It’s the era of my body, so there will be a lot of this, as I navigate ‘The Outers’. Every drawl of my huskiness, and every flex is snapped into its rightful place, not as the demonstrable evidence of man, no. It is, the connectedness of my body to the soulish devices that have been there, all the while, and hadn’t had a palette.
My body is the palette. I’m painting confidence onto my existence, with daubs of stringy paint. The paintbrush is colored with generously titillating blobs of big dick energy, although, my chosen dick is small – 4 ½ inches. I’m carving into the canvas, with the patience of process, because I’m enjoying it so much..sitting here sketching me.
The body – I finally have no need anymore for expressive restraint. I created space – a studio space with bay windows and plants poked in every possible crevice. In here, I am zaddy..deep, tall, and thick. I am able to command my presence and it does as my soul intends.
I see it. I saw it..the penciled lines had made a frame.
Then I reckoned that space meant being in a place that’s so far, that I don’t even hear my own musings. I listen instead to how my muse sings. I hear my footsteps, I hear the thud of my heated heart, beating so close to the tightened skin that I fear it’ll just rip out my chest.
I created space.
This space is not one where I am responding to the judgments of any eked philosophies. This is a space of creation.
The studio is empty except for the dictates of mastery. Who is the master? Me. Jan. The Man.
I don’t listen to the fashionable statements of ‘Man’. What is man? I am the only man that ever lived. Why? Because I am the only man that I know intimately, in that studio, hewing an image from wood and wax.
The candle melts to its end and it’s dark again, time for light. I put my finger to my heart and turn it on. Yes, here is the glory. I walk out of that studio and into the light of my own making. It goes with me.
There is no darkness of shade.
I created space. I. Created. Space.
~ Jan the Man
JanBerry 