Normal Norman

Normal, what a strange name for an Italian, but there it is.  I am a little in love with Normal.  It was nothing to do with the nudity or indeed his bigdick.  It was nothing to do with the topless dancing women performing the techno funeral march.  It was all about the smile, a little quirky upturned corner of a smiling face.  And a look that say, I know shit.  Oh yes

Norman, what a strange name for an Italian, but there it is.  I am a little in love with Norman.  Today was the third time I met him, a smile here a chit chat there, him confirming my name, perfectly average for where I come from. But then today, on our third meeting I heard him talk to a unhappy person and the ease and assurity in which he resolved their issue was amazing, even though it was nothing to do with his work.

The history of the nude is the history of people's fascination of the nude, I guess.  And the history of the nude is the history of the well-to-do man viewing through the eyes of the male artist the sight of the naked bottom and breasts of the naked female body.  And this masterbatory fantasy is legitimised through the employment of tradition and mythology.

I hope to rework, rearrange some of these ideas.

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