If you would like to resort in your blog to the kind of imagery which drives critics to boast of swank hotels, I suggest that you feign an erotically anarchic disposition. Nothing so rings the bourgeois bell of alarm, as a perfectly ordinary guy in a rattan chair, without his clothes on. By way of illustration of this menace, I invoke a recent posting from a tumblr found in our Context, on which a quiz will be given in due course. Bear in mind, then, the gravamen of the offense: it is the assertion of privilege, by universally accessible means. But has any inequity flourished in an erotically equable milieu?
You can always tell when you're in a repressed environment, by the number of naked limbs a portrait projects. At 4 (the known maximum, to date), this portrait plainly intervenes in a culture of acute genital rejection, so starved by Google's vigilante threshold of "abuse" that herz und mund und tat und leben, itself, rings hollow without its demonstrative faculties. But the internet is such a spectacle of liberty that no one really minds, that the rentier which controls its water supply is so cautious.
The paradox of repression's contradictions is too famous to recite on a Monday, and would be pointless to recall in a page of such conventional limits as ours. Rather, one writes to pass along two considerations. The first, is simply an accident of joy, forever: and that is that we can all sit to épatez les bourgeois. The second is a masculine corollary, and it is that we will. I introduce this portrait to celebrate the incurable fact that we will disport ourselves in every posture under the sun, merely to celebrate that we can. It's a beautiful thing.
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