(sorry, picture taken off upon request)
all pics © Julien Mokrani
Hello my virtual friends.
I had plans to write a post on the art of posing, or maybe just posting backstage videos from fellow photographers' shoots.
Then, just like Towelie, I got high and I sort of wandered off, to find myself obsessed with french charme.
What is french charme? Where does it come from? Is it somehow related to the uncanny ability to make more than 300 types of cheese, all of which fattening?
All sort of questions rose to my mind when I realized that the organ I'm mostly attracted to in a person it's his/her brain.
Don't get me wrong: when I say "attracted" I do not mean some sort of intellectual admiration that involves red wine, cheap cigarettes and a bunch of old Woody Allen dvds.
I mean raw desire.
I mean wanting somebody just beacause of what he/she does.
Talking to such people may feel like an unfair match of strip poker, in which I am wearing 1,000 layers and they end up naked before I can spell Rocquefort.
Such minds come in different body shapes, sizes and sexes, and I'd still .... you know.
That's kinda disturbing but hey, last time I checked my grandma didn't read my blog.
So why can't I just drool over David Beckham in his Armani undies or some other random dude's sixpack? Why can't I be just another healthy gay man, and use the internet for what it was originally meant - jacking off to free porn?
Hell no, I gotta fantisize on temperamental artists and their smarty-pants ways.
Not that I've met many. I met two in my lifetime, insanely sexy brain carriers - a boy and a girl.
They don't know each other and they probably don't even realize their minds make waves,
and this tsunami shakes me to the bone.
So where does this je ne sais pas quoi come from? Is it innate? Is it something everyone can see or is it just in the eyes of the sucker?
I chain smocked my way through these questions and I couldn't find an answer, and now I'm outta grass and I still don't have the answers. I got a husky voice instead.
I know for sure part of the bewitching comes from the eyes. These people all have killer retinas.
They gotta be tremendously gifted, the kind of talent that makes me forget to feed my cats.
I could be jealous but somehow I am not at all. Their gift is so beautiful I can only nod and hope they won't read my mind (or blog).
I just stare at the sparkle in their eyes whenever they talk on being the best about what they do one day.
Temperamental yet sweet, whenever I say something they don't like I can see a flame burst and the effort they put in trying not to lash out is enchanting.
I can see a volcano erupting, and it's scary and awesome at the same time.
My admiration is pure, and the fact that I was never able to express what I feel because I won't dare, is just making it sweeter.
all pics ©Julien Mokrani
(My arousal may not always be as pure but hey: at least it comes from a nice place).
So at 2,00A.M. I still do not know where this kind of allure is manufactured, I still cannot sleep, and I still cannot get a hold of my dealer (he must be doing the world tour in a hot-air balloon, and I guess I've been sponsoring him at least up to Japan).
But as my umpteenth useless saturday nights flows by, I'll have to admit charme was originally made in France, just as "allure", "chic", and all these words they drop with goddam nonchalance.
Frenchies happen to know that the sexiest part of the human body it's the brain.
Why didn't they tell us before?
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