I sleep with my phone in my hand. Not because I am afraid of missing a call that much. I hate talking on the phone and I usually don’t answer or return calls. It’s because I am texting or hoping for text before I fall asleep. I hate the verb text and all its forms. A phone is not a person, yet more than once the phone in my hand has turned text into a person, the phone has replaced itself with a body I can hold in my bed. Also, I like those tights.

Some of my favourite covers of Atomage Magazine, found on this website: http://www.atomage.co.uk/

Beautiful and kind of creepy handcrafted doll by Marina Bychkova on show – and on sale for £15,044 – at the SHOWstudio shop, as part of their current To Bed exhibition. Porcelain, rubies, leather, gem stones, silver, bronze, and china paint.

I am unsure whether there is anything I can say now about this that will not be said 20 billion times in the near future anyway. So I rather not say anything except: <3 (But that's not exactly "saying" something, is it?)

http://www.thierrymugler.com/us/en/

Mike Tyson’s abandoned Ohio mansion is not only one of the finest examples or early-American hyper-pimp, but it’s hard to find someone with 1) such exquisite taste and 2) with enough money to make such a masterpiece happen.

The property, a total of 60 acres, it has been sitting abandoned in this desolate area for years. Tyson’s former home is a considerable 20,000 sq. feet with 15 bedrooms. Indoor pool, lavish bathrooms, big chef’s kitchen, 6+ car garages, large entertainment room. As you can see, it’s very well appointed with zebra stripe carpet, gold plating and boasts a large facility for lions that Tyson used to keep as pets.

According to my vague cyber-research, the deserted property was purchased in 1999 by Paul Monea (in blue, who made much of his fortune from selling Billy Blanks’ “Taebo tapes”) for $1.3 million dollars and was seized shortly after by feds investigating him for money laundering issues.

If my sources are right, in January 2010, the mansion was then purchased by Ron Hemelgarn (in black, owner of the “Indy Racing League”) for only $600,000.

During the 10 years that separated the two owners, hundreds (thousands?) of curious, fans and fetishists penetrated the property and carefully documented the rotting and vandalizing processes. An amazing amount of images can still be found on the web, with detailed indications on how to access the house. (3737 State Route 534, Southington, Ohio)

Finally, what is “Iron” Mike Tyson up to these days?
He has a Twitter account and a few Facebook pages that he updates on a near daily basis. He was just recently included on ballot for class of 2011 Boxing Hall of Fame. And life goes on.

staging by Gisele Vienne
performers Aurore Ponomarenko and Jonathan Capdevielle
music by Stephen O’Malley
at the Malley ice rink (Lausanne, Switzerland)

photography by Maxime Büchi

This morning I had to undergo a tiny tiny surgical operation. The kind of operation you don’t even need to be fully anesthetized for. A local thing, and I guess that’s the stake here. You are long gone and yet still looking exactly like you in the mirror. Mirrors at every corner, to make sure you would startle yourself enough to stay shattered.
And you are amputated as you are almost still walking, so suddenly you cannot not take any step further. It is a weird quality of exhaustion that the experience of impotence. It can create a sensation of potentiality of a different type. It is no longer a potentiality connected to the power to act, but one linked to the radical affirmation of passion and passivity.
So I was there, fully awake and yet partly extinguished, figuring out: Infirmity is an offer you can never refuse. Besides, the gesture of embracing weakness makes the passion of the exhausted body seem like a potential pathway to bliss. Above you a helicopter you scream at. Your sky has other eyes that hammer their headless wrath into your head. How long would you stay awake to your half-inhabited, half-abandonned body? Is the concept of redemption any real?

Contemporary life produces all forms of waste, it exhausts and amputates things, amasses litter and drains the meaning out of signs through their prolific hyper-use. We pretend you cannot feel the operation but you take each cut all the way in. We try to shake what is ours out of you, but it breaks on your skin.

Happy Easter!