday. Do you want us to make it now? I'm putting it in the fridge, okay?"
The partner enters the living room and arranges the sofa cushions. The spouse is sitting on the couch.
The partner yawns and says, "My credit is already burned. Do you want to see the chase?"
The partner takes the sign and presses the button.
Ido Rosenblum asks: "To which family does the cauliflower plant belong?"
The partner says, "Cross!" And smiles at her. The partner asks, "Is everything okay?"
The partner gets up to her and kisses her on the lips.
She spreads her partner's lips with her tongue and inserts her tongue into the partner's mouth.
The partner asks, "Do you want sex?"
She takes off her pants and panties and sits down on the coffee table.
The partner says, "Creditors, err, I did not clean it today. I feel filthy, I'll take a shower and get in bed, okay?" And goes to the shower.
She takes off her shirt and bra.
She goes to the balcony.
It uproots the seedling of the jasmine bush from the ground. Its sweet scent confuses her for a moment. She sees a small worm rising from the mud and disappearing inside. She enters a pit that has opened up in the damp soil. She reaches out and places the roots of the jasmine bush on her stomach. It covers itself with soil.
7. (Fantasizes a bit)
8. Are We Growing Closer?
9. Our bed is Picasso's cannabis
Our Picasso's Canvas Headquarters
The limbs were lost
Within the two of us
My lips are getting closer kiss
Do not know what
Where did they teach me that the neck was found
Above the ears
The eyes must be there
You're sending out a search mission for my fuck
Your hands, I think those are hands
Now they are in the abdomen or thighs
Our blood is black and white
I grope my skin to look for my mouth and tongue
But our headquarters is Guernica
A scene of disaster
You're coming down from me
From what is left
Covers us with a blanket
A white bag from ZAKA
The sum of all our limbs rests on us
I wrap myself in a hug
The justice of the law
You'm already asleep.
10. Nostalgia in the blue room
Hannah Bristyevsky MOFUTA aka