CURATED BY BJARNE MELGAARD
23 MAY - 23 JUNE 2019
I'm not entirely sure where I left off, but I'm not back to entertain. I'm still the same Victor Boullet, but I'm not that man that was running The Institute of Social Hypocrisy, things change.
I live in Liverpool, I paint. I'm white. I'm heterosexual. I vote Labour. I'm turning 50 this summer, not very comfortable with that.
Liverpool is not a place I like.
I've just had another episode with insomnia. It's not nice. I woke up last night at 01:04, twisting and turning with an energetic brain. 04:07 I got up. The house was pitch black. Trying to find the door is a challenge while the floor offers up all the correct noises that an old Georgian house is capable of delivering.
Descending the stairs in the dark naked is not something I do very often, because I usually trap my body in bed with the hope of another minute's sleep. But this time I thought a sip of water could help my hectic brain calm down.
I entered the kitchen, the floor tiles were ice cold. I struggled to locate our small, low IKEA fridge, 132 litre. I dropped my arm, found the handle and pulled the door open.
The light from the fridge hit my face and a body-shaped shadow filled the room behind me. I looked down for the water, but sadly the light had lit up my white cock, belly and tits in such a cruel manner that I was super shocked. I could not believe how unsexy I was.
Cock, belly and a fridge, mushrooms, eggs and tits .
I quickly drank my water direct from the plastic bottle and put it back onto it's shelf and again that view of my ageing body, fuck.
I shut the door, and the room went black. I closed my eyes getting ready to manoeuvre back to the stairs, but to my horror the bright light from the fridge had been imprinted onto my retina, a white silhouette agains black, that of my two tits and stupid cock.
I got out of bed at my usual time 06:30
Victor Boullet
Liverpool 2019