#seiger

      Seigar is an English philologist, a highschool teacher, and a curious photographer. He is a fetishist for reflections, saturated colors, details and religious icons. He feels passion for pop culture that shows in his series. He considers himself a traveler and an urban street photographer. His aim as an artist is to tell tales with his camera, to capture moments but trying to give them a new frame and perspective. Travelling is his inspiration. However, he tries to show more than mere postcards from his visits, creating a continuous conceptual line story from his trips. The details and subject matters come to his camera once and once again, almost becoming an obsession. His three most ambitious projects so far are his “Plastic People”, a study on anthropology and sociology that focuses on the humanization of the mannequins he finds in the shop windows all over the world, “Response to Ceal Floyer for the Summer Exhibition” a conceptual work that understands art as a form of communication, and his “Tales of a city”, an ongoing series taken in London. He has participated in several exhibitions, and his works have also been featured in international publications.

This is a poem a wrote after having gone to a party that I enjoyed incredibly but could never remember a thing from the night. I want to make a second part to it because this part aims particularly at the sex appeal of a party and there are so many focussing points I want to write about, this introduction will lead to how I feel when at a party: sexual. If you have any questions about my poetry feel free to message me, and message me with your thoughts too as I appreciate feedback and all critism😊 thanks and enjoy.

——————————————————————————–

I stobe in the night awaiting the warm melting egg brightens the day, I come back to confounded sheets and cuddle into the surrounding air, And I’m safe now.

But that night was the animal, My mind cannot count the alphabet of times I pressed against another, The river rushing over ‘my’ fabricated sleeve, Another full sin of glass bottle handed to my palm, Blacked out as my pants fade to hands that are stained stickiness skins, This deck is filled with piss and drink with crew mates who don’t know each other, They plead-force me into the middle or their forever sinking ship, Help! Help. Silence, Empty. Gone.

Awake: in the walls I rent I’m safe, But still all of their bodies buzz across my limbs, SMACK SWAT SMACK! They crawl against what I thought were virgins of my skin, I’m safe. He’s on my arm, I’m alone. She’s in my mouth, I’m okay. He’s pleasuring my back, I need them… He rapped around my fingers while she is thigh high to our WTC, I caress his cresent hair which perfectly fits the moon lighting his face, We slowly come towards each other admiring the glistening moon lit emeralds, His pearls attract my digger eyes into his leather wallet pockets, Though his pockets have more than simple leather but a much better prize to take in this animal, My warped fingers pull him to me to reduce the tension made, We collide into our explosive ecstasy, She is gone and he is the only thing I can’t remember but the only thing my mind will truly know I ran from, I’m home…?