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@brooklynofahey
"I suffer and I dream. I complain because I am weak and, because I am an artist, I amuse myself by weaving music around my complaints and arranging my dreams as best befits my idea of beautiful dreams."
— Fernando Pessoa, "the book of disquiet"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"seems so cruel how it was destined the lamb ended up breaking its wolves' heart."
— brooklyn o'fahey
desert sailors
i sold your soul on a flea-market fetched it for a dime or two then kept its remnants to dry beneath the rain of boiling moons
you forwarded me a correspondence inquired "where did my precious thing go?" i shrugged and moved the fishline around "i hoped for it to find a better home."
than you or than me we are desert sailors to the sun
magnificent
"She is a mystery. It seems to me that she is not like other people. There is something she lacks. Kindness maybe, or conscience. You can only understand people if you feel them in yourself. And I can't feel her. The moment I think about her my feeling goes into darkness. I don't know what she wanted or what she was after. She was full of hatred, but why or toward what I don't know. It's a mystery. And her hatred wasn't healthy. It wasn't angry. It was heartless."
— john steinbeck, "east of eden"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"not everything is a lesson, sometimes hope is a train wreck with its windows painted golden"
— brooklyn o'fahey, "the economics of melancholia"
"you're a cowboy like me steadied reins with no admonition."
— brooklyn o'fahey
"tasting blood on your tongue does not shock me as my arms grow into your hair."
— leonard cohen, from "letter", let us compare mythologies
What were you? a) a polluted spine. b) expired m&m's in a milk carton. c) sleeping pills. d) a wet knife.
— brooklyn o'fahey
"with you, my whole body turns into a microphone. each separate touch becoming a song of sorts, a distilled melody."
— brooklyn o'fahey
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"my dreams are but a foolish refuge, about as reliable as an umbrella in a thunderstorm."
— fernando pessoa, "the book of disquiet."
"you don't know me i'm too aggressive, and a lot of trouble but there is no better heartbreak than me."
— brooklyn o'fahey
"tenderness is more dangerous than passion—it has no cure."
— "the economics of melancholia."
"boredom is no longer my bride. i know these passions and disasters too well—the rages, the debauches, the madness[...] i can no longer find consolation in being beaten. there is no chance of a honeymoon when Jesus Christ is your father-in-law."
— arthur rimbaud, "a season in hell."
you do not know
the smudged night stand un-massaged hands you, the mere man i ever did love as i do women
you do not know that my sole love at first sight is you, my man that tar-coated night, and your chest pressed through vapour before i arrived you feared i'd be gone you were so right i only ever wanted to be wrong and i talked to God before i said, my Lord i knew it is him it is him it is him
you do not know i still carry your claw marks on my heart i wear them like over-tight uniforms one i handpicked from wallmart
you do not know i am no longer able to let myself die as much the blood leaves fingerprints now you've painted all my walls white
you do not know i was going to sprint to the auction to place a bid on your ring finger's parking spot that i was going to let you have my forever at a discount i told you i no longer need the money now
how will i ever drown this all out
i do not know
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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today a bee died in my kitchen
i offered it syrup and water and felt like the snowwhite of a kitchen kingdom, of sorts. so, bees, today i contemplated them and their life of nourishing freedom; powdering petals, alchemising floral ash into smudges of liquid gold. i have now watched them die a couple of times, one, two, three, four—five. and it is as a ship sailing away with a metaphorical rib or two; though it becomes easier to breathe, my heart's left feeling just a tad more naked. a wind that once propelled their tiny wings forward now etches a river of itself through my chest, and i am finally granted a chance to revel in my own emptiness. you take almost as beautifully as you give—i am at the culprit of envying it. how you make love to the sunflower as it drinks in the sun. it echos some of my more recent attempts. rest in peace, my little one. we are all better for you, as the commitment of your life to adventure and servitude eases the ache of selflessness
— brooklyn o'fahey, "a most beautiful almost" watercolour on paper
